lERKELEY 

IBRARY 

NIVE.;^JTY  OF 
CALI«)RNHA 


y«X9\. 


DR.  JAS.  L.  BRYAN, 

Cambridge,  Md, 

No 
^^ VfXL/ 


/7e 


uJruiM'  mi 


THE 


VAEIOUS  WRITINGS 


OF 


CORNELIUS  MATHEWS, 


EMBRACING 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK,   l%3^ 
BEHEMOTH,        /  ^  3  7 
THE  POLITICIANS,      /  a  ^^Q 
POEMS  O]^  MAN  IN  THE 

REPUBLIC,      {  ^^-/^ 


\ 


WAKONDAH, 

PUFFER  HOPKINS, 

MISCELLANIES, 

SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS, 

INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT, 


COMPLETE   IN  ONE  VOLUME. 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  82  CLIFF  STREET. 

MDCCCLXm. 


iji,  tj* 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1843, 

By  HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the  Southern  District 

of  New  York. 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION. 


'he  Author  will  not  deny  that  he  is  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  present  the 
following  Writings — the  fruits,  in  partj  of  a  five  years'  service  in  Literature — 
in  a  connected  form.  If  he  has  wrought  to  any  purpose,  it  will  appear,  he 
thinks,  more  clearly  now  that  he  is  allowed  to  collect  the  scattered  threads  and 
show  them,  many -colored,  in  one  woof  together.  That  he  has  labored  with 
heart  and  spirit,  and  with  an  eye  at  least  upon  the  paths  open  to  the  American 
writer — will  perhaps  occur  to  the  reader  when  he  finds  himself,  at  one  moment 
nestling  in  the  very  bosom  of  smooth  social  life,  and  at  the  next  hurried 
abroad  through  the  wilderness  to  confront  the  Forest  and  out-talk  the  Cataract ; 
companioned  with  Prairie  Winds  and  Spectres  a  thousand  years  old.  If  the 
author  had  brought  no  more  than  an  obolus  from  each  province  into  which  he 
has  penetrated,  his  revenues  would  be  (one  might  say)  a  quite  sufficient  re- 
ward. Whether  his  own  steps  have  been  steady  and  well-chosen  or  not,  he 
might  hope  that  his  foot-prints  would  not  be  entirely  lost  upon  such  as  may 
journey  forth  on  a  similar  adventure. 

Two  courses  lie  open  to  the  young  author,  one  of  which  will  secure  to  him 
repose,  good-will,  and  the  tranquillity  of  a  sure,  though  not  always  a  speedy, 
oblivion  ;  the  other  beset  with  doubt,  clamorous  with  objection  of  all  kinds, 
and  crowned,  it  may  be,  with  a  triumphant  end.  He  is  offered  the  opportu- 
nity of  going  to  school  to  Nature  or  to  Books.  There  are  innumerable  Acade- 
mies, their  doors  wide-cast,  where  he  will  be  welcomed  and  have  promptly  allot- 
ted to  him  a  form  in  the  class  of  Historical  Novel- writing,  Melo-Dramatic  Ro- 
mance, Dutch  Humor,  or  Sentimental  Poetry.  If  he  consents  to  take  his  place, 
quietly,  under  any  one  of  the  recognised  Masters  who  preside  over  these  depart- 
ments, all  will  go  well  with  him.  He  shall  possess  his  soul  in  peace,  and  en- 
joy the  privileges  of  good  and  sober  citizenship,  undisturbed.  Notwithstand- 
ing this  tempting  prospect,  it  will  perhaps  be  as  well  for  him,  if  his  ear  be  at 
all  quick  at  detecting  the  suggestions  and  promptings  of  Nature — to  pursue  a 
path  of  his  own,  and  come  to  these  honors  in  due  course  of  time.  He  will 
find,  in  obedience  to  his  own  heart  and  a  conscientious  use  of  his  faculties, 
a  more  genial  pursuit  and  a  kindlier  reward  than-it  is  in  the  power  of  critical 
fashion  to  bestow.     That  there  are  peculiar  bars  raised  against  him,  here, 

091 


iv  GENERAL  INTRODUCTION. 

there  cannot  be  a  doubt.  A  reputation  rises  with  us  like  the  voice  of  one  shout- 
ing for  help  from  the  midst  of  breakers  and  stormy  seas.  It  stands,  if  it  stand 
at  all,  a  sea-tower  that  rocks  at  every  heaving  of  the  mighty  element  which  it 
would  fain  master  and  over-awe.  From  a  variety  of  causes  (but  chiefly  one 
which  will  be  found  urged  at  sufficient  length  hereafter),  a  Good  Name  in  Li- 
^terature  is  the  least  stable  of  all  things  that  take  root  in  the  human  Mind  in 
this  vast  Republican  Confederacy.  Beyond  this  nothing  can  be  less  clearly 
defined  than  the  position  which  good  men  and  bad  men  should  occupy.  They 
are  as  vague  as  the  shadows  of  a  dream,  and  interchange,  mingle,  and  part  as 
swiftly.  In  the  great  conflict  of  voices  there  are  none  to  be  heard  above  the 
tumult,  saying  who  shall  be  master  and  who  man.  There  is  scarcely  a  jour- 
nal in  America  of  sufficient  authority  in  criticism  to  have  its  word  taken  as  a 
warrant  for  the  investment  of  a  crown-piece.  In  this  sceptreless  anarchy  the 
country  swarms  with  Pretenders,  Prophets,  False  Critics,  False  Men. 

Within  the  past  five  years  the  various  causes  tending  to  these  results  have 
attained  a  fearful  head.  The  lustrum  just  past  has  been  the  saddest  and  most 
humiliating  that  has  ever  fallen  upon  any  department  of  American  Industry  or 
Genius.  The  manna  which  many,  of  a  too  sanguine  faith,  looked  for  from 
Heaven,  has  fallen  at  last  in  a  shower  of  moon-stones,  with  a  copiousness  and 
fierceness  that  have  stunned  the  prophets  and  astounded  the  people.  Hardy 
plants  will  they  be  indeed  that  can  lift  their  heads  from  beneath  entablatures 
on  which  their  everlasting  deadness  is  written  by  order  of  Law.  But  let  no 
man  despair  for  this.  Let  whoever  can  speak  and  write  go  on,  in  the  stout 
heart  and  hopeful  spirit,  writing  and  uttering  what  Nature  teaches.  He  will 
not,  even  in  so  great  a  din,  be  altogether  unheard.  There  is  something  in  the 
utterance  of  what  she  prompts,  calm,  clear,  and  true,  that — whisper  though  it 
be — cuts  its  way  through  discords  and  clamors,  hke  a  clear,  sharp  note  to  the 
heart,  where  it  dwells  reproachfully,  until  it  urges  to  a  better  and  higher 
career. 

(The  problem  of  a  Literature  in  America — what  it  shall  be,  in  what  forms 
and  to  what  effect — is  too  well  worth  solving,  too  perplexing  and  glorious  a 
riddle,  to  be  passed  by  indifferently  by  any  hand  that  has  ever  raised  a  pen. 
Many  Moroccos  and  Arragons,  with  their  boastful  trains  of  followers,  and 
false  eyes,  will  ask  the  favor  of  the  World,  before  the  true  Bassanio.  Some 
will  seek,  like  these,  to  win  it  in  splendor,  others  to  steal  upon  its  affections 
with  a  milder  beauty,  and  others  again  will  ask  it,  in  the  plainest  aspect  and 
garb.  Each  one  will  perhaps  demand  the  privilege  of  moralizing  for  a  while — ^ 
in  a  Preface,  Jike  the  present  Author — over  his  separate  chest  of  supposed 
treasure  in  cunning  glosses  and  self-deluding  interpretations  of  the  inscrip- 
tion it  bears.  Each  one  may  advance  his  claim,  and  each  in  turn  be  rejected  as 
a  false  and  worthless  suitor.  tThe  only  claim  the  Author  makes  is  that  he  has 
been  no  truer  to  the  soil  than  the  green  tree :  that  is,  that  he  has  not  shown 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION.  v 

himself  entirely  insensible  to  the  silent  influences  of  Time  and  Country  among 
which  he  has  grown  to  be  an  author  at  all.  Whatever  decision  awaits  these 
humble  labors,  he  cannot  but  hope  that  a  cheerful  and  fruitful  hour  is  at  hand. 
literature,  a  patient  youth,  sits  now  on  the  verge  of  the  horizon ;  in  silence  \ 
and  obscurity  awaiting  the  summons  to  ascend  the  sky,  and  become  a  new  dis  !  ^ 
penser  of  blessed  hght  to  the  World...  Would  that  it  soon  might  have  and  an- 
swer such  a  call,  and  going  up  with  a  steady  lustre  to  the  zenith,  assume  there 
a  post  whence  its  clear  bright  front  and  planetary  mail,  shining  at  every  point, 
might  be  discerned,  with  a  new  hope,  by  all  true  men  in  all  quarters  of  the 
Earth ! 

New  York,  March  Ist^  1843. 


# 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 
General  Introduction 5 

THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 

Preface 12 

Noadiah  Bott 12 

Potter's  Field 17 

Greasy  Peterson 19 

The  Adventures  of  Sol.  Clarion 21 

The  Vision  of  Dr.  Nicholas  Grim 30 

The  Melancholy  Vagabond 34 

The  Merry-makers,  Exploit  No.  I ,  36 

The  Great  Charter  Contest  in  Gotham 42 

The  Witch  and  the  Deacon 46 

Dinner  to  the  Hon.  Abimelech  Blower. ...  52 

The  Druggist's  Wife 57 

The  First  Anniversary  of  the  N.  A.  Society 

for  the  Encouragement  of  Imposture. .  61 

The  Merry-makers,  Exploit  No.  II 67 

Disasters  of  Old  Drudge 72 

The  Unburied  Bones 78 

Parson  Huckins's  First  Appearance 80 

BEHEMOTH. 

Preface 91 

Parti 91 

n , 105 

THE  POLITICIANS. 

Preface 119 

Act  1 120 

II 125 

III 130 

IV 137 

V 144 

POEMS  ON  MAN  IN  THE  REPUBLIC. 
L  The  Child 153 

II.  The  Father 153 

III.  The  Teacher 154 

IV.  The  Citizen 154 

V.  The  Farmer 154 

VI.  The  Mechanic 155 

VII  The  Merchant 155 

VIII.  The  Soldier 156 

IX.  The  Statesman 156 

X.  The  Friend 156 

XL  The  Painter 157 

XIL  The  Sculptor 157 

XIIL  The  Journalist 157 

XIV.  The  Masses 158 

XV.  The  Reformer 158 

XVI.  The  Poor  Man 159 

XVU.  The  Scholar 159 

XVIII.  The  Preacher 159 

XIX.  The  Poet 160 

'  WAKONDAH,  the  Master  of  Life  ...  161 


Page. 
THE  CAREER  OF  PUFFER  HOPKINS. 

Preface 169 

Chapter  I.  The  Platform 169 

II.  First  Acquaintance  with  Hobble- 
shank  172 

IIL  The  Bottom  r'lub 175 

IV.  Mr.  Fyler  Clo..      -  -^  his  Custom- 
ers   177 

V.  The  Auction-Room 181 

VI.  The  Vision  of  the  Coffin-ma- 
ker's'Prentice 184 

VII.  Puffer  Hopkins  receives  an  ap- 
pointment  187 

YIU.  Adventures  of  Puffer  as  a  Scour- 
er  191 

IX.  An  Entertainment  at  Mr.  Fish- 

blatt's 195 

X.  Hobbleshank  at  his  Lodgings..  199 
XL  Leycraft     rambles     pleasantly 

about 20  J 

XH.  A  further   Acquaintance   with 

Fob  the  Tailor 203 

XIIL  The  Economy  of  Mr.    Fyler 

Close  and  Ishmael  Small 206 

XrV.  Puffer  Hopkins  encounters  Hob- 
bleshank again 209 

XV.  Puffer  Hopkins   inquires   after 

Hobbleshank 2l3 

XVI.  The    Nominating    Convention 

hatch  a  Candidate 215 

XVII.  Certain  distinguished  persons 
negotiate  with  the  News- 
boys   219 

XVIII.  Strange    matter,    perhaps    not 

without  a  method 223 

XIX.  The  Pale  Traveller  enters  the 

City 225 

XX.  Fob  and  his  Visiter  from  the 

country 227 

XXI.  Ishmael   Small    makes  a  Dis- 
covery   229 

XXII.  Mr.  Fyler  Close  invokes  the  aid 

of  Mr.  Meagrim  and  the  Law  232 
XXIH.  Puffer  Hopkins  inquires  again 

after  Hobbleshank 235 

XXIV.  The  Charter  Election 238 

XXV.  The  End  of  Leycraft 241 

XXVI.  Hobbleshank's  return 244 

XXVII.  A  notable  scheme  of  Mr.  Fyler 

Close's 246 

XXVIII.  The  Burning  of  Close's  Row.  .249 
XXIX.  The  Round  Rimmers'  Compli- 
mentary Ball 251 

XXX.  Mr.  Fishblatt's  News-Room . . .  256 
XXXI.  Puffer  Hopkins  improves  an  ac-  ^ 

quaintance 259 

XXXIL  The  Death  of  Fob 262 


YIU 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 
XXXni.  Puffer  is  nominated  to  the  Ame- 
rican Congress 266 

XXXrV.  He  Dines  with  the  Magistrates  268 
XXXV.  The  Trial  of  Mr.  Fyler  Close.  .271 

XXXVI.  The  Jury-Room 278 

XXXVII.  Mr.  Close's  last  Speculation. .  .281 

XXXVIII.  The  Night  Procession 284 

XXXIX.  Hobbleshank  and  Puffer  Hop- 
kins visit  the  Fann-House . . .  288 

MISCELLANIES. 

The  True  Aims  of  Life 295 

New  Ethics  of  Eating 301 

Jeduthan  Hobbs 307 

The  late  Ben  Smith,  Loafer 309 

An  Argument  against  Clothing 311 

Solomon  Quigg 313 

The  Ubiquitous  Negro 314 


Page. 
SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 

Political  Life 319 

Mr.  James  Grant 325 

The  Solemn  Vendue 327 

Citizenship 328 

Every  Fourth  Year 330 

The  Field  Death 334 

The  School  Fund 338 

The  School  Fund  again 341 

Our  Illustrious  Predecessors 346 

The  First  Presidential  Death 348 

A  Movement  in  Clerkdom 360 

INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT. 

A  Speech  on  International  Copyright 355 

An  Appeal  to  American  Authors  and  the 

American  Press 358 

A  Lecture  on  International  Copyright 362 


THE    MOTLEY    BOOK. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION. 

An  author  stands  in  the  portal  of  a  Third  Edi- 
tion, like  a  prosperous  host,  smiling  a  welcome  to 
the  public.  To  have  gratified  the  palate  of  the 
readers  of  former  impressions  gives  him  confidence 
in  spreading  his  table  again  for  another  round  of 
customers,  and  warrants  him  in  the  presumption 
of  swinging  out  a  new  preface,  like  a  new  sign,  to 
catch  the  eye,  and  inform  those  who  read  as  they 
run,  that  there  is  entertainment  within  for  man  and 
woman. 

To  leave  metaphor  for  the  plain  level  of  histori- 
cal narrative,  the  author  must  express  his  deep 
sense  of  the  flattering  manner  in  xn^ich  the  Mot- 
ley Book  has  been  heretofore  regarded  by  the  pub- 
lic. The  kindness  with  which  ms  earliest  effort  is 
received,  seizes  hold  on  the  heart  of  the  young  au- 
thor, and  can  never  be  loosened  thence  or  forgot- 
ten :  it  is  then  that  enemies  are  hardest  and  friends 
most  doubtful,  when  his  hopes  are  at  best  question- 
able, and  when  to  question  his  success  or  his 
powers  is  neither  slander  nor  sacrilege.  If  the  lit- 
tle light  which  he  ventures  to  set  up  can  be  blown 
out,  it  accomplishes  a  double  end  ;  proving  the 
power  of  a  malicious  critic,  and  furnishing  a  clear- 
er firmament  for  such  false  orbs  to  twinkle  in  as  he 
may  be  pleased  to  summon  into  existence.  The 
present  author  must  be  considered,  however,  as 
speaking  more  for  the  sake  of  others  who  may  be 
struggling  than  for  himself,  for  he  has  the  great 
satisfaction  of  adding,  that  praise  has  been  bestow- 
ed by  the  critics  of  the  Motley  Book  with  an 
open  and  liberal  hand. 

In  the  present  edition,  the  author  has  amended 
the  work,  he  believes,  by  substituting  the  sketch 
entitled  "  Noadiah  Bott,"  in  place  of  that  which 
formerly  opened  the  volume. 
Nkw  York,  October  1,  1839. 


NOADIAH  BOTT  5 

OR, 

ADVENTURES  WITH  A  GOVERNOR  AND 
A  WIDOW. 

The  two  most  delightful  and  exciting  pursuits 
an  ordinary  citizen  can  be  engaged  in,  in  time 
of  peace,  are  certainly  office-seeking  and  court- 
ing a  widow — combining  as  they  do  the  excite- 
ment of  bloodshed,  and  the  more  animating 
prospect  of  quiet  and  unobstructed  plunder. 

In  the  year  of  our  Lord  ,  it  fell  to  the 

portion  of  Noadiah  Bott  to  embark  in  this  double 
undertaking,  with  great  advantages  of  mind  and 
person.    He  was  a  little  corpulent  man,  slightly 


asthmatic,  and  generally  clad  in  garments  aboui 
one  size  too  small  for  his  person,  which  of  course 
gave  him  very  much  the  appearance  of  a  stuffed 
penguin  promenading  for  exercise  after  dinner. 
Noadiah  had  derived  his  knowledge  and  expe- 
rience from  several  professions,  for  he  had  been 
in  succession  a  hardware-merchant,  a  market- 
gardener,  and  a  pawn-broker.  During  his  con- 
tinuance in  the  first  business  he  had  learned  a 
very  singular  fact  in  natural  history,  which  gave 
him  a  strong  prejudice  against  the  traffic  in 
andirons  and  table-knives — namely :  that  na- 
tive rats,  particularly  the  species  indigenous  to 
New  York,  possessed  tremendous  powers  of  di- 
gestion ;  for  he  found  they  had  discovered  a 
passage  into  his  money-drawer,  and  were  in  the 
habit  of  carrying  off,  and  actually  made  wii.y 
with  quarter-dollars,  half-dollars,  sixpences,  and 
sometimes  were  even  so  famished  as  to  fasten 
on  husky  dry  bank-bills,  and  counterfeit  cop- 
pers and  five-cent  pieces.  At  least,  this  was  the 
explanation  given  by  an  ingenious  clerk,  and  so 
he  broke  up  his  establishment. 

Reserving  a  few  spades,  rakes,  and  coulters, 
from  the  general  sale  of  his  goods,  he  made  his 
next  experiment  with  a  small  garden  in  the  su- 
burbs, from  which  he  proposed  to  raise  vege- 
tables for  the  supply  of  the  city  market.  Never 
was  such  a  season  known  as  the  one  in  which 
Noadiah  Bott  undertook  the  management  of 
four  acres  of  kitchen  esculents.  Tornadoes 
rushed  down  from  the  North  and  played  the 
devil  with  his  apple  and  plum-trees ;  scorching 
dry  zephyrs  came  sighing  and  stealing  from  the 
South  and  wilted  his  asparagus  and  cabbage. 
What  the  tornadoes  failed  to  blow  away  and  the 
freshets  to  wash  away,  was  nothing  but  a  heap 
of  dry  sand,  which  would  have  been  very  weU 
in  the  centre  of  the  Arabian  Desert,  but  was 
rather  out  of  place  in  a  kitchen-garden  under 
actual  cultivation.  Then  he  had  a  left-handed 
mule,  that  kept  turning  the  wrong  way  in  the 
furrow,  and  who  made  himself  so  impracticable 
and  disagreeable  that  Bott  thought  he  might  as 
well  introduce  the  hippopotamus  as  a  plough- 
horse  at  once,  and  sow  his  four  acres  with  trade- 
winds  and  hurricanes.  Besides  all  this,  every 
thing  noxious  and  pestiferous  and  destructive 
was  put  down  in  the  almanacs  for  this  year.  First 
came  an  army  of  locusts,  which  took  quarters  on 
the  neighboring  trees  and  fences,  and  after  elec- 
trifying Bott  for  two  nights  and  a  day  with  their 
pleasant  martial  music,  madt:  an  onset,  and  left 


12 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


his  garden  so  stripped  of  leaf,  twig,  and  every 
creen  thing,  that  it  looted  like  a  ship  with  its 
sails  tattered  into  ribands  by  a  stifl"  nor\vester. 
Directly  upon  the  track  of  this  greedy  swarm, 
came  a  mad  dog,  that  one  half  the  population  oif 
the  city  thought  proper,  for  the  sake  of  their  own 
exercise,  and  the  conservation  of  the  public 
health,  to  hunt  with  great  racket  and  outcrj' 
through  Bott's  garden  into  a  neighboring  pond, 
where  the  poor  animal  ended  his  troubles  by 
committing  suicide.  Then  there  were  ground- 
moles  and  midnight  thieves,  and  the  green- 
worm,  and — the  Lord  knows  what  else.  Poor 
Bott  was  almost  distracted,  and  resolved  to  quit 
jiarket-gardening  for  life,  and  return  to  town 
with  what  small  capital  remained,  and  invest  it 
in  "  dead  stock,"  for  as  to  vegetables,  he  said 
"  he  had  no  faith  in  'em,  either  as  a  medicine 
or  a  means  of  living." 

Abandoning  his  lease  and  making  up  a  wa- 
gon-load with  old  ploughshares,  harness,  hoes, 
rakes,  and  a  second-hand  bureau,  he  started  for 
town,  and  with  this  miscellaneous  stock  of 
trumpery  opened  a  pawn-broker's  shop.  He 
was  now  entirely  out  of  his  element,  for  he 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  carrying  about  under 
his  jacket  a  little  piece  of  curious  mechanism 
which  was  infinitely  more  in  his  way  in  his  pre- 
sent line  of  business  than  an  idle  partner,  a  bad 
season,  or  a  dishonest  clerk.  What  could  poor 
Bott  do  ?  Dilapidated  old  men,  who  had  been 
in  the  revolutionary  war,  uould  come  to  his 
shop  to  pledge  the  very  musket  that  had  figured 
at  Yorktown,  and  the  very  sword  that  had  cut 
ofl'  the  head  of  a  Hessian  at  Trenton,  and  how 
could  he  refuse  to  add  this  to  his  collection  of 
-\'enerable  relics,  and  just  loan  a  few  shillings  to 
the  poor  old  veteran  ?  And  then  the  widow  of  a 
sailor  that  was  with  Decatur  olF  Algiers,  hadn't 
seen  a  loaf  of  bread  for  the  past  fortnight,  and 
all  she  asked  was  to  be  saved  from  starving  by 
a  small  advance  on  a  model  man-of-war  that 
her  dear  Jack  had  built  when  he  was  at  home 
the  last — last  time.  Every  cloak  that  was  left 
in  pledge  with  him — every  rusty  beaver,  every 
baby's  cap,  and  every  pair  of  plated  candle- 
sticks, had  some  little  pathetic  history  connect- 
ed with  it  that  would  have  gone  to  the  heart  of 
a  stone.  So  that,  after  being  in  business  about 
nine  months,  Mr.  Noadiah  Bott  had  as  pretty  a 
collection  of  good-for-nothing  rubbish  as  an 
auctioneer  could  wish  to  stand  over  in  the  dog 
days.  In  fact,  his  shop  was  a  perfect  limbo, 
haunted  by  the  ghosts  of  cracked  fiddles,  feeble 
flutes,  disbanded  earthen  jars,  and  wine-bottles 
with  holes  in  their  bottoms.  With  a  few  old 
wine-flasks,  a  curious  lizard  in  a  vial,  and  two 
or  three  stout  benches,  and  a  train  of  out-of- 
the-way  utensils  clattering  at  his  heels,  Noadi- 
ah, like  a  conqueror  from  a  ravaged  territory, 
marched  out  of  the  sterile  region  of  pawn-bro- 
king, into  a  more  promising  field  of  labor. 

He  was,  therefore,  at  i»resent,  the  proprietor 
of  a  political  tavern,  consisting  of  a  bar  and  fix- 
tures down  stairs,  and  a  room,  twenty-five  by 
twelve  and  a  half,  in  the  second  story,  where 


meetings  were  held  for  the  purpose  of  settling 
the  politics  of  the  ward.  It  was  the  business 
of  Bott  to  light  up  this  apartment  once  or  twice 
a  week  ;  to  arrange  the  platform  for  a  speaker  ; 
and,  on  extraordinary  occasions,  to  embellish  it 
with  a  wooden  eagle  perched  on  a  staff  or  a 
banner,  stretched  over  an  entire  side  of  the 
room.  Sometimes,  in  the  absence  of  the  regular 
speaker,  Bott  had  been  known  to  mount  the 
platform  himself,  and  puff  away  at  a  speech  of 
considerable  length  and  power.  Besides  these 
regular  duties,  he  was  expected  to  get  an  audi- 
ence together,  and,  if  it  fell  short,  to  treat  loaf- 
ers enough  till  the  room  was  tolerably  crowded ; 
to  get  up  all  extraordinary  rounds  of  applause, 
and,  finally,  to  preside  over  the  crackers  and 
beer  which  are  frequently  furnished  to  the  de- 
mocracy at  the  close  of  an  exciting  and  thirsty 
debate.  It  was  a  very  entertaining  spectacle  to 
see  Bott  on  a  night  of  meeting,  bustling  up  and 
down  stairs,  now  at  the  bar  and  now  at  the  ear 
of  some  leading  politician,  commenting  on  the 
news  from  Ohio  or  North  Carolina,  or  discus- 
sing the  efl'ects  of  the  new  law  regulating  the 
size  of  pint-pots,  on  the  habits  of  sailors,  or 
some  other  abstruse  and  recondite  topic.  When 
the  business  of  the  meeting  had  commenced, 
you  might  see  him  every  now  and  then  rushing 
up  from  the  bar-room,  and  thrusting  his  cor- 
pulent little  body  in  at  the  mouth  of  the  door, 
with  considerable  eflbrt  and  puissance,  as  if  to 
ascertain  whether  the  audience  were  well 
packed  or  not. 

Bott  had  kept  these  quarters  for  several 
years.  In  that  time  he  had  grown  stout  and  ru- 
bicund, and  had  formed  a  large  circle  of  politi- 
cal acquaintance.  By  dint  of  listening  at  tJia 
key-holes,  when  committees  and  juntos  were  in 
session  at  his  house,  and  by  looking  grave  when- 
ever trifles  were  discussed,  he  at  length  attain- 
ed such  importance  in  the  political  world  as  to 
venture  to  invite  the  Honorable  the  Corpora- 
tion of  the  city  to  visit,  in  a  body,  a  remark- 
able tortoise  that  had  been  discovered  in  his 
yard,  where  it  had  lived  twenty-three  weeks 
under  a  stone,  without  a  particle  of  food.  They 
accordingly  came,  headed  by  his  Honor  the 
Mayor,  and  when  there,  Bott  gravely  asserted, 
before  the  assembled  magistracy  of  the  city, 
that  this  identical  tortoise  had  been  recently 
heard,  at  midnight,  when  not  a  soul  nor  a  sound 
was  stirring  in  the  neighborhood,  to  cry  "  Bah !" 
very  distinctly,  which  (Bott  whispered  to  an 
Alderman,  a  particular  friend  of  his)  certainly 
portended  the  dissolution  of  the  Union  and  the 
rise  of  bread-stulls  ! 

Strengthened  by  the  popularity  he  deservedly 
acquired  by  this  bold  and  sagacious  movement, 
Bott  determined  to  apply  to  the  Governor  for  a 
small  oflUce.  It  was  some  time  before  he  could 
fix  upon  one  which  was  suited  in  all  respects  to 
his  habits.  He  had  a  list  of  all  the  oflices  in  the 
State,  from  Governor  itself  down  to  licensed 
master  sweep,  with  the  salaries  or  perquisites 
annexed ;  and  at  length  he  concluded  to  take 
the  humble  station  of  inspector  of  staves — twelve 


•     a. 


NOADIAH  BOTT. 


13 


hundred  a  year.  He  was  getting  too  corpulent, 
and  this  out-door  business  would  bring  him 
down.  Besides,  the  sea-air  would  be  good  for 
his  health,  for  he  thought,  and  so  he  intended 
to  represent  to  his  Excellency,  that  drinking  so 
much  beer  nightly  for  the  good  of  the  party, 
had  somewhat  impaired  his  constitution.  In- 
spector of  staves — that  was  the  office ;  and  he 
must  bustle  about,  bustle  about — and  move  the 
very  foundations  of  the  island  but  he  would 
have  it. 

About  this  time  it  was  that  Bott  cast  an  eye 
of  affection  upon  a  black-eyed  little  widow, 
whom  he  discovered  one  day  by  chance,  sitting 
in  an  upper  window  over  a  coffin  warehouse  j 
into  which  he  had  made  his  Avay  to  engage  a 
coffin  for  one  of  his  customers  that  had  fallen 
down  that  morning  in  his  bar-room  with  his 
glass  in  his  hand.  What  was  very  singular 
about  this  case  of  sudden  death  was,  that  the 
man  had  infused  a  third  more  water  in  his 
brandy  than  he  was  in  the  habit  of  using;  so 
that  it  was  a  capital  question  for  discussion, 
whether  he  had  died  of  cold  water  or  al- 
cohol. After  chaflering  awhile  for  the  cheap- 
est coffin  in  the  shop  (for  Bott  buried  his  own 
customers,  and  liked  to  underbid  himself),  No- 
adiah  set  about  sounding  the  proprietor  as  to 
the  black-eyed  lady  up-stairs.  He  began  by 
expressing  a  profound  anxiety  as  to  the  health 
of  the  cotfin-maker's  family,  and  a  deep  convic- 
tion of  the  manifold  benefits  of  living  over  the 
store. 

"His  own  people,"  the  coffin-maker,  how- 
ever, informed  him,  "  lived  in  a  different  part 
of  the  city.  His  wife  was  a  woman  of  weak 
nerves,  and  couldn't  bear  the  sight  of  a  coffin, 
it  reminded  her  so  much  of  her  little  Barte- 
mus  who  was  dead  and  gone." 

"I  haven't  the  pleasure,  then,"  continued 
Bott,  "  of  knowing  the  lady  with  black  eyes, 
that  lives  above  A'ou.     I  wonder  who  she  is  ?" 

"Not  know  her!"  exclaimed  the  coffin-ma- 
ker, "  not  know  the  widow  Bobbin — the  gayest 
widow  in  this  city !  Why,  Mr.  Bott,  if  I  wasn't 
a  married  man  with  two  small  children,  I'd 
soon  know  who's  who,  and  what's  what. 
I'm  often  surprised  at  myself  that  she  hasn't 
driven  me  from  this  melancholy  business  of 
coffin-making,  into  ladies'  hair-dressing,  or 
French  shoe-making,  or  some  such  light  and 
cheerful  occupation." 

This  was  enough  for  Bott.  She  was  unmar- 
ried, and  just  such  a  gay,  joyous  soul  as  he 
needed  to  keep  his  spirits  up  in  these  gloomy 
times.  He  accordingly  went  home,  buried  the 
poor  customer,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  mar- 
ry the  widow,  and  obtain  the  office  of  inspector 
of  staves  forthwith. 

Bott,  without  difficulty,  obtained  an  intro- 
duction, through  his  friend,  the  coffin-maker, 
to  Mrs.  Bobbin,  the  gay  widow.  He  found  her 
to  be  a  sly  creature,  as  full  of  fun  as  a  snuff- 
box, and,  in  fact,  a  woman  exactly  after  his 
own  heart.  It  is  true,  she  had  one  child — a 
boy  about  tliirteen.     This  was  a  slight  objec-  \ 


tion,  but  the  widow  prevailed  upon  Bott  to  re- 
move it  by  taking  the  boy  under  his  own 
charge,  and  supplying  him  with  food,  lodging, 
and  clothes,  with  a  few  quarters'  schooling; 
for  the  boy,  as  the  widow  cunningly  insinuated, 
had  a  good  deal  of  his  mother  in  him,  and  it 
would  be  a  pity  to  allow  so  much  natural  smart- 
ness to  run  to  waste.  Things  advanced  so  swim- 
minglj^,  and  Bott  managed  with  so  much  skill, 
that,  before  a  month  was  over,  he  had  not  only 
pledged  himself  to  provide  for  the  widow's  son, 
(who,  he  had  by  this  time  discovered,  enjoyed 
a  tremendous  appetite,  wore  his  pantaloons  at 
the  rate  of  about  a  pair  in  a  fortnight,  and  was  a 
little  fond  of  tippling,)  but  had  also  engaged  the 
pleasure  of  the  widow's  company  to  the  Cart- 
men's  Fancy  Ball,  to  be  given  in  a  short  time. 
To  make  the  matter  still  more  pleasing,  Bott 
had  the  satisfaction  of  meeting,  at  the  house  of 
the  widow,  an  agreeable  gentleman,  whom  he 
was  delighted  to  be  introduced  to,  by  Mrs. 
Bobbin,  as  her  "uncle  Jonas,  from  Andro- 
scoggin." He  seemed  to  have  the  same  plea- 
sant turn  as  the  widow  herself,  and  was  con- 
stantly employed,  when  Bott  was  present,  in 
saying  or  doing  some  amusing  thing  or  other. 
How  could  Noadiah  be  otherwise  than  happy, 
while  the  current  ran  so  sparkling  and  clear  ? 

In  the  mean  time,  he  devoted  himself  assi- 
duously to  his  application  for  the  inspection  of 
staves.  He  had  a  petition  drawn  up,  setting 
forth  his  claims  and  services ;  his  three  years' 
untiring  opposition  to  the  other  party ;  his  ar- 
dent devotion  to  his  duties  as  retailer  of  spirits 
to  his  political  friends ;  his  zeal  in  gathering 
audiences  and  preparing  inflanmaatory  hand- 
bills, and  his  declining  health,  occasioned  by 
these  extraordinary  labors.  With  this  in  his 
hand,  he  scoured  the  city ;  and,  presenting  it 
firmly,  he  brought  every  man  to  a  stand  as  sum- 
marily as  if  it  had  been  a  pocket-pistol  instead 
of  a  petition.  His  enthusiasm  was  considera- 
bly quickened  when  he  learned  that  a  competi- 
tor was  out  before  him,  and  had  a  start  of 
twenty-seven  names. 

Besides  signatures  to  his  petition,  Bott  rush- 
ed hither  and  thither,  obtaining  letters  recom- 
mendatory from  every  person  of  note  or  stand- 
ing who  had  the  slightest  claim  of  acquaint- 
ance with  his  Excellency,  the  Governor  of 
the  State.  Among  others,  he  procured  an  in- 
valuable and  pressing  epistle  of  recommenda- 
tion from  a  gentleman  who  had  enjoyed  the 
extreme  felicity  of  beholding  the  skirts  of  his 
Excellency's  coat,  as  he  passed  through  Onon- 
daga county,  during  a  violent  storm. 

The  day  had,  at  length,  arrived,  the  even- 
ing of  which  was  to  be  signalized  by  the  cele- 
bration of  the  Cartmen's  Fancy  Ball ;  and  Bott 
was  hurrying  through  his  political  toils,  in  or- 
der to  be  in  good  time  to  wait  on  the  w^idow. 
With  this  view  he  was  making  rapid  progress 
past  a  certain  market  on  the  East  River  side, 
when  his  eye  caught  a  crowd.  Now,  a  crowd 
was  a  perfect  harvest  to  Bott,  and  he  had 
scarcely  ever  plunged  into  one  without  bring- 


14 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


ing  out  one  or  two  first-rate  names  to  his  pa- 1 
per.  The  widow  would  be  impatient,  he  fear- 
ed ;  and,  though  the  temptation  was  great,  he 
determined  to  hurry  by,  when  he  beheld  a  dis- 
tinguished functionary,  whose  namlfe  would  be 
an  all-important  acquisition.  He  accordingly 
resolved  to  run  the  risk,  and  make  up  lost  time 
by  additional  speed  in  his  after-movements. 

'  "  Your  signature,  if  you  please,"  cried  Bott, 
pushing  boldly  through  the  crowd,  toward  the 
Coroner  (for  it  was  that  officer,  preparing  to 
hold  an  inquest),  whose  ruddy  countenance 
was  a  conspicuous  beacon  for  the  office-seeker. 
As  Noadiah  rushed  forward,  the  crowd,  sup- 
posing him  to  be  some  near  relative  of  the  de- 
ceased, come  to  take  possession  of  his  chattels 
and  moveable  funds,  parted;  and,  just  as  he 
had  succeeded  in  breaking  the  inner  circle,  the 
Coroner  stepped  aside,  and  Mr.  Noadiah  Bott 
found  himself  presenting  his  petition  to  an  up- 
right corpse  with  a  most  doleful  countenance, 
and  a  faded  blue  handkerchief  about  its  neck. 

"Get  his  name,  by  all  means,  Bott,"  said 
the  Coroner,  whose  office,  after  he  had  held  it 
three  months,  had,  somehow  or  other,  made 
him  remarkably  facetious.  "  To  him,  Bott,  to 
him ;  he  can  say  a  good  word  for  you  in  the 
next  world,  though  he  plays  dummy  in  this." 

«  The  poor  gentleman,"  cried  a  voice  in  the 
crowd,  to  several  of  whom  Bott  seemed  known, 
**has  been  down  drinking  your  health,  Mr. 
Bott,  in  salt  water,  and  success  to  your  appli- 
cation." 

"  Look  in  the  defunct's  pockets,  Mr.  Coro- 
ner," urged  a  second  voice ;  "  p'r'aps  he's  got 
a  petition  up  for  surveyor-general  of  sharks  and 
codfish." 

"  More  likely,"  said  a  third,  "  a  special  bill, 
for  privilege  to  bathe  in  the  docks  below  the 
lamp  district." 

«  No  such  thing,"  retorted  the  first  citizen ; 
**  I'll  bet  he's  a  quack-doctor,  been  in  to  try  a 
new  pill  that  he's  been  inventing  to  keep  wa- 
ter out  of  the  stomach." 

"  Come,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Coroner,  "  the 
corpse  begins  to  look  melancholy.  We  must 
have  a  jury  on  the  poor  fellow,  whoever  he  is ; 
and  Mr.  Bott,  you  will  make  a  good  foreman, 
and  I've  no  doubt,  if  you  render  a  true  verdict, 
provided  the  poor  man  can  serve  you  by  a  good 
word  with  the  devil,  he'll  do  it  with  all  his 
heart." 

Bott  entreated  his  friend  the  Coroner  to  ex- 
cuse him  from  service.  The  Coroner  disco- 
vered his  extreme  urgency — was  inexorable, 
and  the  inquest  proceeded.  The  body  was 
laid  at  full  length  on  the  top  of  a  fish-stall,  and 
the  jury  took  their  seats  on  market-benches  on 
each  side.  With  a  word  or  two  from  the  Coro- 
ner, they  proceeded  to  examine  witnesses,  as 
to  the  manner  of  death  of  the  gentleman  in  the 
faded  blue  handkerchief.  The  first  that  was 
produced  was  an  old  fishmonger,  who  looked 
as  dry  and  withered  as  a  salted  haddock  : — 

"  It  was  about  two  o'clock,  he  guessed,  it 
mought  be  more,  or  it  mought  be  less,  for  he 


recollected  there  was  a  little  blast  of  cloud  jist 
over  the  sun — when  what  should  he  see  but 
the  dead  one  there  walking,  melancholy-like, 
up  and  down  the  wharf  (as  true  as  he  lived), 
with  a  piece  of  rope  and  the  tail  of  a  dried  her- 
ring— (herrings  was  now  a  shilling  the  dozen ; 
if  the  season  set  in  earlier,  it  mought  so  be 
they  would  be  down  to  nine-pence  ha'penny) 
— sticking,  for  all  the  world,  out  of  his  coat 
pocket  behind.  He  guessed  at  once,  and  with- 
out help,  the  moment  he  got  sight  of  the  her- 
ring and  the  rope-end,  that  something  was 
wrong  with  the  poor  gentleman's  head.  He's 
loose  in  the  attic,  thinks  I ;  but  how  he'll  use 
that  rope  to  any  advantage,  with  this  high 
wind,  I  can't  guess.  If  he  tries  a  spile,  he's 
sure  to  be  interrupted  unpleasantly ;  and  if  he 
goes  into  the  market  and  gets  possession  of  p 
hook,  why,  some  butcher  or  other'll  come  nex 
morning,  and  be  offended  mightily  at  the  liber 
ty  he's  took.  *  What  will  the  poor  gentlemai 
do  ?'  says  I,  almost  in  convulsions  to  see  hov 
he  was  put  out,  as  he  rambled  up  and  dowi 
the  wharf,  looking  one  time  on  the  ground 
and  then  gazing  up  at  the  mast-heads,  ant 
then  stopping,  and  taking  a  melancholy  view 
in  a  basket  at  some  fresh  black-fish,  just  oul 
of  the  water.  This  put  him  in  a  doleful  train ; 
and  what  does  he  do  next,  but  makes  right 
down  to  the  river,  all  of  a  sudden,  and  spoils 
his  herring  and  rope's-end,  and  his  own  dear 
body,  by  jumping  straight  into  the  tide." 

An  idle  fellow,  a  sort  of  wharf  vagabond, 
was  next  produced,  to  furnish  his  evidence  as 
to  the  mode  of  death  of  the  deceased.  All  that  he 
could  testify  to  was,  that  he  differed  from  the 
first  witness  ;  for  that  the  herring  and  the  rope, 
according  to  his  best  belief,  were  in  different 
pockets :  that  the  herring  was  in  the  right 
pocket,  and  the  rope's-end  in  the  left.  This 
witness  was  followed  by  a  match-spirit,  ano- 
ther river  loafer,  who  was  "  as  sure  as  veal 
was  dead  calf,  that  the  rope's-end  was  in  the 
right  pocket,  and  the  bit  of  herring  in  the  left." 
This  brought  out  his  predecessor,  and  a  furious 
altercation  sprang  up  between  the  two  minute 
and  accurate  observers,  as  to  the  particular 
depository  of  the  fish  and  cord.  They  battled 
it  out  for  some  time  without  interruption, 
when,  being  ordered  off  by  the  Coroner,  they, 
in  a  very  gentlemanly  spirit,  locked  arms,  and 
marched  away  together  to  a  neighboring  por- 
ter-house, there  to  discuss  the  question  over  a 
pot  of  pale  ale,  and,  after  an  hour's  enthusias- 
tic debate,  to  come  to  the  conclusion  that  they 
were  both  right,  and  that  "  that  old  curmud- 
geon, the  fishmonger,  had  parboiled  (perjured) 
himself.'* 

Bott,  al!  this  time,  was  suffering  under  the 
most  hideous  state  of  feeling.  Time  was  fly- 
ing ;  the  sun  was  down ;  the  widow  must,  by 
this,  be  dressed ;  she  had  put  on  her  hat ;  in 
a  rage  she  had  torn  out  of  the  house,  and  gone 
to  the  ball  alone  !  This  was  the  masterly  pic- 
ture that  Bott's  mind  painted  for  its  own  amuse- 
ment, while  he  sat  at  the  head  of  the  corpse. 


NOADIAH  BOTT. 


15 


All  tne  customary  evidence  had  been  ex- 
amined, and  a  pretty  palpable  case  of  self- 
drowning  was  made  out ;  when  who  should 
rush  forward,  to  increase  his  discomfiture,  but 
half  a  dozen  medical  worthies,  in  breathless 
haste,  panting,  and  covered  with  sweat.  They 
all  eagerly  approached  the  body,  felt  its  tem- 
ples, its  wrists,  and  its  ankles,  with  the  most 
affectionate  tenderness,  and  unanimously  pro- 
nounced it — dead  !  Here  was  a  discovery  for 
the  Coroner  and  jury.  The  corpse  was  deci- 
ded to  be  a  corpse ;  but,  as  all  their  names 
could  not  appear  in  the  next  morning's  report, 
the  Coroner  allowed  a  couple  of  them  to  un- 
button the  jacket  of  the  corpse,  put  their  fin- 
gers in  its  mouth,  and  hand  their  names  to 
his  clerk. 

Bott  was  now  allowed  to  escape,  and,  choos- 
ing the  most  direct  route,  started  for  home. 
He  had  successfully  accomplished  several 
blocks,  when  he  heard  a  tremendous  noise,  re- 
sembling the  approach  of  a  furious  army,  the 
bursting  of  a  volcano,  or  the  thunder  of  a  cata- 
ract ;  it  was  a  New  York  fire  engine.  With  a 
horrible  uproar,  dragged  forward  by  a  hundred 
men,  and  with  a  tail  of  boys — black,  white, 
and  piebald — as  long  as  that  of  a  comet,  it  rush- 
ed on.  It  neared  the  place  where  Bott  was 
hurrying  along;  it  approached  a  cross-walk 
that  Bott  must  pass  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street.  He  undertook  to  achieve  it  before  the 
engine  came  up ;  but,  mistaking  his  time,  he 
was  caught  in  the  current  and  hurried  along. 
He  had  got  entangled  in  the  rope  at  the  head 
of  the  machine,  and  it  was  under  such  head- 
way that  he  must  go  with  it,  or  be  trodden  un- 
der foot,  and  furnish  a  mournful  casualty  or 
melancholy  accident  for  next  day's  papers.  It 
was  a  dreadful  situation  for  a  gentleman  of  a 
rather  corpulent  habit,  and  slightly  asthmatic  ! 

He  entreated  the  foreman  to  put  his  trum- 
pet to  his  mouth  and  stop  the  engine  ;  he  offered 
him  two  shillings  if  he  would  do  it— a  new  hat, 
his  watch  !  It  was  all  in  vain ;  you  might  as  well 
attempt  to  arrest  the  progress  of  a  herd  of  buf- 
faloes on  the  prairie  ;  and  they  swept  on — one 
long  block,  two,  three.  At  length  they  came 
to  a  square,  where  there  was  a  large  heap  of 
dirt ;  and  chance  accomplished  what  a  new 
beaver  hat,  a  watch,  and  the  amazing  sum  of 
twenty-five  cents,  had  failed  to  do — it  arrested 
the  engine ;  and  Bott,  with  his  hair  almost  on  end 
with  fear  and  anxiety,  disengaged  himself,  and, 
retracing  his  steps  at  a  hard  gallop,  reached 
his  own  door. 

Composing  his  spirits  with  one  glass,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  arrange  his  toilet  in  another ;  and  at 
last  stood,  in  full  trim,  before  the  widow's  door. 
With  trembling  hand  he  knocked,  and  was  an- 
swered. She  had  gone  to  the  ball  an  hour  be- 
fore, with  her  uncle  Jonas,  from  Androscoggin. 
"  The  devil  take  uncle  Jonas  !  (and  heaven  be 
thanked  it's  no  worse!)"  thought  Noadiah; 
and  he  speeded  to  the  scene  of  festivity. 

Bott  soon  arrived  at  a  large  room,  lighted 
with  mould  candles ;  and  from  a  box,  in  the 


centre  of  which,  where  a  negro  and  five  white 
men,  like  so  many  captive  Troubadours  of  the 
feudal  time,  were  imprisoned  for  the  evening, 
proceeded  certain  instrumental  sounds,  of  a 
very  spirited  and  melodious  character.  On 
the  floor  thereof  he  discovered,  besides  the  cus- 
tomary number  of  well-dressed  ladies,  about 
one  hundred  and  fifty  men,  apparently  in  the 
enjoyment  of  robust  health,  and  endued  in 
cartmen's  frocks,  every  soul  of  them.  This 
was  the  Cartmen's  Fancy  Ball — the  fancy  of 
the  thing  lying  entirely  in  the  frocks.  After 
he  had  somewhat  recovered  from  the  dazzling 
effect  of  the  refulgent  mould-candles,  and  the 
gorgeous  apparel  of  the  gentlemen,  so  that  he 
could  look  about  with  tolerable  composure, 
nearly  the  first  object  his  eye  fell  upon,  was — 
as  true  as  Bott  wore  a  rufile  ! — uncle  Jonas,  of 
Androscoggin,  clad  also  in  a  cart-frock,  and 
dancing  away,  at  a  very  vigorous  rate,  with 
the  widow.  They  appeared  to  be  enjoying 
themselves  charmingly ;  and  Noadiah  thought 
he  had  never  seen,  in  his  whole  life,  a  more 
afiectionate  uncle,  or  a  more  delightful  niece. 
He,  however,  advanced  into  the  centre  of  the 
room,  where  he  was  stared  at  by  the  frocked 
gentry  as  if  he  had  been  a  Turk  in  a  turban, 
or  a  Mohawk  in  his  blanket,  and  accosted  the 
worthy  pair. 

The  widow  playfully  rebuked  him  for  his 
tardiness  and  irregularity,  adding,  with  a  sly 
look  at  her  partner,  that  "  uncle  Jonas  had 
been  so  kind  as  to  drop  in  and  wait  upon  her, 
in  his  absence,  with  the  ticket  he  (Bott)  had 
left."  She  added,  in  a  whisper  in  Bott's  ear 
— "  Uncle  Jonas  is  one  of  the  best  men  living ; 
and,  to  teU  you  the  truth,  Bott,  it's  the  remark- 
able resemblance  between  yourself  and  him, 
that  made  me  take  such  a  liking  to  you." 

At  this,  Bott  laughed  in  his  sleeve,  and  un- 
cle Jonas,  who  somehow  or  other  had  over- 
heard the  substance  of  the  whisper,  roared 
right  out.  Bott  glanced  stealthily  at  uncle 
Jonas,  very  often,  throughout  the  evening,  and 
satisfied  his  own  mind  that  he  was  one  of  the 
best  looking  men  it  had  ever  been  his  happi- 
ness to  behold. 

The  fancy  ball  proceeded  merrily ;  and  eve- 
ry time  the  hundred  and  fifty  male  dancers 
jumped  up  and  cut  a  pigeon's  wing,  or  struck 
their  heels  in  the  air,  they  made  a  noise  with 
their  cart-frocks  like  the  sails  of  a  whole  fleet 
of  merchant-ships  flapping  in  the  wind.  But 
what  astonished  Bott  most,  in  the  career  of 
their  proceedings,  was,  that  although  he  was  ex- 
tremely anxious  to  dance  with  the  widow  Bob- 
bin, yet,  by  some  marvellous  combination  of  cir- 
cumstances, he  was  deprived  of  that  pleasure 
through  the  whole  evening ;  and  what  was,  if 
possible,  still  more  miraculous,  uncle  Jonas, 
by  equal  good  luck,  seemed  to  dance  every  in- 
dividual cotillon  with  that  lady.  Sometimes 
he  was  pleasantly  requested  by  the  widow  to 
bring  her  a  lemonade  from  the  saloon;  and 
before  he  could  return,  she  was  engaged,  and 
dancing  in  high  spirits  with  her  respected  re- 


16 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


lative.  Then  he  would  be  courteously  entreat- 
ed, by  one  of  the  managers,  to  snuff  a  chande- 
lier, as  his  frock  was  in  the  way,  and  he  was 
afraid  of  a  general  conflagration  if  he  attempt- 
ed it.  Then  a  polite  invitation  would  be  sent 
down  from  the  musicians'  box,  requesting  Mr. 
Bott  to  come  up  the  ladder,  and  give  the  or- 
chestra his  opinion  on  the  rumble  of  the  drum, 
and  to  pronounce  whether  it  wasn't  a  trifle  too 
harsh  for  the  ears  of  the  very  genteel  compa- 
ny below.  In  this  way  the  evening  glided  by, 
without  giving  Bott  an  opportunity  to  distin- 
guish himself  on  the  floor ;  till,  just  as  the 
ball  was  about  to  break  up,  Mrs.  Bobbin  pre- 
vailed upon  him  to  exhibit  himself  in  a  sailor's 
hornpipe,  in  which,  she  slyly  informed  the  com- 
pany, he  was  a  most  capital  hand.  A  ring  was 
accordingly  formed  by  the  rest  of  the  assem- 
bled genfry,  and  Bott  executed  a  hornpipe  in 
most  brilliant  and  comic  style ;  in  fact,  his  per- 
formance was  so  pregnant  with  humorous  mo- 
tions of  the  leg  and  swayings  of  the  person, 
that,  at  the  conclusion,  a  general  compliment- 
ary laugh  was  raised  for  Bott's  especial  benefit. 

Upon  the  whole,  Bott  was  pleased,  and  his 
pleasure  was  increased  by  uncle  Jonas  inform- 
ing him  that  he  must  go  another  way,  and  that 
he  (Bott)  must  see  the  widow  home.  Bott  rea- 
dily accepted  the  agreeable  trust,  innocently 
(and  like  the  primeval  Adam,  before  the  days  of 
omnibuses  and  licensed  hacks)  forgetting  the 
coach-hire.  A  hack  was  therefore  called,  and  No- 
adiah  and  the  widow,  bidding  uncle  Jonas  good- 
night, mounted  in — the  widow  giving  Bott  the 
back  seat,  and  taking  the  forward  one  herself, 
remarking,  that  she  preferred  riding  backwards, 
she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  rowing  so  much 
on  a  pond,  when  a  girl.  During  their  progress 
tlirough  the  streets,  Bott  observed  that  the  wi- 
dow every  now  and  then  looked  just  over  the 
top  of  his  hat,  and  smiled ;  but  he  didn't  ob- 
serve that  uncle  Jonas  was  standing  up  behind 
the  carriage,  and  making  numerous  pleasant 
signals  and  indications  (now  and  then  tapping 
his  forehead  significantly)  to  Mrs.  Bobbin 
through  the  coach  window.  Having  deposited 
the  widow  and  discharged  the  hack,  (for  he 
preferred  to  walk  home,  and  chew  the  cud  of 
amorous  fancy  at  leisure,)  about  three  o'clock 
that  morning  Noadiah  stretched  himself  to  plea- 
sant dreams ! 

The  inspection  of  staves  now  engrossed  a 
large  portion  of  the  thoughts  of  the  sagacious 
Bott,  and  he  left  no  influence  unasked,  and  no 
politician  unannoyed,  but  that  he  would  obtain 
the  ofiice.  He  was,  by  this  time,  in  possession 
of  the  autographs  of  more  than  fifty  important 
and  respectable  men,  twenty  tolerably  great 
men,  and  twelve  actually  great  men,  that  ex- 
pected to  be  members  of  Congress,  before  they 
yielded  the  ghost.  To  strengthen  his  claim, 
and  bring  himself  more  prominently  before  the 
party,  he  resolved  to  abandon  the  comparative- 
ly private  theatre  where  he  had  heretofore  per- 
formed, and  exhibit  on  a  larger  stage — in  a 
word,  he  determined  to  make  a  speech  at  Ma- 


sonic Hall,  which  bears  the  same  relation  to 
the  political  taverns  of  the  wards,  as  a  pri- 
mate's cathedral  does  to  the  little  chapels  con- 
nected with  it.  After  forming  this  resolution, 
Noadiah  strenuously  devoted  himself  to  the  pe- 
rusal of  the  newspapers,  and  the  orations  of  Pa- 
trick Henry,  as  given  in  the  "  American  Speak- 
er," and  to  the  practice  and  cultivation  of  his 
voice  by  a  strict  regimen  of  table-beer  and  lo- 
zenges. In  accordance  with  his  design  he  pre- 
pared an  elaborate  speech,  beginning,  "  Fel- 
low-citizens, unaccustomed  as  I  am  to  public 
assemblies" — and  ending  with  an  ecstatic  de- 
scription of  the  "  blood-stained  Genius  of  Li- 
berty, wrapped  in  a  winding-sheet  of  stripes 
and  stars" — which  was  a  tolerable  figure, 
considering  that  Bott  had  no  interest  in  an  incor- 
porated cemetery,  and  was  not  a  tailor  by  trade. 

The  eventful  evening  having  at  length  ar- 
rived, Bott  disposed  of  an  early  tea,  and  ascend- 
ed to  the  public  room  up  stairs,  and  locked  him- 
self in  with  a  tumbler  of  brandy-and-water, 
and  a  fouith-size  tallow  candle,  having  given 
strict  orders  to  Master  Bobbin  to  cry  "  fire  !"  if 
any  one  attempted  to  interrupt  him.  He  then 
recited  his  harangue,  from  beginning  to  end, 
with  great  vigor  addressing  a  group  of  large  bar- 
rels that  stood  in  a  corner,  as  his  "  fellow-citi- 
zens," and  a  small  barrel  on  his  right  hand, 
with  "Old  Rum"  branded  on  it,  as  "Mr. 
Chairman." 

Master  Bobbin  (although,  like  a  true  son  of 
New  York,  strongly  disposed  so  to  do)  had  no  oc- 
casion to  cry  "  fire,"  and  if  the  non-interruption  of 
Mr.  Bott's  speech  was  to  be  taken  as  evidence  of 
no  conflagration,  any  company  might  have  ensur- 
ed all  the  property,  as  far  as  his  voice  could  be 
heard,  with  perfect  safety,  and  at  a  very  trifling 
premium.  Having  gone  through  his  speech  to  his 
own  perfect  satisfaction,  and  without  any  symp- 
toms of  animation  having  manifested  themselves 
either  in  the  brandy-keg  or  the  sturdy  group  of 
barrels,  Mr.  Bott  descended,  endued  his  stout 
little  person  in  a  rough  over-coat  with  tremend- 
ous pearl  buttons,  and  thrusting  his  manuscript 
speech  in  Ms  hind-pocket,  sallied  forth.  It  was 
a  clear,  moon-light  evening.  Bott  was  in  cap- 
ital spirits,  and  he  dropped  into  a  cellar  and  took 
a  couple  of  dozen  of  York  Bank  oysters,  just  to 
strengthen  his  voice.  He  had  not  gone  far, 
however,  (reciting  to  himself  favorite  passages 
from  his  harangue,)  when  he  was  unconsciously 
followed  by  a  slight  youthful  figure,  which  glided 
cautiously  behind  him,  took  a  peep  into  his  face, 
and  extending  its  right  arm,  withdrew  from  the 
pocket  of  Bott  a  white  roll  which,  in  all  human 
probability,  contained  the  speech  of  the  evening. 
The  purloiner  then  stole  off,  and  turning  a  cor- 
ner, halted  a  moment  under  a  lamp,  opened  the 
roll,  laughed  quietly,  and  then  made  way  for  a 
political  club  or  association  of  the  opposite  party 
to  Bott's,  and  there  finding  a  numerous  assem- 
bly of  choice  spirits  gathered,  he  regaled  them 
with  the  recitation  of^  the  able  and  eloquent  ha- 
rangue of  Noadiah  (or  Noddy,  as  the  reader 
took  the  liberty   of  calling  him)  Bott,  Esq., 


POTTERS'  FIELD. 


17 


which  you  may  be  sure  was  interrupted  with 
frequent  exclamations  like  these — "  Well  done, 
Bott !"  "  Good,  for  the  inspector  of  staves  !" 
"  Equal  to  fifth-proof  with  five-fifths  water  !" 

In  the  mean  time  the  hilarious  and  innocent 
Noadiah  was  wending  joyously  toward  the  scene 
of  his  glory,  stopping  now  and  then,  however, 
when  he  was  reminded  by  a  hydrant,  or  some 
other  upright  and  stationary  object,  of  an  atten- 
tive listener,  to  get  into  the  shadow  of  the 
buildings  and  recite  some  striking  passage  with 
appropriate  extension  of  arms,  contracting  of 
brows,  and  planting  of  the  foot. 

An  immense  crowd  had  assembled  ;  the  meet- 
ing was  called  to  order ;  a  Chairman  and  seven- 
teen Assistant  Chairmen  (to  help  the  presiding 
officer  look  grave)  were  appointed,  and  five  or 
six  speakers,  ranging  from  three  feet  and  a  half 
to  six  feet  high,  and  from  twenty  years  of  age 
to  seventy,  with  every  variety  of  voice,  from  the 
kettle-drum  to  the  fife,  addressed  the  audience 
— and  Bott  listened  to  them  all,  sometimes 
pleased  that  his  own  time  had  not  arrived,  and 
sometimes  eager  to  take  the  platform  at  once. 

At  length  the  cry  of  "  Bott  V  "  Bott !"  was 
heard  rising  from  different  quarters  of  the  room, 
(for  certain  vagabond  friends  of  his,  there  by 
his  special  invitation,  were  on  the  alert,)  and 
swelling  into  a  perfect  tempest  of  acclamation, 
Bott  came  forward,  aided  in  the  rear  by  two  or 
three  eturdy  scamps,  and  helped  in  the  van  by 
a  couple  of  the  secretaries,  who  seized  him  for- 
cibly by  the  collar  and  drew  him  forward. 

"Three  cheers  for  Bott  \"  shouted  one  of  his 
vagabond  friends  the  moment  his  nose  became 
visible  as  he  assumed  the  stand.  Three  cheers 
■were  accordingly  given,  and  Bott  began. 
Through  the  first  half-dozen  sentences  of  his 
harangue  he  marched  in  triumphant  style,  keep- 
ing his  eye  fixed  keenly  on  a  bald-headed  man 
in  about  the  centre  of  the  crowd,  to  steady  his 
nerves — when  suddenly  the  bald-headed  man, 
prompted  by  a  current  of  air  that  came  in  at  a 
broken  pane,  clapped  on  his  hat,  and  Bott  stop- 
ped short  as  if  he  had  been  struck  with  the  apo- 
plexy. "  Go  on  !"  was  the  universal  cry.  But 
Bott  had  lost  his  self-possession,  and  stared 
around  like  a  frightened  rabbit,  first  at  the 
Chairman,  then  at  each  one  of  the  seventeen 
Assistant  Chairmen,  then  into  the  bottom  of  his 
hat,  and  then  he  thought  of  his  manuscript.  A 
smile  gleamed  over  his  face,  and  he  tlirust  his 
hand  behind  him,  found  nothing,  brought  it 
back  again,  and  the  sickly  smile  went  out.  At 
last  he  stammered — "  Beer  three  cents  a  glass — 
nutmeg  extra — no  trust  in  this  shop" — and  he 
was  hurried  ofiT  the  stage  by  the  two  benevolent 
secretaries  who  had  dragged  him  on  by  the 
collar. 

Recovering  himself  from  the  shock  as  well  as 
he  might,  and  making  his  way  through  the 
press  as  speedily  as  possible,  he  rushed  into  the 
open  air  and  aimed  at  once  for  the  widow's. 
There  he  was  sure  to  find  one  respectful  audi- 
tor at  least,  and  ample  consolation  for  the  mis- 
carriage of  his  oratory. 
B 


To  his  utter  and  unqualified  astonishment,  he 
was  there  informed  that  the  widow  had  gone 
out  with  her  uncle  an  hour  before,  and  wasn't 
expected  back  in  a  week !  What  could  this 
mean?  His  mind  was  filled  with  dreadful 
forebodings — horrible  surmises  !  It  could  not 
be  that  they  had  left  home  to  drown  themselves 
together  ?  that  they  had  gone  out  to  fight  a 
promiscuous  duel  because  the  widow  had  seen 
fit  to  show  more  partiality  and  afiection  for  liim 
than  for  her  own  uncle  ?  that  they  had  ascend- 
ed the  top  of  the  shot-tower  to  study  astronomy 
for  a  short  time,  and  then  to  plunge  for  ever 
from  its  dizzy  height  ?  Notwithstanding  these 
conflicting  conjectures,  Noadiah  went  straight 
home,  and  immediately  examined  the  Table  of 
Consanguinity  in  the  Bible,  to  ascertain  whether 
uncle  and  niece  were  within  marriageable  de- 
gree. 

Next  morning's  paper  explained  the  whole 
matter  in  the  most  artless  manner.  It  was 
neither  drowning,  murder,  nor  aerial  precipita- 
tion— but  simply  matrimony.  The  announce- 
ment set  forth  the  parties  as  Jonas  Tupp,  cart- 
man,  and  Mrs.  Amelia  Bobbin,  "  both  of  this 
city."  The  relationship  appeared  to  have  been 
perfectly  imaginary — a  merely  pla^'ful  hypo- 
thesis. 

As  to  the  inspection  of  staves,  it  was  con- 
sidered so  far  beneath  Bott's  dignity  and  the 
worth  of  his  services  as  to  be  given  to  one  Zac- 
chias  Bull,  or  Bullwinkle,  or  some  such  zoolo- 
gical fellow ;  and  Bott  was  informed  by  private 
letter  that  his  application  had  been  hotly  op- 
posed by  his  very  good  friend,  the  Alderman, 
who  had  tendered  his  invitation  to  the  Common 
Council  to  visit  a  remarkable  tortoise  twenty- 
three  weeks  under  a  stone,  &c.,  on  the  ground 
that  said  invitation  (the  most  serious  operation 
of  Bott's  life)  was  a  deliberate  imposition,  as 
he  was  satisfied,  on  the  understanding  of  the 
Honorable  the  Corporation ! 


POTTERS'  FIELD. 

I  STAND  upon  the  graves  of  the  poor.  Over 
this  simple  field,  unvaried  by  mark  or  monu- 
ment, I  cast  my  eye  and  feel  the  power  and  pre- 
sence of  death  more  than  in  the  tombs  of  kings, 
or  standing  beside  those  huge  mausoleums,  the 
pyramids.  Here  the  grim  phantom  stalks  na- 
ked ;  not  skulking  as  in  the  cemeteries  of  the 
rich  and  prosperous,  behind  funeral  piles,  or 
stealing  away  from  the  gaze  amid  masses  of  car- 
ved marble.  Every  step  of  the  tyrant  falls 
clear  and  distinct  upon  the  grave  of  some  lowly 
son  of  earth  and  poverty.  How  many  of  the 
children  of  sorrow  have  tottered  into  this  hum- 
ble burial-place,  and  thrown  down  the  wearj' 
burden  of  grief  and  wretchedness  under  which 
they  had  fainted  in  the  sun. 

All-accordant  must  be  the  trumpet-blast  that 
can  melt  into  one  harmonious  web  of  life  these 
motley  elements.    What  a  pageant  of  wretch- 


18 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


edness,  and  rags,  and  penury  A^ould  the  habitants 
of  this  single  acre  form,  could  they  be  summon- 
ed from  their  rest.  Moscow's  bell  should  ring 
to  raise  the  awful  cui'tain,  and  bring  upon  the 
stage  the  parti-colored  company. 

An  archangel's  peal  alone  could  startle  back 
into  life,  (from  which  their  suffering  was  so  deep 
and  piercing,)  the  various  multitude.  An  om- 
nipotent edict  in  truth  it  would  require  to  force 
them  once  more  upon  a  scene  where  anguish 
and  tears  were  their  only  legacy,  and  the  grave 
— the  quiet,  rent-free  grave,  their  reversion ! 

Many  as  the  citizens  that  people  the  bottom 
of  the  deep,  are  the  myriads  that  have  sunk  si- 
lently as  into  an  ocean  billow,  into  the  bosom 
of  this  green  earth.  I  will  try  a  simple  spell 
of  my  own  :  perchance  it  may  bring  them  up, 
at  least  in  phantasy. 

"  Re-appear,  ye  sad  tenants  of  the  narrow 
house,  once  more  on  the  earth  where  ye  suffered ! 
I  here  establish  a  court  of  death.  Ye  are  sum- 
moned to  the  trial ;  answer  ye  to  your  names. 
Hear  ye!  hear  ye!" 

"  Saul  Rope  ?  Saul  Rope  ?"  Slowly  from  the 
earth,  near  at  my  feet,  a  pale,  shrunken  being 
shakes  off  the  green  mould,  and  feebly  aiding 
himself  with  his  hand  on  his  grave's  side,  steps 
into  the  twilight. 

His  dress  is  an  entire  suit  of  gray,  coarse 
linsey-woolsey,  with  a  plain,  cheap  hat,  without 
nap  or  buckle.  "  I  was  a  saw-filer,"  said  the 
poor  apparition,  "and  kept  a  small  shop  in 
Doyer  street.  When  I  set  up  there  I  had  a  few 
friends  at  first,  but  they  soon  dropped  off.  The 
street  was  so  crooked  that  nobody  could  find 
their  way  to  me,  even  if  they  wanted  my  ser- 
vices; no  one  except  an  old  bachelor  with  a 
twist  in  his  neck,  who  seemed  to  have  a  natural 
facility  in  threading  the  windings  of  the  alley, 
and  who  came  not  on  business,  but  to  enjoy  my 
pleasant  conversation  !  Besides,  a  middle-aged 
lady,  who  was  born  in  the  street,  and  who  had 
a  praiseworthy  fondness  for  her  place  of  nativity, 
and  who  visited  me  annually  the  day  before 
Christmas,  to  have  her  carving-knife  put  in  or- 
der for  the  holydays.  By-and-by  the  old  lady 
died  off— the  bachelor  bought  a  little  farm  and 
retired  into  the  country,  and  I  was  forced  to 
abandon  my  thankless  trade  of  saw-filing  and 
go  upon  the  watch.  Of  a  feeble  frame,  I  soon 
caught  a  cold,  fell  into  a  galloping  consumption, 
and  you  see  me  here.  Thank  God !  there  was 
no  wife  nor  little  child  to  weep  the  day  that  the 
simple  saw-filer  died." 

The  next  dead  defendant  was  a  corpulent, 
hale  fellow,  who  answered  to  the  name  of  Ro- 
bert Drum,  and  was  clad  in  tattered  and  ragged 
garments,  without  hat,  shirt,  or  boots,  whose 
story  in  brief  was,  that  "  he  had  been  a  beggar, 
and  had  died  of  good-living  and  repletion." 

After  him  Peter  Packliorse  and  family  were 
called.  At  first  no  one  appeared,  but  on  a  re- 
petition of  the  summons,  a  small  middle-aged 
man  was  seen  making  his  way  from  a  remote 
part  of  the  field,  with  a  sickly  woman  hanging 
on  his  right  arm,  and  a  train  of  twelve  or  thir- 


teen thinly  clad,  pale  girls  and  boys  following 
them. 

The  tale  of  Peter's  distresses  was  touching 
and  pathetic. 

"  Upon  the  banks  of  the  sunny  Bronx,  in  the 
sweet  and  cheerful  village  of  White  Plains," 
said  Peter,  ".God  cast  my  lot.  I  owned  a  few 
patrimonial  acres^and'm  my  early  youth  took 
to  myself  a  buxom  and  bonny  wife,  and  together 
we  made  a  little  Paradise  of  our  farm,  for  every 
thing  was  abundant  and  in  good  order.  The 
seasons  were  our  friends,  and  the  clear  stream 
that  ran  by  our  door  kept  us  close  to  our  home 
by  its  cheerful  voice  and  its  ever  delightful,  rip- 
pling music.  In  summer  I  gathered  in  my  har- 
vest, with  my  first-born  boy  and  girl  at  play 
between  the  swathes  and  winrows,  and  when 
the  autumn  came,  and  the  winter  was  provided 
for,  I  would  take  my  gun  or  my  angle  in  my 
hand,  and  strolling  away  into  the  rich  crimson 
woods  or  along  the  mossy  streams,  meditate  upon 
the  bounties  and  blessings  Heaven  had  given 
me  in  my  lertile  farm,  my  bonny  wife,  and  my 
sweet-featured  boy  and  girl.  Thus  three  joy- 
ous years_glided  by,  and  prosperity  made  me  a 
Christian  in  the  open  fields,  and  a  devout  wor- 
shipper in  the  church.  On  the  last  day  of  the 
winter  of ,  a  cousin  of  mine,  a  black- 
browed,  thoughtful  man,  arrived  in  the  mail 
coach  from  the  city  on  a  visit  of  friendship. 
He  stayed  little  more  than  a  week,  but  made  so 
good  use  of  his  time,  as  to  persuade  me  to  sell 
my  farm,  turn  it  into  cash,  and,  carrying  my 
family  with  me,  settle  in  New  York,  and  become 
a  broker — a  soriy  shaver  of  notes.  The  profits 
that  he  conjured  up  before  me  r^eemed  so  rapir 
and  sure,  the  business  so  light,  airy,  and  gentle- 
man-like, (who  is  it  that  has  never  been  firea 
with  the  passion  of  becoming  a  gentleman !) 
that  I  fell  in  with  his  proposition,  and  early  in 
spring,  disposing  of  my  farm  and  stock  at  ven- 
due, hastened  to  town.  Here  I  soon  lost  the 
better  half  of  my  ready  cash ;  my  dark-browed 
city  cousin  absconded  with  the  balance,  and  I, 
with  a  family  which  had  doubled,  was  upon  the 
town.  In  a  short  time,  even  my  darling  chil 
dren  (yes,  the  bright  fairy  boy  and  girl  of  my 
country  days  too !)  were  snatched  from  me  by 
an  envious  fever,  and  I  was  alone  with  my  wife 
in  the  vast  city  without  bread.  I  obtained  em- 
ployment, precarious  and  cheap  emplojinent  it 
was,  as  a  journeyman  shoemaker:  for  every 
farmer  in  the  parts  where  I  was  born  knows 
something  of  the  trade.  Thus  I  sustained  my- 
self for  a  few  years,  a  new  family  of  children 
having  sprung  up  and  died  at  my  side  in  the 
mean  time.  My  wife  followed  her  thirteenth 
child,  (a  pretty,  lovely  girl !)  My  staff  of  life 
was  broken.  The  trade  at  which  I  toiled  bent 
me  double,  and  in  the  ninth  year  after  I  had 
left  that  little  Eden  on  the  banks  of  the  Bronx, 
a  disease  of  the  spine  fastened  upon  me.  I  lay 
sick  for  months,  in  a  low,  vile  shed,  racked  by 
intolerable  pain  of  body,  and  worse  anguish  of 
mind,  until  I  died  and  came  here  to  lie  with  my 
wife  and  children  in  everlasting  rest !  I  would 


GREASY  PETERSON. 


19 


that  a  river  ran  by  our  graves — something  like 
the  Bronx !" 

I  could  hardly  refrain  from  tears  at  the  reci- 
tal of  Peter's  simple  story,  but  mastering  my 
emotion,  and  turning  my  face  toward  another 
quarter  of  the  field,  I  cited — 

"  Paula  Hops  ?" — At  this  summons,  a  light 
female  form,  endued  in  a  black  bombazine  gown, 
with  a  white  Vandyke  about  the  neck,  stepped 
cut  of  her  grave  upon  the  earth,  with  something 
of  natural  grace  in  her  gesture,  and  gave  the 
following  history  of  herself. 

"  I  am  a  poor  seamstress,"  said  the  fair  vi- 
sion, a  hectic  glow  shining  through  her  pale 
cheek,  and  a  doubtful  brilliancy  kindling  her 
eye,  "  I  was  born  to  that  vocation.  My  mother 
and  grandmother  before  me  were  seamstresses, 
and  lived  in  comfort  and  plenty ;  but  that  was 
in  diflerent  times  from  these.  Tailors  did  not 
ride  in  carriages  then,  that  poor  girls  might 
starve. 

«  Their  labor  was  at  least  worth  the  candle 
they  burned  far  into  the  night  to  pursue  it  by ; 
but  I  do  them  wrong,  they  never  burned  the 
midnight  lamp.  Their  hours  were  at  the  worst 
from  sunrise  to  sunset.  I  toiled  often  from  the 
first  streak  of  morning  till  the  neighboring 
clock  tolled  twelve  at  midnight,  or  one  on  the 
morning  of  the  nex.,  day.  And  see !  this  is  my 
reward — these  are  the  wages  for  which  I 
wasted  my  young  blood,  health,  and  spirits,  and 
finally  my  life  !"  and  saying  this,  she  took  from 
her  bosom  and  handed  me  a  soiled  and  rumpled 
paper,  containing  the  following  particulars  : 

"Seamstresses'  Prices: — Six  hours  work 
on  a  common  vest,  six  and  a  quarter  cents. 
Twenty-fom*  hours  work  on  Baboon  coats  of 
kersey,  fifty  cents.  Twelve  hours  work  on  Navy 
shirts  with  star-collars,  twelve  and  a  half  cents. 
Two  days  work  on  blanket  coats  with  fourteen 
buttons,  fifty  cents.  Frocktees  of  dufile-cloth 
for  stout-bodied  men,  twenty-four  hours  labor, 
thirty-seven  and  a  half  cents.  Pantaloons  with 
fly  fronts  and  straps,  eleven  hours,  twenty-five 
cents,  &c." 

And  leaving  this  guilty  and  barbarous  cata- 
logue in  my  hands,  the  fair  victim  disappeared. 

Next,  I  called  up  in  succession  and  heard  the 
elegiac  histories  of  poor  Joe  Crutch,  an  old 
pauper,  with  a  red  bandanna  about  his  head ; 
Susan  and  Sarah  Sparkels,  a  pair  of  spinster 
sisters,  withered  and  sad,  who  came  up  arm-in- 
arm, as  if  they  occupied  a  joint  grave ;  Sam 
Weatherly,  a  paralj^ic  poultry-merchant ;  Moll 
or  Mary  Jones,  huckster ;  two  red-faced  butch- 
ers that  died  of  apoplexy  within  a  day  of  each 
other  (the  old  co-partnership),  Bull  and  Bullock; 
a  pauper  negro,  Nick  Johnson ;  five  or  six  sick- 
ly-looking, crook-backed  wood-sawyers;  Quib- 
ble, a  rusty  attorney,  with  the  dirty  end  of  a 
declaration  in  covenant  sticking  out  of  his 
breeches'  pocket,  &c.,  &c. 

«  Call  into  Court !"  I  exclaimed,  in  a  voice 
of  command,  to  a  feeble  old  crier  of  the  Com- 
mon Pleas,  that  had  appeared  (privilege  of  his 
former  office)  without  summons  to  tell  his  tale 


of  wo — "  Call  into  Court  aU  those  that  have 
died  of  harsh  usage  and  broken  hearts  !"  and, 
feeble  as  was  the  voice  of  the  tottering  beadle, 
at  his  summons  an  innumerable  company  of  hag- 
gard creatures  started  up  and  swarmed  in  every 
part  of  Potters'  Field.  A  countless  throng  of 
faces  was  before  me,  men,  women,  and  children 
— but  all  of  them  wearing  a  certain  proof  of 
the  deep  anguish  that  had  cut  to  the  heart  and 
brought  them  to  the  grave.  Who  knew  their 
malady,  as  they  pined  away  day  by  day,  like 
fruits  that  perish  internally,  and  drop  from  the 
tree  without  seeming  frost  or  blight  ?  None ! 
not  one ! 

Some  of  them  died  ofi"  abruptly — others  lin- 
gered along  for  months,  and  a  few,  to  whom  na- 
ture had  furnished  stout  masculine  hearts, 
weathered  it  for  a  year  or  two ;  and  then  the 
undertaker  (such  a  one  as  poverty  could  afford) 
was  called  in;  the  hearse  stood  at  the  door; 
the  neighbors'  children  gathered  wonderingly 
about  the  house  and  waUc ;  a  few  of  the  better- 
hearted  neighbors  dropped  in;  more  of  them 
looked  out  at  their  windows,  or  put  their  caps 
together  and  discussed  the  dead  one's  disease — 
some  calling  it  pleurisy,  and  some,  nearer  the 
trutli,  an  affection  of  the  heart,  but  none,  not 
one,  (unless  some  single  sister  or  shrewd  aunt 
that  lived  with  the  poor  family,)  dreaming  it 
was  that  terrible  and  crushing  form  of  the  dis- 
ease— a  broken  heart.  Thus  the  poor-house 
train  passes  from  the  door ;  the  corpse  in  its 
plain  pine-coffin  is  deposited  in  the  grave ;  and 
henceforth  the  dead  is  dead  to  all  the  earth ! 
There  is  nothing  by  which  to  remember  the 
poor  that  are  gone  !  It  is  only  over  them  as  a 
multitude,  whose  combined  sorrows  and  suffer- 
ings assume  to  the  fancy  a  huge  and  dreadful 
aspect,  that  any  one  mourns. 

As  individuals,  while  living,  none  cares  for 
them  but  death ;— dead,  none  regards  them  but 
God! 


GREASY  PETERSON. 

Smooth,  unctuous,  fish-faced  being !  that  sit- 
test  duck-Uke,  perched  on  the  oil-barrel's  edge, 
ready  to  make  a  plunge  into  the  sea  of  business 
that  roars  at  thy  feet — Calmness  personified, 
holy  Peace,  Placidity,  and  Quiet  descended  to 
earth  in  the  guise  of  a  green-grocer  !  Gieasy 
Peterson,  vulgar  mortals  have  named  thee, 
knowing  not  the  true  sweetness  and  blessedness 
of  thy  life  in  its  even  flow.  Judged  by  thy  gar- 
ments, thou  art  in  truth  a  poor  devU.  A  blue 
coat  patched  like  the  sky  with  spots  of  cloudy 
black,  oil-spotted  drab  breeches,  cased  in  coarse 
overalls  of  bagging,  are  not  the  vestments  in 
which  worldly  greatness  clothes  itself,  or 
worldly  wisdom  is  willing  to  be  seen  walking 
streets  and  higliways.  True,  thou  hast  a  jolly 
person  and  goodly  estate  of  flesh  and  blood  un- 
der such  habiliments.  Glide  on,  glide  on. 
Oleaginous  Robert— like  a  river  of  oil,  and  be 


20 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


thy  taper  of  life  quenched  silently  as  pure  sper- 
maceti ! 

Robert  Peterson,  Esq.,  green-grocer  and  tal- 
low-chandler, possessed  the  most  incongruous 
face  that  ever  adorned  the  head  of  mortal. 

His  nose  thrust  itself  out,  a  huge  promontory 
of  flesh,  at  whose  base  two  pool-like  eyes  spar- 
kled small,  clear,  and  twinkling,  while  a  river 
of  mouth  ran  athwart  its  extreme  projection, 
flowing  almost  from  ear  to  ear,  with  only  a  nar- 
row strip  of  ruddy  cheek  intervening. 

Within,  greasy  Bob  possessed  a  mind  as  curi- 
ously assorted  as  his  countenance.  It  was 
composed  of  fragments  of  every  thing,  bits  of 
knowledge  of  one  kind  and  another  strangely 
stitched  together,  and  forming  an  odd  patch- 
work brain,  whose  operations  it  was  a  merry 
spectacle  to  observe. 

"  Good  morning,  neighbor  Peterson,"  said  a 
small,  snipe-nosed  fruiterer  from  next  door, 
*'  Good  morning ! — I  hope  we  shall  have  fine 
weather  now  the  wind  has  shifted  his  tail  to  the 
Nor'-west." 

"  Hopes  it  may  be  so,  Mr.  Tart — the  stars 
were  precious  clear  last  night,  the  sky  was  a 
healthy  red  this  morning — and  farmer  Veal 
brought  in  his  poultry  to  be  ready  for  sale  by 
noon.  I  hope  the  bank  will  give  me  a  lift  to 
day,  for  I  didn't  know  but  we  should  lose  our 
little  girl  last  night — ^with  the  measles  ;  she  was 
sickly,  very  sickly.  Perhaps  peaches  are  cheap 
now  ?  aren't  they,  Mr.  Tart  ?  How  is  the  little 
widow,  Mr.  Tart  ?  I  bought  a'  firkin  prime  but- 
ter Wednesday  afternoon,  Mr.  Tart,  only  one 
and  six  per  pound.  That  dress  of  the  young 
parson's  is  horrid  taste,  bright  buttons  and  rain- 
bow-colored neckerchief !"  And  so  Mr.  Peter- 
son would  ramble  on  by  the  hour,  touching  on 
every  imaginable  subject,  exhausting  none, 
adorning  all  by  a  placid  and  inimitable  face,  and 
a  peculiar,  emphatic,  jerking  delivery.  It  is 
calculated  by  an  acute  and  accurate  neighbor 
of  his,(a  patent  astronomical  instrument-maker,) 
that  in  one  day  Greasy  Peterson  touched  on  one 
hundred  and  twenty-three  distinct  subjects  with- 
out devoting  more  than  two  seconds  and  a  quar- 
ter of  remark  to  any  one. 

There  was  a  flavor  of  this  same  grotesque 
humor  in  every  thing  that  he  said  or  did. 

The  store  in  which  he  carried  on  trade  pre- 
sented the  same  parti-colored  confusion  and  va- 
riety as  his  conversation.  It  was  a  congregation 
of  an  infinite  diversity  of  wares  and  merchan- 
dises ;  a  piebald  assemblage  of  boxes,  candles, 
loaves,  dried  fish,  fresh  fish,  green  cabbage,  red 
"^oses  in  pots  in  the  window,  scales,  antique 
iiatchets,  pyramidal  and  cone-shaped  loaves  of 
sugar  in  blue-paper  caps,  cinnamons  and  cloves 
m  flaunting  frocks  of  yellow,  and  Greasy  Peter- 
son, presiding  in  the  midst,  mounted  on  keg  or 
counter,  like  a  Turkish  Muezzin,  in  a  rusty 
cocked  beaver. 

The  outside  of  this  singular  edifice  answered 
aptly  to  the  interior.  Originally  it  was  a  low 
stone  building,  with  a  tile  roof,  occupied  as  a 
powder-house,  with  small  square  windows,  pro- 


tected by  iron  gratings.  About  the  twentieth 
year  of  the  pres'ent  century  the  tile  roof  had 
been  shattered  by  a  heavy  thunder-clap,  and  for 
a  time  the  little  powder-house  remained  tenant- 
less,  unless  the  landlord  chose  to  collect  his  rent 
from  a  ghost  in  goggle  eyes  that  was  said  to  oc- 
cupy the  premises.  In  the  year  twenty-five  (Z 
think  it  was)  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Pe- 
terson, who  immediately  set  about  converting  t 
into  a  store  and  dwelling.  The  first  step  in  this 
important  undertaking  was,  to  build  upon  the 
stone-work  that  had  survived  the  storm,  an  up- 
per story  and  attic  of  wood ;  and  when  this  was 
completed,  the  innocent  little  powder-house 
looked  very  much  like  a  stiff  old  maid  that  has 
weathered  half  a  dozen  changes  of  fashion,  and 
chooses  to  wear  an  under-gown  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, topped  with  a  boddice  and  head-dress  of  the 
newest  gloss. 

Next,  the  windows  were  enlarged  in  length 
and  breadth,  the  bars  removed,  and  a  noisy  pair 
of  shutters  given  to  each. 

But  the  finishing-stroke  remained.  The  fan- 
tastic tenement  was  yet  to  be  painted,  and  here 
the  riant  humor  of  Mr.  Robert  Peterson  broke 
away  from  rein  and  bridle,  and  fairly  galloped 
off  with  all  the  plain  sense  of  the  worthy  chan- 
dler. He  entered  into  contracts  with  no  less 
than  six  painters  for  the  painting  and  ornament- 
ing of  his  new-fangled  edifice,  believing  that  no 
less  a  number  could  furnish  a  sufficient  assort- 
ment of  colors.  And  to  each  one  of  the  six  he 
gave  special  directions  as  to  the  compounding 
of  novel  and  unheard-of  varieties  of  tint. 

And  now  that  Peterson's  powder-house  has 
left  the  brush  of  six  painters,  it  shines  upon  the 
adjacent  streets,  a  many-colored  meteor  !  rival- 
ling the  sky  itself  in  the  brilliancy  and  variety 
of  its  tints.  It  is  sunset  imbodied  in  stone  and 
wood,  only  with  new  and  greater  accessions  of 
gorgeous  hue.  An  enormous  dot  of  paint,  as  it 
were,  planted  at  the  corner,  saying,  « Stop 
here  !"  A  vasty  exclamation-mark  of  red  and 
blue  and  yellow,  dashed  down  at  the  junction 
of  the  streets,  demanding  the  wayfarer's  pause, 
and  the  wagoner's  mounted  admiration. 

As  in  a  hero  everything  is  (or  should  be)  he- 
roic, so,  as  I  have  before  noted,  every  thing  con- 
nected with  the  worthy  green-grocer  assumed 
some  color  of  the  humorous. 

The  eleventh  year  from  his  opening  store  and 
establishing  his  family  in  the  powder-house, 
Mr.  Peterson,  by  dint  of  large  profits  and  small 
expenditures,  was  able  to  set  up  a  snug  equi- 
page for  family  use.  This  was  a  light  vehicle 
with  a  green  leather  cover,  extending  over  the 
whole  length,  so  that  it  resembled  an  airy  mar- 
ket wagon,  fixed  upon  high  stout  springs,  and 
containing  four  seats  within.  Drawn  by  a  sin- 
gle, sleek,  shining  nag  of  very  moderate  size  and 
stature,  the  Peterson  family  were  accustomed  to 
visit  certain  kindred  of  theirs  living  at  Pelham 
and  West  Farms.  It  was  a  rare  sight  to  see  ,, 
them  setting  forth  from  the  front-door  of  their  ^ 
gaudy  dwelling  :  in  front  sat  Greasy  Peterson 
himself,  smiling  in  a  new  sky-blue  coat,  with 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  SOL.  CLARION. 


21 


uright  buttons,  tightly  fastened  up  to  his  chin, 
light  plush  pantaloons,  and  an  unctuous  face 
and  a  pair  of  buckskin  gloves  ;  the  whole  per- 
son surmounted  by  a  glossy  black  beaver  hat ; 
driving  his  way  forward  with  considerable 
speed,  by  the  aid  of  sundry  encouraging  chir- 
rups and  admonitory,  "  Ge-ups,"  and  "  Get-a- 
longs."  By  the  side  of  him  was  discovered  the 
slim,  upright  form  of  Robert  Peterson,  jr.,  his 
eldest  son,  holding  a  black-handled  coach- whip 
in  his  hand,  with  which  he  greeted,  in  the  prog- 
ress of  travel,  innumerable  vagrant  curs,  that 
hailed  him  open-mouthed  at  the  doors  by  which 
they  passed.  On  the  seat  immediately  behind 
these  two  worthies  sat  Messrs.  Eliphalet  and 
Bildad  Peterson,  holding  transverse  across  their 
breasts  a  child  white  and  slim  as  if  cast  in  a 
candle-mould,  recently  baptized  Thalia,  (soften- 
ed by  the  same  monsters  that  christened  her 
sire  "  Greasy,")  into  Tallow  Peterson.  On 
the  next  seat  rearward  were  disposed  two  in- 
teresting children  in  calico  frocks — Moses  and 
Johnny  Peterson,  and  supporting  the  uttermost 
rear  reposed  Mrs.  Sophia  Peterson,  the  corpu- 
lent spouse  of  Robert,  and  Sophia  Peterson,  jr., 
a  girl  with  a  large  head  and  beautiful  set  of  deli- 
cate small  teeth. 

With  this  burden  behind  him,  the  little  nag 
ambled  on  quietly  and  in  good  cheer,  although 
the  vehicle  that  he  drew  was  elevated  so  high 
above  him,  that  the  tenants  of  the  wagon  and 
the  sleek  horse,  seemed  to  belong  to  altogether 
different  planets.  Their  return  from  these  visits 
was  still  more  grotesque,  for  their  family-car- 
riage generally  trundled  into  town  garnished 
with  baskets  of  fresh,  sweet-scented  apples,  and 
a  pair  or  two  of  tender  poultry,  presented  by  the 
kindly  farmer  friends  whom  they  had  visited, 
hanging  at  the  sides,  enlivened  at  times  by  a  gay 
string  of  onions,  or  an  ambitious  head  of  cabbage. 

If  I  were  called  upon  to  name  the  prevailing 
characteristic  of  Mr.  Peterson's  mind,  I  should 
say,  with  deference  to  better  judgments,  it  was 
a  certain,  practical,  business  shrewdness,  that 
never  allowed  itself  to  slumber  or  to  be  over- 
reached. Whenever  trade  was  the  subject,  or 
bargain  the  object  of  conversation,  all  the  inco- 
herence I  have  spoken  of  disappeared,  and  his 
mind  flowed  forth  in  a  quiet,  steady  stream  of 
plain  good  sense  and  useful  knowledge.  Those 
outward  limbs  and  flourishes  were  instantly 
lopped  off  by  the  exacting  knife  of  business  and 
gain,  and  the  simple,  unadorned  trunk  of  the 
matter  stood  disencumbered.  Many  are  the 
prime  bargains  Peterson  has  entrapped  unwary 
boatmen  and  butter-merchants  into,  by  help  of 
his  rude  garments  and  vagabond  presentment. 

"  How  much  do  you  ask  a  pound  for  these 
firkins,  squire  ?"  asked  Greasy  Peterson  one  day, 
dressed  in  his  roughest  suit  of  clothes,  and  a  hat 
with  only  half  a  rim. 

"  Why,  loafer,"   replied  the  captain  of  the 
loop,  to  whom  this  question  was  addressed  in 

slouching,  careless  tone,  "why  uncle   oUy- 
reeches,  I  guess  you  may  have  it  at  six  pence 
a  pound  the  lot." 

2 


"  I'll  take  it,  sir !"  said  Greasy  Peterson, 
thi-owing  an  air  of  considerable  seriousness  and 
dignity  into  his  remark,  which  startled  the  rash 
butter-merchant  slightly. 

"  But  mind  ye,  neighbor — it's  cash  down  at 
that  price  !  Come,  fork  over  the  solid.  Old 
Rags,"  said  the  boatman,  with  a  loud  laugh, 
and  turning  with  a  quizzical  leer  to  a  group  of 
captains,  and  sloop-boys  that  had  gathered  to 
see  the  fun. 

"  Here  it  is  !"  responded  Peterson,  coolly, 
taking  out  a  dirty  buckskin  bag,  and  counting 
down  in  hard  silver  the  sum  to  which  the  twenty- 
five  firkins  of  butter  amounted ;  ordered  the 
whole  upon  a  cart,  and  jumping  on  himself, 
touched  his  hat  very  politely,  and  bade  the  as- 
tounded crew  of  boatmen,  "  Good  afternoon  !" 

The  rash  captain  lives  to  this  day,  and  indul- 
ges in  a  curious  half-laugh,  when  he  is  engaged 
in  bargaining,  that  is  known  along  the  wharves 
as  the  famous  Greasy  Peterson  chuckle. 

About  the  forty-third  year  of  his  age,  the 
worthy  grocer  was  visited  by  apoplexy  which 
di'ied  up  his  vital  juices,  and  withered  his  person 
like  an  apple  blown  from  the  tree,  nipped  by 
autumn  frosts.  The  physicians  straightway 
hurried  in,  and  bled  him  so  freely,  that  the  fresh 
gloss  and  old  smoothness  departed  from  his 
countenance,  and  left  him  a  sorry  spectacle 
compared  with  the  former  galliard  and  jovial 
creature  that  answered  to  his  name.  He  how- 
ever recovered  so  far  in  a  few  weeks  as  to  be 
able  to  hobble  out  towards  noon,  and  plant  him- 
self on  a  stool,  on  the  sunny  side  of  his  store, 
to  air  his  constitution,  and  receive  the  congratu- 
lations and  good  wishes  of  his  friends  and  neigh- 
bors as  they  passed  or  paused  awhile  to  inquire 
more  minutely  after  his  health.  In  a  short 
time  (despite  his  careful  diet  and  the  skilful 
practice  of  his  physicians),  a  second  and  heavier 
stroke  of  the  disease  fell  upon  him  and  carried 
him  off,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the 
same  day  on  which  the  celebrated  fat  ox,  Billy 
Lambert,  arrived  in  town. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  SOL. 
CLARION. 

Gentle,  charitable,  benevolent  reader!  if 
thou  feelest  disposed  to  aid  thine  author  in  a 
sore  perplexity,  and  to  dispense  unto  him,  out 
of  the  abundance  of  thy  geographical  erudition, 
permit  him  to  address  to  thee  (humbly  confess- 
ing his  manifold  ignorance)  a  single  inter- 
rogatory :  Where  is  the  city  of  Peth  ?  Many 
times  have  I  journeyed  along  the  highway,  that 
runs  through  Greenwich,  in  the  state  of  Con- 
necticut, and  heaxd  some  learned  traveller  that 
rode  with  me  say, "  Yonder  is  the  city  of  Peth  !" 
pointing  to  the  northeast :  and  looking  thither, 
I  have  discovered  nought  but  a  common  hill- 
side, with  a  single  low  tenement  feebly  sustain- 
ing itself  amid  a  score  of  rocks,  and  three  or 
four  straggling  apple-trees. 


22 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


Nevertheless  m  that  illustrious  city,  wher- 
ever it  be,  the  city  of  Peth,  of  whose  inhabitants 
the  country  doggerel  says — 

"  Half  ran  away,  and  half  starved  to  death," 

did  the  equally  illustrious  Solomon  Clarion  find 
a  dwelling-place. 

Humanity  never  assumed  a  more  joyous  and 
gladsome  form  than  thine,  blithe  Sol.  Clarion  ! 
Ah!  why  didst  thou  leave  the  tumbling  hay- 
mow, and  the  fresh  stream,  to  become  a  pilgrim 
to  this  Babel  of  ours  ?     Why  didst  thou  aban- 


around.  If  any  farmer,  or  farmer's  son,  or  ser- 
ving-man, wished  to  be  witty  at  the  very  cheap- 
est rate  and  smallest  possible  expenditure  of 
thought,  no  better  luck  could  betide  him  than 
to  chance  upon  foolish  Will.  If  a  gallant  was 
anxious  to  obtain  the  reputation  of  vast  face- 
tiousness  and  great  brilliancy  of  intellect  with 
his  mistress,  his  fortune  could  be  no  sooner 
made  than  by  having  poor  Robin  drop  in  to 
have  a  few  small,  innocent  jests  thrust  into  his 
pin-cushion  brain  without  reply. 

But  Solomon  Clarion  found  better  matter  and 
don  the  festal  company  of  rustic  youths  and  ,  better  services  in  Will  than  these.  He  saw  in 
maidens,  to  mingle  with  the  tide  of  dark  or  care-  I  the  poor  varlet  concealed  veins  of  feeling  and 
worn  faces  that  flows  tlirough  our  streets  ?  |  odd  streaks  of  fancy,  checkering  what  the  world 

In  his  earliest  prime,  young  Clarion  lost  his  i  considered  his  vacant  heart  and  blank  intellect. 


mother  (a  golden  woman — full  of  the  delicacies 
and  rich  fruits  that  belong  to  her  sex,  dashed 
with  something  of  a  wilder  savor),  and  was 
brought  to  yonder  poor  dwelling  to  be  a  house- 
mate with  his  mother's  parents. 

Young  Solomon's  character  soon  developed 
itself,  and  proved  to  be  of  a  mingled  yarn. 
None  was  gayer  at  school  or  in  the  orchard  at 
play  than  he  :  and  yet,  at  times,  none  was  sad- 
der or  more  thoughtful. 


He  saw  in  him  innocence  and  purity,  a  sense  of 
love,  and  a  deep  sense  of  attachment  wasted 
(unless  some  human  being  like  himself  chose  to 
garner  them  for  the  simple  owner)  on  dogs,  and 
birds,  and  horses,  and  others  of  the  thoughtless 
tribe. 

Conversation  with  Will,  too,  though  sadly- 
strange  and  disjointed,  occasionally  let  the  light 
in,  as  it  were  through  the  chinks  of  a  disorder- 
ed brain,  upon  curious  trains  and  passages  of 


Some  holydays  he  passed  in  merry  game  and   thought.     At  times,  he  garnished  his  remarks 


wild  frolic  with  his  little  school  companions, 
others  he  spent  far  away  in  the  woods,  or  wan- 
dering through  the  green  meadows,  or  loitering 
slowly  by  the  babbling  brook.  It  was  Solomon 
Clarion  (that  fear-nought  boy)   that  rode  the 


unconsciously  with  rare  conceits  that  might 
have  gained  for  a  wiser  man  the  reputation  of 
a  bountiful  wit. 

"  As  true  as  I'm  Will  Robin,"  he  exclaimed, 
one  clear,  fair  evening,  as  they  were  returning 


wild  colts,  and  ran  at  the  heels  of  every  mad  ;  together  through  a  meadow,  from  a  long  sum- 


bull  that  roared  in  the  county  !  It  was  Solo 
mon  Clarion  that  was  caught  in  an  attitude  of 
breathless  and  reverential  regard,  watching  the 
glorious  sunset  or  the  stars  climbing  the  sky  ! 

In  front  of  his  grandfather's  dwelling,  and  by 
the  road-side,  stood  a  dry,  dead  old  cherrj'-tree, 
which  had  been  barren  of  fruitage  for  many 
years.  It  had  been  planted  by  a  quaint  old 
bachelor  uncle,  and  was  considered  a  precious 
family  relic ;  and  as  such,  Sol.  himself  regard- 
ed it  until  one  day,  a  clear  April  holyday,  in  a 
gamesome  mood  he  doomed  its  overthrow.  Ga- 
thering a  noisy  band  of  school-feUows,  he  issued 
his  warrant  against  old  uncle  Cherry  (the  name 
by  which  it  was  known  throughout  the  neigh- 
borhood), and,  producing  a  coil  of  rope,  ascend- 
ed the  tree,  and  fixed  a  halter  round  its  mos- 
sy old  neck.  At  a  signal  the  boys  gave  a  hear- 
ty puU  (none  heartier  than  Clarion!)  and, 
with  a  clamorous  shout,  it  fell  to  the  earth.  In 
a  moment  or  two  Solomon  was  missing,  and  his 
comrades,  after  considerable  search,  discovered 
him  over  the  fence,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  sli- 
ding a  fragment  of  the  mouldering  bark  of  old 
uncle  Cherry  thoughtfully  into  his  pocket.  So 
strange  a  creature  was  Clarion ! 

Sol's  chosen  friend  and  boon  companion,  was 
a  simple  fellow  by  the  name  of  Will  Robin — 
or  Foolish  Will,  as  he  was  better  known,  and 
whose  general  character,  although  brightened 
and  improved  by  occasional  flashes  of  wit  and 
shrewdness,  justified  the  epithet.  He  was  the 
butt  and  target  of  all  the  boors  for  twenty  miles 


mer's  day  ramble,  "  yonder's  Preacher  Purdy's 
new  white  beaver  hat — nailed  up  by  the  rim — > 
Look !" 

Sol.  Clarion  gazed  in  the  direction  to  which 
he  pointed,  and  answered,  "  Why,  Will,  I  see^ 
nothing  where  you  point  but  the  plain,  old  moon 
in  her  first  quarter." 

*'  You  may  well  call  her  plain,"  replied  Will, 
catching  a  new  thread  of  thought ;  "  if  it  be  the 
moon  (I'm  not  clear  on  that  point  yet),  she  is 
the  only  decent  planet  in  the  sky.  She  behaves 
something  like,  and  keeps  up  a  good  bright  light 
when  it's  wanted,  and  is  dressed  in  good,  home- 
ly, clean  linen  in  the  bargain;  wliile  your 
fiery  old  sun  capers  up  and  down  in  crimson  vel- 
vet, making  everybody  lecherous  and  apoplec- 
tic— I  don't  care  who  knows  it." 

«  It's  Preacher  Purdy's  hat,  is  it.  Will  ?"  said 
Clarion,  anxious  to  bring  him  back  to  his  origi- 
nal suggestion,  and  to  see  what  he  would  make 
of  it. 

"  Yes,  it  is  Preacher  Purdy's  hat,  I'm  sure  of 
that ;  for  don't  I  see  the  woolly  nap  on  it  now  I 
look  closer" — clapping  his  hand,  folded  like  a 
telescope,  to  his  eye,  and  watching  as  two  or 
three  fleecy  clouds  crossed  the  disc  of  the  plan- 
et— "  what  a  beautiful  wren-house  and  place 
for  swallows  and  martens !  I  wish  my  little  flock 
of  blue-coated  beauties  had  as  good  quarters — 
it's  softer  and  nicer  than  an  old  black  hat.  But 
the  preacher'U  have  to  go  bare-headed  to  meet- 
ing next  sabbath— that'll  be  funny !"  And  poor 
Will  burst  into  a  boisterous  roar  of  laughter, 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  SOL.  CLARION. 


23 


ill  which  Sol.  was  forced  to  join,  for  the  sake  of 
good  fellowship. 

In  all  Sol.  Clarion's  jovial  doings  and  merry- 
makings, Foolish  Will  was  a  faithful  squire  and 
attendant ;  and,  simple  as  was  the  brain  of  the 
strange  creature,  it  always  had  sufficient  saga- 
city to  comprehend  the  drift  and  purpose  of  a 
joke  of  Sol's.,  and  to  i^urnish  its  little  tribute  of 
suggestions  to  help  it  forward.  One  day  (it 
was  Sunday,  in  June),  it  came  into  Sol.  Clari- 
on's head  to  make  a  pilgrimage,  with  rod  and 
line,  to  Rye  Pond  or  Lake  Westchester,  some 
five  or  six  miles  distant  from  his  home.  He  lay 
under  an  apple-tree,  cogitating  some  method  of 
safe  and  easy  conveyance,  when  Foolish  Will, 
in  one  of  his  wild  capers,  came  rolling  down  the 
hill  into  the  orchard,  and  directly  against  the 
ribs  of  the  thoughtful  Solomon. 

"  Heigho !"  cried  he,  "  this  is  a  new  style  of 
salutation  on  a  Sunday  morning.  I  have  full  1 
confidence.  Will,  in  your  affection,  without  j 
these  heavy  tokens.  Be  pleased  to  take  off"  your  [ 
carcass,  and  give  me  a  comfortable  morsel  of 
advice." 

"  Advice  !  Sol.,  if  you  want  that,  it  is  but  a 
stone's-throw  to  friend  Bloom's,  and  he  has 
enough  to  turn  his  own  mill  and  some  over  for 
his  neighbors.  That's  a  fine  owl  of  a  fellow, 
his  oldest  son — I'm  sure  of  that,  Solomon  !"  and 
he  twisted  his  face  as  nearly  into  an  outline  of 
the  bird's  visnomy,  as  his  smooth  features  would 
allow. 

"  Never  mind  Booby  Bloom,  Will,"  continued 
Clarion,  *'  I'm  bent  for  a  fishing  excursion  to- 
day." 

"  And  want  me  to  hang  on,  as  a  poor  worm, 
for  a  bait  I  suppose ;"  and  an  altogether  unne- 
cessary tear  filled  the  eye  of  the  gentle-hearted 
fool. 

"  No,  no,  Will,  not  for  that,"  returned  Solo- 
mon, in  a  persuasive  accent.  "  No,  Willie,  you 
must  borrow  some  good  neighbor's  horse  and 
wagon  and  ride  with  me." 

"  Black  snakes  and  tree-toads  take  me  if  I 
will,"  exclaimed  poor  Robin,  "  I'll  ride  without 
loan  or  purchase.  There's  old  Bloom's  black 
nag  running  at  large  in  the  woods ;  all  the 
family's  away  to  meeting,  save  blind  Dick  and 
deaf  aunt  Sally.  Come,  I'll  bring  down  gran'fa- 
ther's  rusty  saddle,  and  Ave'll  mount  and  shog 
off".  Come,"  he  concluded,  taking  Clarion  by 
the  hand,  and  drawing  him  up  from  his  recum- 
bent position,  "  come.  Master  Solomon,  it's  the 
best  thing  we  can  do."  And  so  Master  Solo- 
mon seemed  to  think  too,  for  he  leaped  up,  ran 
into  the  house,  and  in  a  trice  brought  forth  a 
dusty  demipique  saddle  and  broken  bridle, 
wliich  latter  he  handed  to  Foolish  Will.  They 
soon  reached  the  'voods  together,  the  black  nag 
was  speedily  caparisoned,  and  they  were  on 
their  way  to  the  I  ond. 

That  was  a  del'  eious  day  to  the  soul  of  Sol. 
Clarion.  Grave  /  )ys,  if  I  may  so  speak,  and 
pleasing  sadness  blended  together,  and  steeped 
liim  in  a  stream  of  pure  delight.  Nature  on  the 
one  side  opened  her  fair  page,  and  on  the  other 


side  sat  WiU  Robin,  a  most  rare  and  queer 
commentator,  turning  all  things  into  fantastic 
shapes,  and  startling  the  woods  and  the  waters 
with  fancies  never  before  heard.  Before  Sol., 
as  he  sat  upon  a  jutting  rock  embowered  in 
trees,  the  cheek  of  the  sweet  pond  swelled  with 
the  curve  and  fulness  of  beauty  itself;  kissed  by 
forest  shadows,  that  here  and  there  fell  like  ca- 
resses from  the  waving  trees.  Now  and  then  a 
stray  duck  started  out  from  the  shore,  and  flew, 
like  a  silent  thought,  to  an  opposite  quarter  of 
the  lake ;  or  a  water-snake  slipped,  from  its 
sunny  covert  on  the  margin,  back  into  its  na- 
tive element.  Afar  the  meadows  stretched  and 
swelled  into  gentle  hills,  which  lay  basking  in 
the  sun,  with  an  ox  or  horse  now  and  then  steal- 
ing quietly  across  the  landscape.  Behind  them 
(the  Prince  of  Darkness  must  have  a  foot- 
hold somewhere  !)  Bloom's  black  nag  is  teth- 
ered in  the  bushes,  munching  a  handful  of 
fresh  clover. 

"  See  yonder  thick-skinned  philosopher !" 
said  Will  Robin,  pointing  to  an  old  turtle  that 
had  perched  himself  upon  a  rock  in  the  middle 
of  the  pond,  "  I  suppose  he  has  mounted  that 
dry  pulpit  to  hold  forth  to  his  wateiy  congi'ega- 
tion.  D'ye  know  Solomon  (Master  Solomon, 
I  mean),  that  I  sometimes  think  that  these  tur- 
tles are  evil  spirits,  that  haunt  ponds  and  marsh- 
es, in  the  same  way  as  bad  men  run  up  and  down 
the  world  with  wicked  designs.  That  fellow's 
like  a  watchman  in  his  box,  that  I've  heard  teU 
of  in  the  city,  he  sees  everybody,  but  no  one 
(unless  the  great  Jehovah)  can  see  the  workings 
and  twistings  of  his  ugly  face  in  his  shell.  I 
believe  that  vile  turtle  yonder  is  Satan,"  con- 
cluded Will,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  supernatu- 
ral light,  and  his  frame  trembling  with  some 
sudden  fear  suggested  by  the  allusion,  "  for  I 
saw  him  snap  a  poor  sinner  of  a  fly  in  his  jaws ; 
and  now  see  he's  going  to  bear  him  down  with 
him  to  hell — to  hell — to  hell !"  And  poor  Robin 
mumbled  the  last  phrase  over  and  over,  as  the 
turtle  glided  slowly  from  the  rock  and  disap- 
peared. About  sunset  they  retm-ned  home,  and 
loosed  the  black  nag  in  the  woods  from  which 
they  had  taken  him. 

The  next  morning,  just  after  breakfast,  a  man 
about  forty-five  years  of  age  presented  himself 
at  the  door  in  a  brown,  quaker-cut  coat,  low 
shoes,  and  a  pair  of  loose,  gray  pantaloons,  that 
flaunted  about  his  ankles.  Furthermore,  he  had 
a  short  nose,  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  from  un- 
derneath which  a  stiff",  bristling  shock  of  hair 
spread  out  over  his  coat-collar  like  the  tail  of  a 
young  wren. 

"  A  good  morning  to  thee,  my  friends,"  said 
this  personage,  through  his  short  organ,  '•  and 
a  very  ^od  morning  to  thee,  my  young  friend, 
after  that  pleasant  ride  of  thine  on  the  Lord'3 
day,  and  on  a  stolen  horse  !" 

These  latter  words  were  more  particularly 
addressed  to  our  friend  Solomon,  who  sat  on  a 
bench  at  the  feet  of  the  old  people,  liis  grand- 
father and  grandmother.  Clarion  blushed,  and 
the  old  people  turned  pale  at  the  heinous  and 


24 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


diabolical  cnarge.  They  were  so  completely 
astounded,  that  they  sat  silent. 

"  My  young  friend,"  continued  Mr.  Bloom, 
giving  a  not  very  amicable  look  at  Solomon, 
« I'll  tell  thee  what,  I  will  not  put  thee  in  the 
White  Plains'  jail  this  time,  but  I  will  give  thee 
some  wholesome  advice."  Perhaps  Sol.  Clarion 
would  have  chosen  the  jail  rather  than  the  ad- 
vice ;  but  Friend  Bloom  gave  him  no  option, 
and  proceeded  :  "  Abandon  that  crack-brain 
William  Robin  to  his  fate ;  go  to  thy  school 
many  more  times  than  thou  dost ;  spend  thy  ho- 
lydays  nearer  at  home  ;  and  ride  not  my  black 
mare  to  the  Pond  without  my  permission."  He 
then  addressed  a  solemn  chapter  of  advice  and 
admonition  to  Sol's,  grandfather  and  grand- 
mother, and  wiping  the  corner  of  his  mouth  with 
his  coat-sleeve,  placidly  disappeared  through 
the  same  door  that  introduced  him  to  the  reader. 

Solomon  Clarion  was  now  fast  verging  tow- 
ard manhood.  In  a  few  days,  he  Avould  be  en- 
titled (besides  a  moderate  sum  of  ready  money) 
to  enter  upon  whatever  right  he  possessed  in  a 
small  cantle  of  property  (three  or  four  acres, 
with  a  house)  that  his  mother  had  bequeathed 
to  him.  An  uncle  of  Solomon's — this  was  the 
present  situation  of  the  property — had  purchased 
or  paid  a  mortgage  upon  it  given  by  Mrs.  Cla- 
rion, and  taken  possession  and  enjoyed  it  ever 
since  her  death,  upon  that  barren  title.  Pos- 
session he  still  maintained,  and  refused  to  hold 
any  conversation  with  young  Clarion  on  the 
subject.  A  neighboring  farmer,  into  whose 
land  the  acres  in  question  made  an  awkward 
elbow,  was  anxious  to  buy  Solomon's  title,  and 
dispossess  the  unlawful  occupant.  In  this  per- 
plexity, Sol.  thought  he  would  have  recourse  to 
a  legal  gentleman  whom  he  had  heard  Will 
Robin  often  mention.  This  was  Lawyer  Dou- 
blet, a  strange  old  man,  some  fourscore  years 
old  who  lived  upon  the  road,  not  far  from  the 
city  of  Peth :  and  upon  him  he  resolved  to  call. 

Accordingly,  one  morning  about  a  week  be- 
fore his  minority  expired,  Solomon  set  out,  in 
company  with  Will,  for  the  residence  of  Coun- 
sellor Peter  Doublet.  In  a  short  time,  they 
reached  an  ancient-looking  stone  house ;  and, 
poor  Robin  knocking  at  the  door,  and  inquiring 
for  the  legal  genius  of  the  place,  they  were  usher- 
ed up  stairs  :  and  here  Clarion  was  introduced 
by  his  friend  Will  to  Lawyer  Doublet,  and  was 
particularly  struck  with  his  appearance.  As 
that  venerable  advocate  rose  and  came  forward 
with  a  very  graceful  bow  to  welcome  them,  he 
presented  to  Sol's,  eye  a  well-preserved  model 
of  mortality,  with  a  flowing  white  wig,  like 
that  in  the  portraits  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  curl- 
ing over  his  shoulders ;  a  black  velvet  coat, 
with  silver  buttons,  and  skirts  stiffened  with 
buckram,  covering  a  very  moderate  set  of 
limbs ;  a  scarlet  vest  beneath  the  same ;  a  set 
of  white  small  clothes  joining  black  silk  hose, 
and  shoes  with  huge  silver  buckles. 

The  personal  history  of  this  antique-looking 
member  of  the  bar  dwelt  under  a  haze  of  con- 
siderable obscurity.    It  was  rumored  that  he 


had  taken  an  active  part  on  the  royalist  siae 
during  the  revolutionary  war,  and  now  lived 
upon  a  pension  which  he  received  from  the 
king's  coffers.  He  still  preserved  and  strictly 
maintained  the  vesture  and  habits  of  the  last 
century,  and  obstinately  refused  to  lay  aside  the 
smallest  tittle  or  thread  of  his  dress,  or  to  abate 
a  single  jot  of  the  severity  of  ancient  manners. 
In  truth,  he  was  a  creature  of  past  times.  The 
best  part  of  his  life  had  lain  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  and  he  was,  in  a  manner,  a  trespasser 
upon  the  territory  of  the  nineteenth.  All  his 
thoughts  and  feelings  dated  back  forty  years. 
He  saw  every  object  through  time's  telescope 
inverted.  The  books  that  he  read  and  quoted, 
the  cogitations  that  he  cogitated,  the  opinions 
he  delivered,  were  all  musty  with  age. 

The  apartment  into  which  Clarion  had  been 
introduced  was  in  character  with  its  curious 
proprietor.  From  the  windows  hung  old  dam- 
ask curtains,  with  gold-lace  borders,  which  per- 
mitted a  mild  twilight  to  creep  through  the 
room,  part  of  which  fell  upon  an  ancient  case 
of  books  fastened  against  the  opposite  wall. 
Every  volume  was  black  with  years.  Behind 
a  little  low  table,  strown  with  pieces  of  parch- 
ment, silver-hilted  pens,  and  curious  old  pipes 
and  snufi-boxes,  stood  a  high-backed  chair  with 
a  red  leather  cushion,  ornamented  with  a  pair 
of  raised  cock-pheasants  fighting  a  duel  under 
an  oak-branch  similarly  executed,  and  striving 
to  pick  each  other's  eyes  out :  a  very  happy  il- 
lustration of  the  benefits  of  sprightly  litigation  ! 

When  the  whole  party  was  seated,  Sol.  Cla- 
rion briefly  opened  his  case,  and  stated  his 
strong  desire  to  sell  the  land  to  Farmer  Bull, 
who  had  offered  a  fair  price  :  mentioning  at  the 
same  time  Farmer  Bull's  reluctance  to  pay  a 
very  large  sum  for  making  and  drawing  the 
deed,  and  his  own  unwillingness  to  become  a 
party  to  an  ejectment  suit  against  his  uncle. 

"  I  see  the  remedy,  Mr.  Clarion,'^  said  Law- 
yer Doublet,  rising  under  considerable  excite- 
ment, and  pacing  to  and  fro  between  his  high- 
backed  chair  and  the  window ;  "  I  see  it,  sir, 
as  clear  as  a  plea  in  chancery  with  twelve 
branches !" 

"  And  pray  what  is  it,  if  you  please,  sir  ?" 
asked  Solomon,  in  breathless  expectation. 

"Nothing  less,  sir,  than  livery  of  seisin!" 
and  he  looked  earnestly  into  Clarion's  face,  ex- 
pecting, no  doubt,  to  see  it  brighten  with  joy  at 
this  fortunate  and  profound  suggestion. 

"  Will  that  cost  much  ?"  inquired  Sol.  Cla- 
rion. 

"  No,  sir ;  a  mere  trifle.  It  is  the  cheapest^ 
and  plainest,  and  wisest,  and  noblest,  &c.,  &.c. 
process  ever  devised  by  brain  of  man  for  con- 
veyance of  lands  ! — If  I  knew  the  author  of  it, 
my  young  friend,  I  would  plant  his  bust  up 
there :  and  you,  my  good  old  king" — addressing 
himself  to  a  bronze  head  of  George  II.,  stand- 
ing on  the  top  of  his  book-case — "  you  would 
have  to  tramp  ! — *  when  the  sage  comes  up,  the 
king  goes  down,'  Mr.  Clarion,  as  the  Baker's 
broadside  of  1790  hath  it." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  SOL.  CLARION. 


25 


"  Yes,"  humbly  suggested  Poor  Will,  *•' '  and 
ten  to  one  both  have  a  cracked  crown.'  Your 
sage  addles  his  in  attempting  to  stuff  it  too  full 
of  reading,  and  your  king  breaks  his  in  attempt- 
ing to  stretch  it  larger  !"  and  Will  burst  into  a 
hearty  laugh,  while  Sol.  Clarion  smiled. 

This  sally,  however,  was  not  quite  so  well 
received  by  Counsellor  Doublet,  who  assumed 
a  portentous  look  of  professional  consequence ; 
and  thrusting  his  hands  into  his  hinder  coat- 
pockets,  strided  up  and  down  the  room,  re- 
buking the  unfortunate  Robin  for  his  audacity 
m  tr}'ing  wits  with  Peter  Doublet,  Esquire, 
counsellor,  who  had  Touchstone  at  his  finger's 
end,  and  was  so  profoundly  read  in  the  Twelve 
Tables,  as  to  sometimes  believe  himself  to  have 
been  one  of  the  framers  of  the  same. 

Will  apologised  humbly  (Clarion  aiding  him), 
and  they  relapsed  into  business. 

"  I  will  prepare  the  papers  that  are  necessary 
between  yourself,  Mr.  Clarion,  and  Mr.  Obed 
Bull,"  continued  Counsellor  Doublet,  with  more 
gravity  and  weight  of  manner  than  he  had  at 
first  exhibited,  "  and  next  Wednesday  (I  think 
Tuesday  is  your  twenty-first  birthday,  Mr.  Cla- 
rion :"  Clarion  nodded  acknowledgment), "  next 
Wednesday  morning  we  will  ride  to  the  proper- 
ty, myself  and  you,  Mr.  Clarion,  and  Mr.  Bull ; 
and  this  poor  creature  may  go  with  us  ;  perhaps 
he  may  minister  some  trifling  service :  and  there 
we  will  deliver  possession  by  livery  of  seisin 
under  the  old  law  (the  d — 1  taking,  if  he  please, 
lease  and  release,  and  such  modern  traps  and 
tricks  of  pettifoggers)." 

An  hour  was  named  for  the  parties  to  assem- 
ble at  the  house  of  Lawy-er  Doublet ;  Clarion 
and  Will  Robin  arose  to  depart,  and  with  them 
rose  the  counsellor  himself,  and  opening  the 
door,  he  heralded  the  way  down  stairs,  unfast- 
ened the  front-door,  and,  standing  uncovered 
upon  the  stone  porch,  he  bowed  twice  or  thrice, 
and  ceremoniously  bade  Solomon  Clarion  "  a 
good  day — with  God's  blessing !" 

Promptly  at  the  appointed  hour,  Sol.  Clarion, 
on  a  bright  bay  horse,  borrowed  from  a  neigh- 
bor, and  Foolish  Will  Robin  on  a  rough  colt, 
obtained  in  a  similar  manner,  wheeled  up  to  the 
door  of  Lawyer  Doublet.  In  a  short  time,  the 
counsellor  came  forth,  dressed  as  we  have  de- 
scribed him,  with  the  additional  personal  orna- 
ments of  a  sword  at  his  side,  with  a  silver  hilt, 
a  cocked  hat,  fringed  with  gold  lace,  on  his 
head,  and  a  blue  bag,  containing  his  papers  and 
documents,  under  his  arm.  As  he  stepped  from 
the  porch,  a  high,  raw-boned  steed,  of  a  mixed 
sorrel  complexion,  was  brought  up,  tricked  out 
in  an  antique  martingale,  old  double  bits,  a 
horse-cover  in  the  style  of  the  revolution,  and 
a  saddle  about  fifty  years  old.  With  the  aid  of 
Foolish  Will,  Counsellor  Doublet,  having  care- 
fully attached  the  blue  bag  to  the  saddle-bows, 
mounted  into  the  broad  shovel-stirrups,  and  be- 
ing in  a  few  minutes  joined  by  Mr.  Obed  Bull, 
in  a  buff  coat,  the  party  set  out  for  the  scene 
of  action,  which  was  about  three  miles  up  the 
road.    They  formed  a  gallant  spectacle  for 


the  dames  of  King  street,  as  they  galloped 
along.  Each  moment  a  head  was  thrust  out 
from  some  shrewd  post  of  observation,  and 
some  new  face  broadened  with  wonder  at  be- 
holding Counsellor  Doublet  riding  between  Bull 
and  Clarion,  the  representative  and  memento 
of  times  that  they  had  heard  grandsires  and  old 
women  only  speak  of.  The  rustics  in  the  field 
paused  in  their  labor,  and  leaned  upon  their 
rakes  or  plough-tails  to  gaze  with  dilating  eyes. 
The  horses  turned  their  heads  in  the  furrow 
and  stared ;  the  oxen  licked  their  hairy  cheeks 
in  admiration ;  and  it  was  said,  with  some  show 
of  truth,  that  a  tin  pigeon,  acting  as  weather- 
cock on  Farmer  Barley's  farm,  wheeled' about 
on  its  pivot,  in  spite  of  the  wind,  and  rolled  its 
painted  eye-balls  and  shook  its  painted  tail  in 
wonder  and  astonishment. 

It  was  a  glorious  day  in  mid- August ;  serene, 
tranquil,  beautiful.  The  sky  was  without  spot 
or  wrinkle  of  cloud  on  its  clear,  blue  surface. 
On  each  side  of  the  road  tall  pear-trees  stood, 
swarming  with  rich,  ripe  fruit ;  near  every  house 
lay  an  orchard,  enamelled  with  countless  col- 
ored apples,  red,  green,  damask,  yellow,  and 
white,  of  every  kind.  In  one  field  that  they 
passed,  half  a  dozen  fresh-looking  countrymen 
were  at  work  laying  the  stout  grass  upon  the 
ground,  like  files  of  proud  soldiers,  gay  with 
green  feathers  flaunting  in  the  wind  in  the 
morning — at  eve  to  be  dry  and  withered.  In  a 
neighboring  meadow,  a  sportsman  in  a  fustian 
hunting-coat,  and  white  hat,  with  shot-pouch, 
powder-flask,  and  gun,  was  creeping  along  the 
fence  to  obtain  a  shot  at  a  meadow-lark  sitting 
on  a  rock  in  the  middle  of  the  meadow.  He 
steals  closer  and  closer.  In  a  moment,  the 
merry-maker  of  the  skies  will  lie  stretched  on 
the  cold  stone.  Peal-it !  peal-it !  peal-it !  is 
the  sound  issuing  from  a  stout  throat  in  yonder 
tree.  It  is  the  cry  of  a  sentinel  lark,  and  that 
is  his  watchtower.  His  winged  brother  takes 
notice,  and  in  a  twinkling  curves  far  along  the 
air,  bej^ond  the  reach  of  gun  or  sportsman. 

Away  the  four  horsemen  gaUop  ;  Will  Robin 
dropping  a  little  in  the  rear,  to  dismount  and 
catch  a  woodchuck,  which  was  perambulating 
a  fence  by  way  of  exercise,  after  a  hearty  meal 
of  clover. 

This  enterprise  is  nipped  in  the  bud  by  Sol. 
Clarion's  falling  back  with  poor  Robin,  and 
asking  what  he  was  slipping  out  of  his  saddle 
for. 

"  It's  our  duty.  Master  Sol.,  to  look  after  the 
belly,"  said  Will,  "  and  I  was  thinking  that 
woo'chuck,  which  has  nothing  to  do,  now  tha<" 
he's  taken  his  breakfast,  but  to  be  cooked 
would  make  a  nice  pie  for  supper  when  we  got 
home." 

Foolish  Will's  anxiety  about  provender  was 
very  soon  allayed,  by  Clarion's  announcing  to 
him  that  they  expected  to  dine  at  Farmer  Bull's 
as  they  returned,  and  that  a  fat  young  turkey 
was  in  preparation.  Will's  eye  sparkled  at  the 
savory  announcement,  and  they  speedily  re- 
gained their  places  in  the  cavalcade. 


#    .  • 


26 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


On  a  scaffold  in  front  of  a  weather-beaten, 
yellow  farm-house  which  they  passed,  a  gay 
party  of  travelling  carpenters  were  at  work. 
There  is  something  charming  to  the  fancy  in 
the  strolling  life  of  these  country  Chips.  They 
ramble  about  pleasant  villages  and  country 
places — your  only  modern  Amphions  and  Trou- 
badours— singing  their  cheerful  catches,  and 
building  as  they  sing.  Half  a  dozen  choice 
journeymen  cluster  together,  and  form  a  merry 
crew,  plying  the  chisel  and  mallet  in  rural 
neighborhoods ;  repairing,  like  these,  some  time 
worn  farm-house,  or  raising  up  in  more  bustling 
parts  a  snug  cottage,  to  be  the  harbor  of  happy 
spirits  for  many  blooming  and  fragrant  years,  or 
like  a  flock  of  piping  swallows  chirping  about  a 
breach  in  the  roof  of  some  venerable  old  church. 
Now  and  then  bandying  a  jest  with  the  plump 
kitchen-wench  (it  matters  not  whether  she  be 
black  or  white — they  will  have  theii"  joke  !),  or 
indulging  in  a  sly  inuendo  among  themselves 
at  the  expense  of  the  blushing,  young-married 
couple,  whose  home  they  are  finishing.  Every- 
where, too,  they  are  regaled  with  grateful  vi- 
ands— healthful  breakfasts — hearty  dinners — 
genial  suppers ;  *'  We  must  have  something 
good,"  says  the  housewife,  "  for  to-morrow  the 
carpenters  are  coming !" 

Shortly  after  they  had  passed  this  jovial  com- 
pany of  workmen,  they  reached  a  small  wooden 
house,  with  a  dry,  dull  aspect,  as  if  it  had  been 
pelted  with  all  the  winds  and  weathers  of  half 
a  century,  without  the  defence  of  paint  or  color 
of  any  kind.  It  stood  upon  a  knoll  facing  the 
north,  and  had  a  solitary,  lonely  appearance,  as 
they  came  upon  it.  In  front  was  a  small  court- 
yard with  barn-yard  and  poultry-yard  blended 
with  it,  and  tying  their  horses  to  the  rough 
bar-fence  that  surrounded  it,  they  all  dismount- 
ed, and  entered  a  clumsy  gate,  which  opened 
into  the  enclosure,  except  FooUsh  Will,  who, 
under  a  direction  from  Counsellor  Peter,  scam- 
pered off  up  the  road.  The  counsellor  then 
unhooked  his  blue  bag  from  its  place  at  the 
saddle-bows,  and  hugging  it  under  his  right 
arm,  marched  with  great  solemnity  up  to  the 
door  of  the  house,  accompanied  by  Bull  in  a 
buff  coat,  and  Clarion  in  green  pantaloons. 
Here  he  planted  himself  upon  the  steps  leading 
to  the  same,  and  laying  down  his  cocked  hat 
and  blue  bag  with  great  deliberation  upon  a 
neighboring  bench,  he  stood  erect  and  surveyed 
the  three  acres  and  a  half  of  arable  land  to  be 
conveyed  to  Obed  Bull,  farmer,  with  monstrous 
complacency  and  inward  satisfaction.  In  a  few 
minutes,  Will  Robin  came  dashing  down  the 
highway  with  great  expedition  and  heat,  and 
announced  to  Counsellor  Doublet  that  "  none 
was  to  be  got !"  meaning  that  he  could  obtain 
no  persons  to  attend  the  important  ceremonies 
about  to  take  place,  as  witnesses.  "  Then  off 
your  horse,"  cried  out  Mr.  Peter  Doublet  in  an 
ecstasy  of  authority,  "  blow  this  vile  tin  horn  ! 
— that  will  make  our  proceedings  public — and, 
perhaps,  answer  as  well !"  At  this  behest. 
Foolish  Will  dismounted,  and  seizing  the  abject 


piece  of  metal,  sounded  a  dozen  or  two  of  round 
blasts ;  and  in  answer,  one  lazy-looking  young 
negro  was  brought  out  of  the  fields  (mistaking 
it  innocently  for  the  dinner-blast,  although  it 
was  now  only  about  ten  in  the  morning),  and  a 
limping  old  farmer  from  across  the  way,  who 
came  hobbling  into  the  yard,  staring  at  Lawyer 
Doublet  as  if  he  had  been  a  genuine  phantom 
in  a  velvet  coat,  flowing  wig,  and  white  small- 
clothes. Fortunately,  there  was  no  one  in  the 
house,  or  they  would  have  been  brought  down 
upon  the  party  in  a  twinkling  by  this  uproari- 
ous summons  :  the  barbarous  uncle  of  Clarion 
being  some  distance  down  the  road,  helping  a 
farmer  get  in  his  hay,  and  the  lazy-looking  ne- 
gro boy  alone  having  charge  in  his  absence. 
"  Now  we  will  proceed  to  livery  of  seisin,  as 
settled  in  Madox  and  Craig !"  said  Peter  Dou- 
blet, fumbling  in  his  blue  bag,  "  and  first,  I  will 
read  in  the  presence  of  these  many  good  wit- 
nesses the  warrant  of  attorney,  whereby  I  am 
empowered  to  fulfil  feoffment  of  this  house  and 
land."  And  saying  this,  he  recited,  in  a  good 
old-man's  voice,  the  contents  of  a  paper  which 
he  had  disinterred  from  its  azure  sepulchre,  con- 
taining power,  authority,  warrant,  &c.,  to  con- 
vey said  house  and  land  in  the  name  and  stead 
of  Solomon  Clarion,  of  the  city  of  Peth,  to  Obed 
Bull,  of  King  street ;  and  then,  drawing  forth  a 
second  paper  from  the  same  blue  receptacle,  he 
proceeded  to  declare  the  contents  thereof — de- 
scribing the  tenement,  with  all  the  appurte- 
nances, standing  thus  and  thus,  and  the  lands 
belonging  to  the  same,  nrnning  with  this  brook, 
and  under  that  tree,  with  a  wliite  flint-stone  at 
its  extreme  comer. 

He  then  said,  descending  from  his  elevation, 
"  Neighbors  and  witnesses !  leave  these  grounds, 
while  I  do  deliver  seisin  and  possession  of  the 
same  to  worthy  Obed  Bull !" — and,  after  they 
had  retired  into  the  road,  and  stood  looking 
over  the  fence  at  the  further  progress  of  this  in- 
teresting ceremony,  he  continued,  plucking  up 
a  huge  clod  in  his  hand,  "  Mr.  Obed  Bull,  I  do 
hereby,  in  the  name  and  by  the  authority  and 
attorney's  warrant  of  Solomon  Clarion,  deliver 
to  thee  seisin  and  possession  of  these  lands,  and 
all  rights  thereto  appertaining,  as  described  in 
the  within  deed." 

At  this  precise  stage  of  their  proceedings, 
Mr.  Uriah  Bloom,  the  short-nosed  Quaker, 
chanced  that  way  on  a  rusty-gray  nag,  and, 
wheeling  up  to  the  fence,  turned  about  in  his 
saddle,  with  a  face  wonderfully  full  of  a  magi 
nanimous  pity,  and  portentous  of  a  very  speedy 
discharge  of  comment  and  denunciation. 

«  Why  friend  Obed  Bull,"  said  he,  through 
his  short  organ,  "  I  did  not  truly  expect  to  see 
thee,  a  man  of  much  worldly  sense  and  upright- 
ness, engaged  in  this  heathenish  foUy,  with  that 
old  white-wigged,  silly-pated  tory,  Peter  Doub- 
let !  Thou  knewest  better,  Obed,  thou  knew- 
est  better !  But  I  will  leave  thee  to  thine  own 
practices,  and  punislmients  sequent  thereon  !" 
Saying  this  he  turned  and  cantered  at  consider- 
able speed  on  his  journey  down  the  road.    Not 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  SOL.  CLARION. 


m 


more  than  five  minutes  had  elapsed  before  the 
broad-brimmed  hat  and  short  nose  of  the  quaker 
again  came  in  view,  hurrying  back  with  an  ad- 
ditional rider  behind  him  on  the  rusty,  gray  nag. 
When  the  face  of  this  new  actor  made  itself 
visible,  it  struck  considerable  alarm  in  the  bosom 
of  Will  Robin,  and  Mr.  Solomon  Clarion.  It 
was  the  barbarous  uncle.  The  approaching 
steed,  thus  doubly  freighted,  was  however  hid- 
den by  the  house  from  the  gaze  of  Mr.  Obed 
Bull  and  Counsellor  Doublet;  which  latter 
worthy  was  proceeding  with  great  vigor  in  the 
process  of  livery  of  seisin. 

He  had  again  mounted  the  stone  steps,  search- 
ed the  house  to  find  whether  it  was  wholly 
empty,  and  fit  for  delivery,  and  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  iron  hasp  of  the  door,  exclaimed,  "  I 
do  hereby,  in  the  name,  and  by  the  warrant  of 
Solomon  Clarion,  deliver  to  thee,  Obed  Bull, 
seisin  and  possession  of  this  house  and  all  unto 
it  that  appertains  !  Enter  into  this  tenement 
and  God  give  thee  joy  of  it.^'  At  that  moment 
a  large  red  rooster  who  had  stood  a  long  time 
upon  the  barn-yard  fence,  in  patient  expectation 
of  a  hearing,  and  who  seemed  inclined  to  per- 
form the  part  of  clerk  in  these  services,  opened 
his  throat  and  made  the  responses  to  Counsellor 
Doublet,  in  a  clear,  audible  voice :  Mr.  Obed 
Bull  seized  the  hasp,  opened  the  door,  and  had 
just  tlirust  his  foreleg  across  the  threshold  to 
enter,  when,  lo !  he  was  met  full  in  the  face  by 
the  barbarous  uncle  (unlawful  occupant  of  the 
premises),  with  a  stout  oak  cudgel  in  his  hand, 
who  dealt  the  said  Obed  BuU,  donee,  &c., 
several  very  hearty  tokens  of  admiration  of  the 
conduct  he  had  pursued  in  purchasing  said  land, 
and  obtaining  livery  of  seisin  as  aforesaid.  "  I'U 
give  your  liver-a'  seasoning — you  lout !"  cried 
the  barbarous  uncle,  as  he  plied  the  flail.  "  I'U 
mark  your  title  down  in  black  and  white !"  and 
he  dealt  him  a  sore  blow  over  the  bridge  of  the 
nose.  By  this  time  Mr.  Obed  Bull  had  evaded 
the  cudgel,  and  the  next  object  that  fell  into  the 
clutches  of  the  barbarous  uncle  was  Peter 
Doublet,  Esquire,  who  in  consequence  of  his 
age,  was  not  ribroasted  and  bastinadoed  after 
the  fashion  of  Mr.  Bull,  but  was  taken  by  the  ! 
collar  of  his  velvet  coat,  and  quietly  kicked  j 
through  the  garden-gate  into  the  road.  Mean- ' 
while  Friend  Bloom  had  found  his  way  silently 
into  the  front  room  of  the  tenement,  and  half 
opening  a  window  shutter,  looked  cautiously 
on  the  scene ;  his  short  nose  and  broad-brimmed 
hat  being  skilfully  concealed  in  the  shadow  of 
the  shutter.  The  barbarous  uncle  tossed  Doub- 
let's gold-laced  cocked  hat  over  the  fence,  with 
the  blue  bag.  The  Counsellor  picking  up  the 
former,  and  placing  it  upon  his  head,  and  Fool- 
ish Will  gathering  the  scattered  papers  and 
parchments  and  thrusting  them  into  the  latter, 
the  party  mounted  their  horses  (Mr.  Bull  with 
great  difficulty),  and  turned  their  heads  expe- 
ditiously homeward.  They  had  not  travelled 
far,  however,  in  this  direction,  before  they 
slightly  slackened  their  pace,  and  Mr.  Peter 
Doublet  muttered,  "Bv  the  head  of  King  George, 


and  the  Pandects  of  Justinian !  Mr.  Clarion,  PIl 
have  revenge  and  satisfaction  on  that  scurvy 
\mc\e  of  thine  before  the  week  wanes  !  yea 
will  I !"  and  he  struck  his  sorrel  a  smart  blow 
across  the  foreshoulder,  "  I'll  to  the  Supreme 
Court  of  Justice  at  once,  and  attach  him  with  a 
mandamus  writ  of  privilege  !"  The  little  law- 
yer hereupon  lifted  his  cocked  hat  from  his  head, 
and,  carefully  shaking  the  dust  from  its  border, 
replaced  it  with  an  air  of  much  dignity,  in  its 
original  position.  Then  turning  upon  Sol. 
Clarion,  he  asked  in  a  tone  of  surprise,  as  if  it 
had  just  crossed  his  mind,  "  Why,  Mr.  Clarion, 
didst  thou  not  come  to  our  rescue  ?  being  young 
and  strong  sinewed  we  might  have  justly  looked 
aidment  and  reinforcement  from  thee  !" 

To  this  Solomon  simply  replied,  that,  how- 
ever much  he  might  dislike  his  uncle,  he  was 
unwilling  to  come  to  blows  with  his  mother's 
brother. 

At  length  Foolish  Will  rode  up  to  the  side  of 
Sol.  Clarion,  and  the  conversation  took  a  new 
channel. 

"  I'm  getting  tired  of  this  region  of  country," 
said  Foolish  Will,  "  the  people  about  here  are 
growing  cold-hearted  toward  poor  Will ;  and 
poor  WiU's  getting  to  be  a  man,"  sitting  bolt 
upright  in  his  saddle,  "  and  must  go  travel  and 
make  voyages  and  see  a  little  of  the  world  ? 
What  say  you.  Master  Solomon,  Will  Robin 
leaves  you  to-morrow,  and  perhaps  for  ever !" 
At  this  announcement  the  innocent  creature 
shed  a  tear  upon  the  mane  of  his  rough  colt, 
and  stretched  out  his  left  hand  toward  Sol.  Cla- 
rion ;  and  Sol.  Clarion,  bringing  his  horse  close 
to  his  side,  grasped  it  warmly  with  his  own,  and 
said,  while  tears  gushed  to  his  eyes,  "  Never ! 
WiU,  never  ! — Though  I  am  robbed  of  my  rights 
— there's  yet  enough  left  for  us  both ;  and,  WiU 
Robin,  long  as  the  world  lasts,  though  all  the 
world  else  may  turn  you  from  their  hearts  and 
hearths,  there's  always  a  warm  corner  for  you 
here !"  And  Sol.  Clarion,  in  the  genuine  hon- 
esty of  nature,  struck  his  hand  upon  his  bosom. 
"  But  whither  did  you  purpose  to  go,  WiU  \" 
said  he,  mastering  his  emotion,  and  resuming 
the  discourse,  while  he  looked  earnestly  in  the 
face  of  Foolish  WiU  for  a  reply. 

"  I  thought,"  responded  Will,  "  I  would  take 
the  coach  for  New  York,  and  see  if  I  could  find 
anybody  in  that  big  city,  which  I've  heard  tell 
swarms  with  people  just  like  a  hive  in  summer, 
that  looked  lUse  Will  Robin  ;  aU  the  folks  in 
these  parts  despise  the  poor  vagrant !" 

"  Why  Will,"  replied  Sol.  Clarion,  « I'm  go- 
ing to  the  city  myself  to-morrow ;  will  you  bear 
me  company  ?" 

"  I  will !  I  will !"  exclaimed  that  worthy, 
greatly  excited,  and  almost  jumping  out  of  his 
saddle  with  the  violence  of  his  delight. 

"To-night,  then,  pack  up  our  garments  in  the 
old  portmanteau ;  yours,  WiU,  in  one  end,  mine 
in  the  other,  and  we'll  take  the  stage  with  the 
first  cock  that  crows  !" 

«  Yes !"  said  WiU,  stiU  in  an  ecstasy  of  enjoy- 
ment at  the  brUliant  prospect  of  travel,  "  and 


28 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


I'll  go  to  York  in  a  new  dress ;  something 
fine.  I  guess  it  will  astonish  the  natives." 
Hereupon  Will  discharged  a  heavy  peal  of 
laughter,  and  at  that  moment  they  found  them- 
selves in  the  renowned  city  of  Peth,  at  the  door 
of  Sol.  Clarion's  home ;  those  twin  martyrs, 
Mr.  Bull  and  Counsellor  Doublet,  having  in 
the  meantime  galloped  down  the  road  and  out 
of  sight. 

The  next  morning  Will  Robin  was  awake 
with  the  dawn  ;  and  the  sun  had  no  sooner  ex- 
hibited his  jolly  face  from  his  eastern  tippling- 
shop,  than  Will  Robin's  corresponding  feature 
shone  through  the  portals  of  Sol.  Clarion's 
dwelling,  upon  the  whole  subjacent  region. 
WiU  was  all  smiles  and  complacency  ;  bustling 
from  spot  to  spot ;  now  taking  up  the  dinner- 
horn  and  blowing  an  idle  blast  and  laying  it 
down  again  ;  and  now  dashing  into  the  house 
to  obtain  some  trifling  commodity,  and  again 
bursting  through  the  door  into  the  open  air,  to 
stuff  it  into  the  capacious  portmanteau.  At  the 
hour  when  the  stage  arrived  Foolish  Will  pre- 
sented himself  as  a  passenger,  tricked  out  in  a 
short  brown  coat,  with  something  of  the  qua- 
ker  lurking  about  the  collar,  though  it  had  alto- 
gether fled  from  the  skirts,  which  were  swallow- 
tailed  ;  close  homespun  pantaloons ;  a  mon- 
strous pair  of  jack-boots,  borrowed  from  Sol. 
Clarion's  grandfather,  and,  upon  his  head,  a 
sugar-loaf,  white  felt  hat,  picked  up  in  some 
random  pilgrimage  to  the  garret  of  Counsellor 
Doublet.  Sol.  Clarion,  who  lingered  behind 
Wni  Robin,  having  affectionately  parted  with 
his  grand-parents,  and  received  God-speed,  came 
forth  modestly  attired  in  a  plain,  country-made, 
black  hat,  a  dark-blue  coat  with  metal  buttons, 
and  other  parts  of  dress  to  correspond.  They 
both  took  up  their  position  on  a  high  back  seat, 
outside,  which  overlooked  the  whole  vehicle, 
turned  their  faces  for  a  last  look  at  the  old 
homestead,  the  driver  cracked  his  whip,  the 
stage  whirled  off,  and  in  a  moment  the  city  of 
Peth,  and  all  that  it  held,  was  lost  from  their 
gaze. 

They  had  not  travelled  far  down  the  turnpike 
before  a  new  and  unexpected  object  arrested 
their  progress.  This  was  nothing  less  than  that 
learned  and  sagacious  legal  authority,  Peter 
Doublet,  clad  in  his  black-velvet  coat,  white 
small-clothes,  and  gold-laced  cocked  hat,  with 
his  sword  at  his  side,  three  or  four  musty  vol- 
umes under  one  arm,  and  under  the  other  the 
portentous  blue  bag,  with  an  appearance  of  un- 
usual rotundity  and  repletion.  Sol.  Clarion  was 
not  a  little  surprised  at  this  apparition,  at  this 
peculiar  time,  particularly  as  Mr.  Doublet  ex- 
claimed to  the  driver,  "  I  will  take  a  seat,  sir, 
with  my  friends  on  the  outside ;  more  especially 
as  I  shall  need  their  services  when  I  get  into 
town,  and  wish,  therefore,  to  keep  my  eye  upon 
them  !"  Saying  this,  he  passed  his  tliree  or  four 
duU  looking  volumes  and  well  stuffed  blue  bog 
up  to  Will,  and  very  speedily  mounted  after 
them,  into  the  third  seat  in  the  rear. 

"  How  is  this,  Counsellor  Doublet  ?"  asked 


Sol.  Clarion,  shaking  him  by  the  hand,  as  the 
mail-stage  again  started  off.  "  Whither  are 
you  travelling,  Mr.  Doublet,  if  I  may  put  so 
bold  a  question  ?" 

"  I  am  travelling,  Mr.  Clarion,"  replied  the 
counsellor,  solemnly,  "  in  quest  of  my  lost  pro- 
fessional honor.  Yesterday  morning  I  had  it — 
this  morning  I  awoke,  and  where  was  it  ?  Where 
was  it  ?"  he  asked  again,  lifting  his  voice  as  if 
addressing  a  jury.  "  You  ask  me,  sir,  whither 
I  travel.  I  journey  to  the  city  of  New  York  to 
obtain  a  mandamus  writ  of  privilege  as  an  of- 
ficer of  the  court !"  With  this  answer  to  Cla- 
rion's interrogatory.  Lawyer  Doublet  sunk  into 
a  dignified  silence,  which  was  steadily  preserved 
for  almost  the  entire  remainder  of  the  journey. 
Onward  the  stage-coach  rolled,  here  disgorging 
a  heavy  leather  bag,  filled  with  letters,  like  the 
moon,  that  planetary  night-coach,  discharging 
aereolites,  pleasant  missives  of  her  goddesship  ; 
there  taking  up  a  chance  passenger,  and  again 
rumbling  on  its  way  for  miles  without  pause  or 
diversion,  unless  the  hurling  of  a  brown-paper 
parcel,  or  some  other  slight  token  from  friends  up 
the  road,  like  a  bomb,  into  an  open  door  or  win- 
dow be  so  considered.  In  this  way  they  rolled 
down  into  the  pleasant  village  of  Rye,  and 
through  that  Huguenot  stronghold.  New  Ro- 
chelle,  taking  a  bird's-eye  view  of  Mamaroneck, 
Pelham,  and  sundry  other  towns  and  townlets, 
as  they  glanced  along. 

Ever  and  anon  Will  Robin  enlivened  the  jour- 
ney by  carolling  forth  fragments  of  rare  and 
reverend  ditties,  such  as  "  As  I  walked  forth  on 
a  morning  in  the  month  of  May,"  or  imparting 
to  his  selections  an  air  of  greater  sententious- 
ness  and  profundity,  as  in  the  following  scrap 
of  shrewd  rhyme : 

"  A  man  of  words  and  not  of  deeds, 
Is  like  a  garden  full  of  weeds  ; 
And  when  the  weeds  begin  to  grow, 
He's  like  a  garden  full  of  snow,"  &c. 

At  Eastchester,  a  spruce,  spare  man,  in  a  fur 
cap,  with  a  large  white  cauliflower  stuck  in  the 
button-hole  of  a  purple  frock-coat,  and  a  slate- 
colored  game-cock  under  his  left  arm,  came 
forth.  There  was  something  peculiarly  queer 
and  quizzical  about  this  person's  nose  and 
mouth  ;  a  playful  smile  that  rippled  about  the 
corners  of  the  latter  feature,  like  a  rivulet  with 
the  sun  shining  on  its  surface,  and  a  red  glow 
hovering  over  the  tip  of  the  former,  which  seem- 
ed to  be  the  humorous  smile  lingering  above  its 
birthplace  before  it  disappeared  from  the  odd 
little  countenance  for  ever. 

The  spruce  spare  man  was  a  new  passenger, 
who,  seeing  the  single  vacancy  in  the  high  out- 
side occupied  by  Doublet,  Clarion,  and  Will, 
said,  "  I'U  take  that  seat,  driver,  as  I'd  like  to 
make  an  observation  or  two  on  nature  as  we 
go  along.  P'r'aps,  gentlemen,"  turning  to  the 
worthy  trio,  "  it'll  not  be  inconvenient  to  have 
some  pleasant  conversation  on  natural  won- 
ders and  such  like,  as  we  travel.  Besides,  young 
Joseph,"  affectionately  ogling  his  game-cock 
with  one  eye,  and  a  brace  of  young  ladies  with 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  SOL.  CLARION. 


29 


in  the  stage-coach  with  the  other,  as  he  mount- 1 
ed  into  his  seat,  "  might  be  inclined  to  play  the 
physician  inside  there,  and  draw  blood  from 
the  hands  of  those  fair  creatures  without  being 
reg'larly  called  in !" 

At  this  sally  the  indescribable  smUe  kindled 
about  the  mouth  of  the  spruce  passenger — the 
corresponding  glow  lit  up  the  extremity  of  his 
nose,  and,  patting  the  slate-colored  creature  un- 
der his  arm  kindly  on  his  crest,  he  sat  for  a 
moment  intensely  silent. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  wanning  into  a  fine 
flow  of  talk  as  the  stage-coach  rattled  on,  "  the 
sooner  we're  known  to  each  other  the  better. 
My  name,"  bowing  at  each  branch  of  the  an- 
nouncement to  one  of  the  King  street  travellers, 
"my  name  is  Paul — Hyaena — Patchell;  but 
you'll  oblige  me  when  you  call  upon  me — for  I 
intend  to  invite  you  all  to  my  house  before  we 
part — by  inquiring  for  P.  Hyaena  Patchell.  I 
prefer  that  style,  as  you'll  perceive  it's  morfe 
ferocious,  and  better  suited  for  the  keeper  of  a 
wild-beast  show,  and  the  greatest  collection  of 
natural  wonders  now  extant  in  the  four  quar- 
ters !  I  have  been,"  continued  the  smart  show- 
man, "  scouring  the  country  for  a  five-legged 
calf,  to  complete  my  collection ;  or  a  cow,  with 
the  horns  growing  upon  her  flanks.  Confound 
the  stupid  creatures !  they  put  me  out.  I  couldn't 
as  much  as  find  one  with  even  a  moderate  swel- 
ling to  pass  for  a  dromedary.  Nevertheless  I've 
met  with  a  little  success,"  brushing  down  the 
feathers  of  young  Joseph  cautiously,  "gentle- 
men, I've  picked  up  a  game-cock  with  a  face  just 
like  General  Jackson.  See  !"  holding  up  the 
slate-colored  bird,  "  every  line's  distinct — here's 
the  warlike  nose,  the  warrior  eye,  and,"  at  this 
moment  one  of  the  legs  of  the  interesting  crea- 
ture slipped  from  his  hand,  and  dashed  two  thirds 
of  a  spur  into  the  smart  showman's  wrist,  who 
exclaimed,  smiling  faintly,  "by  the  Bengal  lion, 
the  general  has  just  drawn  his  sword!"  The 
conversation  of  the  showman  had  been  sustained 
in  so  high  a  pitch  of  voice  as  to  be  generally 
overheard,  and  a  loud  roar  of  laughter  shook  the 
mail-stage  as  he  uttered  this  last  remark. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  sir,  as  you  seem  to  be  sum- 
m'at  of  a  philosopher,  why  horses  aren't  born 
asses  ?"  asked  Foolish  WiU,  of  the  smart  show- 
man. On  the  latter  gentleman's  expressing  a 
doubt  of  his  ability  to  accommodate  Mr.  Robin 
with  an  answer,  Will  replied,  "  It's  mainly,  sir, 
for  the  want  of  ears  !"  And  the  smart  show- 
man fell  into  a  thoughtful  silence  of  several 
minutes'  duration. 

They  were  now  rattling  over  Harlaem  bridge. 
The  smart  showman  had  again  opened  the  flood- 
gate of  discourse,  and  a  vast  deal  of  good  con- 
versation passed  between  him  and  WiU  Robin 
on  the  subject  of  natural  wonders ;  a  mermaid, 
with  bowels  of  straw,  belonging  to  him,  that  had 
been  "  burnt  out"  one  night  by  an  accidental 
spark  falling  upon  her  tail ;  a  famous  Bengal 
lion,  in  his  show,  with  the  finest  mouth  of  any 
I  T>imal  of  that  species  in  Christendom;    all  of 

iiich  closed    with  the    observation  that  he 


thought  that  the  arrival  of  the  general  would 
create  a  great  excitement  in  town,  and  a  fer- 
vent invitation  to  Will  and  his  friend  Mr.  Cla- 
rion, to  call  at  9  1-4  Bowery,  and  see  his  col- 
lection. 

Meantime,  Clarion  and  Doublet  were  silent, 
until  they  came  opposite  Gallows  hiU,  where 
an  execution  was  taking  place  at  that  very  time, 
and  as  Doublet  beheld  the  poor  victim  dangling 
in  the  last  agonies,  he  exclaimed — "  My  God ! 
what  sight  is  yonder  ! — ^A  man  by  the  neck  !  If 
man,"  continued  the  counsellor,  after  a  thought- 
ful pause — "  if  man  were  a  poor  dried  pear  or 
salted  flitch  of  bacon,  it  would  beseem  well 
enough.  It  is  bad  enough  to  hang  wolves  and 
weasels,  and  other  carrion.  What  a  contempt 
must  I  have  for  my  humanity,  my  young  sir, 
when  I  see  a  part  of  it  strung  up  yonder  like  a 
bunch  of  foul  garlic  or  hetchelled  flax !"  These 
observations  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Doublet  were 
very  sensible  and  true-spirited,  and  if  he  had 
ended  there  he  would  have  deserved  the  name 
of  a  sober  and  thinking  man,  but  in  a  moment 
he  added,  "  Would  to  heaven  !  Mr.  Clarion,  our 
law-makers  might  re-establish  the  noble  trial  by 
combat !"  The  erudition  of  the  smart  showman 
was  here  sadly  at  fault,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
put  two  or  three  questions  as  to  the  character 
of  this  process,  to  Sol.  Clarion,  who  replied  that 
"  it  was  a  method  of  settling  murders  (he  be- 
lieved) wherein  the  party  accused  of  the  homi- 
cide fell  pell-mell,  with  bare  fists,  case-knife  or 
other  convenient  weapon,  upon  the  next  of  kin 
to  the  deceased,  and  the  next  of  kin  feU  pell- 
mell  in  a  similar  manner  upon  the  party  accused, 
and  they  belabored  and  thrust  at  each  other  un- 
til one  or  the  other's  business  accounts  with  | 
this  world  were  finally  closed  up  and  legered, 
and  the  party  thus  disposed  of  was  held  to  have 
been  altogether  in  the  wrong;  and  thus,  you 
see,"  concluded  Solomon,  "the  whole  matter 
was  settled  without  the  expense  of  rope,  judge, 
or  jury ;  sheriff",  gallows-tree,  or  new  breeches 
and  bonnet  to  see  the  hanging  in :  the  surviving 
combatant  was  fully  satisfied,  and  the  dead  man 
never  walked  the  earth  at  unseasonable  hours !" 

By  the  time  this  judicious  explanation  was 
ended  the  coach  had  halted  opposite  a  pleasant 
yellow  house,  with  a  slim,  round  cupola  stuck 
on  its  roof,  like  a  high-crowned  Dutch  hat,  and 
a  back-door,  with  a  portico  looking  out  into  a 
cheerful  graveyard.  "I  think  this  is  the  house," 
said  Sol.  Clarion  to  the  driver,  and  a  meager 
friend  of  the  driver's  jumped  from  the  box, 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  inquired  if  Dr.  Nich- 
olas Grim  lived  there.  At  this,  a  pretty,  blush- 
ing face  was  thrust  out  of  a  second-story  win- 
dow, smiled  softly  at  Solomon,  and  replied  that 
he  did,  and  disappeared  in  great  haste.  Sol. 
Clarion  and  Will  Robin  now  dismounted,  the 
former  urging  Counsellor  Doublet  to  join  them, 
who  steadily  refused,  saying  he  must  look  after 
his  mandamus  at  once ;  the  smart  showman  ' 
bowed  and  smirked,  and  set  his  slate-colored  ^ 
game-cock  a-crowing — the  driver  cracked  his 
whip  over  the  ear  of  his  near  leader,  and  the 


30 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


stage-coach  whirled  away.  In  a  moment,  the 
door  of  the  yellow  house  opened,  and  a  healthy, 
fat  man,  in  a  suit  of  black  broadcloth,  project- 
ed himself  headlong  almost  into  the  arms  of 
Sol.  Clai'ion,  exclaiming,  "  My  dear  Sol.,  is  this 
you  ?  I  am  heartily  glad  to  see  you  !  This  is 
better  than  a  new  patient,  or  even  a  consulta- 
tion at  the  rich  widow's.  Why  Sol.,  my  dear 
fellow !''  shaking  him  by  the  hand  again  at 
arms'  length,  "you  look  pale — a  little  fever, 
occasioned  by  riding  in  the  wind.  Come  in  ! 
come  in !"  putting  one  arm  about  his  waist, 
and  motioning  toward  the  door,  "  oh  !  here's 
your  cousin  Grace  !"  At  this,  the  proprietor 
of  the  pretty  blushing  face  that  was  thrust  out 
of  the  second-story  window  came  forward  from 
behind  a  white  pocket-handkerchief,  and  ex- 
tended her  hand  to  Sol.  Clarion,  who  received 
it  with  a  similar  demonstration,  exclaiming,  as 
he  gave  it  a  gentle  pressure,  "  Ah  !  Grace,  you 
didn't  visit  poor  Peth  this  year  !" 

And  she,  smiling  archly  upon  Mr.  Clarion, 
replied,  «  Oh  !  Sol.,  I  am  glad  I  did  not ;  for  I 
imagine  it  has  brought  you  down !"  Then 
streaks  of  crimson  and  deep  red  flushed  all  over 
her  neck  and  brow,  as  if  she  thought  she  had 
said  more  than  it  was  proper  for  a  maiden  to 
disclose,  and  at  the  first  opportunity  she  glided 
silently  away,  leaving  the  discourse  with  Dr. 
Nicholas  Grim  and  his  worthy  nephew. 

Six  short  months  had  rolled  around  from  this 
period,  and  Sol.  Clarion  was  domiciliated  with 
his  good-hearted  uncle — taking  the  place  and 
fulfilling  the  duties  of  an  apothecary,  who  had 
been  his  uncle's  former  assistant,  and  who  had 
unfortunately  died  of  the  fumes  of  a  new  pill 
he  was  on  the  eve  of  discovering  only  a  week 
before  Sol.  Clarion's  arrival.  Sol's,  journey 
had  been  undertaken  in  consequence  of  a  letter 
from  Dr.  Nicholas,  warmly  tendering  the  situa- 
tion ;  and  Sol.  Clarion  had  accepted  it,  on  con- 
dition that  he  should  be  allowed  to  bring  Fool- 
ish Will  with  him,  to  serve  prescriptions,  use 
the  pestle  and  mortar,  and  perform  other  simple 
services  of  a  similar  nature.  Six  pleasant 
months  have  slipped  from  the  calendar,  and 
now  it  becomes  our  duty,  however  painful,  as 
faithful  chroniclers,  to  open  a  strange  and  sin- 
gular chapter  in  the  history  of  the  generous  son 
of  jEsculapius  in  whose  house  our  adventurer 
has  found  a  cheerful  home. 


THE  VISION  OF  DR.  NICHOLAS 
GRIM. 

CONTAINING   THE   CONCLUSION  OF  THE  ADVEN- 
TURES  OF   SOL.    CLARION. 

"Titty  and  Tiffin,  Suckin 
,    And  Pidgen,  Liard  and  Robin ! 

White  spirits,  black  spirits,  gray  spirits,  rod  spirits, 
Devil-toad,  devil-ram,  devil-cat,  and  devil-dam. 
Why  Hoppo  and  Stadlin,  Ilellwain  and  Puckle  I" 
The  Witch  :  o  Tragi-comedy,  by  Tho$.  Middleton. 

The  pleasant  yellow  house  of  Dr.  Nicholas 
Grim,  with  its  slim,  round  cupola,  stood  in  the 


skirts  of  the  city.  It  was  surrounded  by  a 
grassy  door-yard,  with  a  carriage-gate  opening 
into  the  road  on  one  side,  another  gate  leading 
into  a  well-stocked  garden  in  the  rear,  and  a 
third  facing  the  northeast,  giving  access  to  an 
orchard  which  had  been  transformed  into  a  place 
of  burial.  The  dwelling,  with  its  appurtenances, 
had  formerly  belonged  to  a  dry  old  curmudgeon, 
who  had  sold  the  fruit-ground  in  question,  for  a 
handsome  consideration.,  to  an  undertaker— re- 
serving to  himself,  his  heirs  and  devisees,  a 
privilege  through  the  orchard-gate.  The  study 
of  Dr.  Nicholas  Grim  looked  directly  forth  upon 
this  graveyard ;  and  recollecting  that  not  a  few 
of  his  own  patients  were  slumbering  there,  it  is 
singular  that  the  worthy  practitioner  had  not 
chosen  some  other  quarter  of  the  building  for 
his  own  use.  Contemplating  those  little  green 
hillocks,  and  those  peculiar,  square-cut  stones, 
unpleasant  thoughts  might  arise  in  the  bosom 
of  Dr.  Grim;  particularly  as  it  was  hinted  that 
the  patients  of  Dr.  Grim  were  allowed  to  enjoy 
the  pleasure  of  that  worthy  Galen's  acquaint- 
ance but  a  very  short  time  after  it  was  formed, 
and  after  he  had  administered  his  first  prescrip- 
tion, and  were  forced  by  some  urgent  necessity 
to  bid  him  an  eternal  farewell,  and  take  their 
departure,  post-haste,  for  another  world. 

The  truth  is,  that  Dr.  Nicholas,  as  fine- 
hearted  and  jovial  a  man  as  ever  lived,  was  re- 
garded by  some  people  as  an  arrant  quack  and 
pretender.  However  this  might  be.  Dr.  Grim 
was,  and  boasted  himself  to  be,  the  discoverer 
of  that  invaluable  catholicon,  "  The  Patent 
Pioneer  Pill."  The  ingenious  inventor  of 
this  wonderful  medicine  never  asserted  that  it 
could  raise  a  man  from  the  dead,  by  being  ad- 
ministered to  his  corpse  nine  weeks  after  burial, 
nor  that  the  cause  of  Methuselah's  extraordi- 
nary longevity  was  the  fact  of  his  having  taken 
a  handful  of  the  Patent  Pioneer  Pills  in  his 
coffee  every  morning  at  breakfast.  But  Dr. 
Nicholas  Grim  did  profess  that  this  astonishing 
pill  could  cure  every  shade  and  variety  of  dis- 
ease ;  and  that,  in  effecting  a  cure,  it  had  a  mode 
of  operation  peculiar  to  itself. 

"  The  Patent  Pioneer  Pill,"  said  the  doctor 
one  day  to  Sol.  Clarion,  with  a  grave  and  sol- 
emn face,  in  explanation  of  its  properties,  "  de- 
scends into  the  stomach  like  an  ordinary  medi- 
cal prescription  or  dose :  when  there,  acted  upon 
by  the  gastric  juice,  it  loses  its  original  shape 
and  character,  and  becomes  metamorphosed 
into  a  small  apothecary,  with  a  hard,  granite 
complexion — that  being,  as  you  know,  the  origi- 
nal color  of  the  bolus — and  a  lilliputian  medical 
scalpel  or  shovel  in  his  hand.  Armed  with  this 
instrument,  the  little  apothecary  casts  about  the 
stomach  to  discover  any  impurities  or  obstruc- 
tions that  may  there  exist,  and  at  once  sets  about 
removing  them  with  said  scalpel  or  shovel  into 
the  great  duct  or  canal,  the  rectum,  which, 
acting  like  a  sewer,  carries  them  oflf.  After 
having  thus  cleansed  the  grand  chamber  of  the 
human  body,"  continued  Dr.  Nicholas  Grim, 
"  the  pill-apothecary  commences  travelling  up 
the  different  alleys  and  by-ways  of  the  system, 


THE  VISION  OF  DR.  NICHOLAS  GRIM. 


9t 


fulfilling  the  part  of  a  philanthropic  reformer 
wherever  he  travels — applying  suitable  reme- 
dies while  on  the  spot  (you  see  the  advantages 
of  this  mode  of  practice,  Solomon  !)  to  scrofula, 
apoplexy,  plethora,  emaciation,  dropsy,  con- 
sumption, rheumatism,  and  every  other  con- 
ceivable malady. — So  that  by  administering  this 
renowned  pill,"  concluded  Dr.  Grim,  "  we  in 
fact  despatch  a  pocket-physician,  as  it  were,  a 
kind  of  deputy  where  we  are  unable  to  attend 
in  person" — here  I  must  confess  something  of  a 
sly  smile  crept  over  the  features  of  the  celebra- 
ted inventor — "  on  a  tour  of  scientific  investi- 
gation through  the  human  constitution — a  min- 
iature, medical  Hercules,  to  knock  in  the  head 
any  monster  of  a  malady  that  dares  to  show  it- 
self. It  was  the  proudest  day  of  my  life  when 
I  discovered  the  ingredients  of  the  Patent  Pio- 
neer PiU !" 

What  was  most  singular,  notwithstanding  the 
doctor's  lucid  and  philosophical  exposition  of 
the  character  and  operation  of  the  Patent  Pio- 
neer PIU,  its  reception  into  the  human  stomach 
was,  in  nineteen  cases  out  of  twenty,  followed, 
as  I  have  before  suggested,  by  the  speedy  trans- 
fer of  the  recipient  from  his  own  snug  fireside, 
and  comfortable  suit  of  broadcloth  or  homespun, 
to  a  cold  basement,  without  windows,  under 
ground,  and  a  disagreeable  mahogany  or  cherry 
overcoat,  furnished  by  that  tailor  to  the  corpse, 
— a  sexton.  In  other  words,  a  large  majority 
of  the  patients  of  Dr.  Nicholas  Grim  died  upon 
his  hands  :  so  that  his  little  apothecary  with  the 
granite  complexion,  who  travelled  interior,  must, 
as  Sol.  Clarion  insinuated,  have  very  often  lost 
his  -vC^ay ! 

Now  opens  that  strange  chapter  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  doctor  to  which  we  have  referred. 

It  was  a  pleasant,  tranquil  afternoon  in  the 
latter  part  of  July.  Over  all  the  region  within 
view  of  the  white  round  cupola  of  Dr.  Grim,  an 
unbroken  silence  hung.  Within  the  house, 
there  was  perfect  calm ;  Sol.  Clarion  and  Grace 
Grim  were  gone  to  the  city  in  the  doctor's  gig, 
and  their  laughing  dialogue  and  cheerful  tread 
were  not  heard  as  was  wont.  Will  Robin  was 
out  rambling  along  the  river,  practising  that 
merry  device  of  his,  of  catching  shrimps  with 
a  shot-bag.  Without,  whatever  there  was  of 
life,  by  its  motionless  silence,  added  to  the  per- 
fect quiet  of  the  scene.  In  his  stable  stood  a 
plump,  sleek,  bay-colored  nag,  quietly  whisking 
his  tail ;  while  a  mouse,  noiseless  as  a  Pythago- 
rean disciple  in  the  first  years  of  his  pupilage, 
was  foraging  about  the  edge  of  the  door  on  a 
few  oat-grains  that  had  fallen  from  an  over- 
stocked bin  above.  A  mottled  cat,  in  glossy 
condition,  sat  couchant  upon  the  half-opened 
stable-door,  looking  down  with  an  air  of  sleepy 
indifference  upon  the  careful  little  plunderer. 
In  the  door-yard  the  grass  waved  slowly,  swayed 
by  the  lazy  wind  that  just  buoyed  a  thistle-down 
in  the  air,  and  prevented  its  falling  too  swiftly 
to  the  earth.  At  a  little  distance  from  the 
house  might  be  heard  the  feeble  tinkling  of  a 
brook,  that  earned  its  channel  through  the  hard 


soil  by  slight  but  steady  labor.  The  sun  was 
just  disappearing  in  the  west,  and  Dr.  Nicholas 
Grim  sat  in  his  leather-backed  arm-chair,  in  his 
study,  with  his  feet  resting  upon  a  stool  covered 
with  a  soft  cushion  of  lamb's  wool,  indulging  in 
the  after-dinner  revery  of  a  corpulent  man.  As 
the  sun's  last  ray  came  in  at  the  window,  it  east 
the  shadow  of  the  doctor's  enormous  bulk  upon 
the  opposite  wall,  where  it  assumed  a  new  and 
fantastic  appearance  every  moment,  as  the  an- 
gle at  which  the  sunlight  entered  the  apartment 
varied.  Now,  his  protuberant  paunch  was 
thrown  into  bold  relief,  like  the  moon  thrusting 
its  portly  front  forth  from  a  partial  eclipse; 
now,  as  one  side  of  the  coat  was  brought  into 
the  picture,  resembling  a  huge  ship  of  war  with 
her  fore-sail  spread ;  now  the  broad,  good-na- 
tured countenance  of  the  doctor  was  caricatured 
into  a  lion's  head,  or  again  into  a  long,  thin, 
grotesque  human  face.  Dusk  crept  in,  and  gave 
new  touches  to  the  picture — filling  the  room 
with  odd  shadows,  and  travestying  the  appear- 
ance and  character  of  every  object :  a  slim, 
wide-lipped  vial,  casting  from  the  shelf  upon 
the  floor  the  likeness  of  a  prim,  tall  Quaker, 
with  a  broad-brimmed  hat ;  a  little  gallipot  as- 
suming upon  the  wall  the  counterfeit  present- 
ment of  an  oily  Dutchman  with  a  peaked  nose, 
while  said  nose  was,  or  seemed  to  be,  fastened 
upon  by  the  shadowy  fingers  of  a  pair  of 
tweezers,  hung  up  by  a  string.  In  the  centre 
of  the  apartment  stood  a  stout,  circular  stand, 
from  which  a  number  of  long-necked  bottles, 
filled  with  medical  preparations,  towered  up, 
surrounded  by  a  swarm  of  small  vials  and  pill- 
boxes— fianked  with  a  bowl  of  jelly,  near  which 
a  chubby  watch,  with  a  heavy  gold  chain  and 
seals,  lay,  and  indolently  ticked  the  time.  In 
another  quarter  stood  an  old-fashioned  book- 
case, over  the  top  of  which  a  plaster-of-Paris 
Galen  and  ^sculapius  exhibited  their  dusty 
faces.  The  windows  were  hung  with  heavy 
curtains,  and  every  other  appointment  of  the 
room  denoted  competency  and  comfort.  Not 
many  minutes  after  the  twilight  had  become 
tinged  with  the  deeper  colors  of  advancing 
night,  a  tread  was  heard  in  the  hall — a  muffled 
knock  at  the  door  :  and  as  Dr.  Grim  exclaimed, 
"  Come  in  !"  the  door  opened  slowly,  a  large 
man  in  stout  boots,  with  a  round-topped  coun- 
try hat,  entered,  and  bowing  with  a  smile,  glided 
across  the  room  without  any  of  the  noise  which 
might  be  expected  to  accompany  the  motion  of 
so  heavy  a  body,  and  silently  took  his  station 
in  an  extreme  corner,  with  his  face  turned  tow- 
ard Dr.  Nicholas.  The  doctor  recognised  in 
this  mysterious  personage  one  of  his  own  pa- 
tients, and  would  have  taken  him  kindly  by  the 
hand,  had  he  not  remembered  that  he  had  buried 
him  about  twelve  months  before. 

A  second  muflled  knock  was  heard  at  the 
door ;  and  a  bold-faced  man,  in  green  specta- 
cles, another  patient  of  Dr.  Grim's,  entered, 
crossed  the  apartment,  and  took  his  station 
quietly  beside  the  first.  Again  the  ominous 
sound  was  repeated,  and  a  man  with  an  oval 


32 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


face  joined  the  others.  This  third  apparition 
left  the  door  standing  ajar ;  the  mysterious,  muf- 
fled knock  was  heard  no  more  ;  but  there  glided 
in,  without  notice  or  warning,  a  stream  of  some 
dozen  or  twenty  ghost-like  personages,  in  each 
one  of  whom  Dr.  Grim,  who  was  rapidly  turning 
into  a  vast  petrifaction,  discovered  some  recent 
patient  that  had  been  shot  down  by  that  fatal 
ball,  the  Patent  Pioneer  Pill.  Among  others, 
he  recognised  a  dapper  bank-clerk,  who  had 
signalized  himself  by  having  outlived  double 
the  number  of  that  celebrated  preparation  of 
any  person  on  record ;  and — horrid  spectacle ! — 
John  Simple,  his  late  apothecary.  What  might 
be  the  purpose  of  this  singular  and  voluntary 
visit.  Dr.  Nicholas  Grim  had  not  sufficient  sa- 
gacity to  conjecture.  In  a  short  time,  however, 
the  bank-clerk  and  the  apothecary  laid  their 
ghostly  heads  together,  and  after  a  few  minutes' 
consultation,  the  bank-clerk  drew  from  his  pock- 
et a  scroll  of  paper,  and  pondered  over  it  about 
a  second  :  the  spare  apothecary  bustled  about 
among  the  shadowy  assembly,  and,  at  a  nod 
from  the  bank-clerk,  the  impudent  man  in  green 
spectacles  advanced  from  the  throng. 

"  I  commend  these  to  thee  as  fresh !"  said  the 
impudent  man,  seizing  Dr.  Nicholas  by  the  nose 
with  one  hand,  and  opening  his  mouth,  and 
thrusting  down  the  contents  of  a  large  pill-box 
with  the  other.  The  impudent  man  then  ad- 
justed his  green  spectacles  and  fell  back  into 
his  place. 

The  nod  of  the  bank-clerk  was  repeated :  and  a 
personage  built  like  a  junk  bottle,  having  a  small 
head  and  long  neck,  with  a  stout  round  body 
and  square  shoulders,  came  forward  and  sub- 
jected the  worthy  physician  to  the  identical 
operation  of  the  impudent  man  in  green  glass- 
es, and  i:^tired. 

Next  a  doughty  brewer  with  an  immense  fist 
stalked  forth,  and  crushing  the  pill-box  with 
which  he  was  furnished  between  two  fingers, 
he  filled  his  huge  palm  with  its  contents,  and 
poured  them,  with  an  asseveration,  down  the 
doctor's  throat,  as  if  he  was  using  a  barley- 
scoop. 

"  This  must  be  dry  work,"  said  the  first  ap- 
parition that  had  entered,  the  large  man  in 
stout  boots,  and  drawing  from  his  side  coat- 
pocket  a  bottle  of  paregoric,  he  thrust  the  neck 
into  the  mouth  of  Dr.  Grim  (who  began  to  make 
awful  contortions  of  face),  and,  giving  the  bot- 
tle a  smart  jerk,  discharged  the  whole  of  the 
fluid  into  his  stomach. 

« I  think  I'll  bag  the  balls  this  time  !"  said 
the  fourth  operator,  who  had  been  a  noted  bil- 
liard-player, shooting  the  contents  of  an  enor- 
mous box  into  the  open  mouth  of  Dr.  Grim. 

"  And  I'll  charge  home  !"  said  a  fifth  pa- 
tient, formerly  an  artillery-man,  stepping  out  as 
the  billiard-player  drew  back,  placing  the  con- 
tents of  a  similar  box  upon  the  tongue  of  the 
inventor  of  the  Patent  Pioneer  Pill,  and  forcing 
them  with  his  fingers  down  the  overcharged 
throat  of  the  doctor. 

«  What  if  I  throw  all  the  balls  at  once !"  said 


a  sixth,  the  keeper,  in  his  lifetime,  of  a  nme- 
pin  alley,  and  he  bowled  a  handful  of  pills  by 
main  force  into  the  distended  features  of  the 
terrified  Dr.  Grim. 

Then  a  modest  little  man  came  forward,  and, 
like  the  stout  countryman,  moistened  this  dry 
provender  with  a  second  infusion  of  fluid  from  a 
bottle  which  he  produced. 

At  length  the  bank-clerk  ceased  giving  nods, 
thrust  his  scroll  into  his  pocket,  and  came  for- 
ward himself,  his  skirts  stuffed  out  to  an  almost 
horizontal  position  by  the  materials  that  were 
crammed  into  them. 

"  There's  nothing  like  the  Pioneer  Pill,  Dr. 
Grim !"  said  he,  with  a  horrid  smirk  upon  his 
countenance,  drawing  from  his  pocket  another 
of  the  awful  chip  boxes,  which  disappeared  in 
a  trice  between  the  jaws  of  Dr.  Nicholas  :  a 
second  from  the  same  source  soon  followed  it ; 
a  third,  a  fourth,  a  fifth.  At  length,  even  the 
inexhaustible  pockets  of  the  bank-clerk  were 
exhausted,  and  he  turned  to  the  apothecary  for 
a  fresh  supply — and  that  worthy  handed  over  to 
him  some  dozen  boxes  more ;  the  last  two  or 
three  stuck  in  the  throat  of  the  doctor,  and  the 
bank-clerk  was  obliged  to  give  him  a  smart 
punch  in  the  bowels  to  open  his  larynx.  The 
bank-clerk  now,  with  large  drops  of  sweat  on 
his  pale  brow,  drew  back,  and  John  Simple  ad- 
vanced, with  a  grave,  doctorial  air,  to  take  his 
place. 

Baring  the  arm  of  Dr.  Grim,  he  took  him  de- 
liberately by  the  wrist  with  thumb  and  finger, 
and  gently  feeling  his  pulse,  said,  "  Dr.  Nicho- 
las, you  appear  to  have  something  of  a  fever ; 
your  face  is  flushed,  too,  and  there  appears  to 
be  a  slight  flutter  in  the  region  of  the  heart.  I 
am  afraid  you  are  suffering  from  repletion ; — 
have  you  any  nausea  ?"  To  this  question  Dr. 
Grim  involuntarily  shook  his  head,  and  Mr. 
John  Simple  proceeded  :  "  I  think  we  had  better 
send  down  a  box  or  two  of  our  Patent  Pioneer 
Pills ;  perhaps  the  little  apothecary  with  his 
shovel  may  remove  the  obstruction  or  impu- 
rity." 

There  was  a  gentle  laugh  among  the  assem- 
bled apparitions,  and  the  same  lively  process  of 
administering  pills  was  carried  into  effiect  as 
the  bank-clerk  had  practised,  the  latter  gentle- 
man taking  the  position  formerly  occupied  by 
Mr.  Simple,  and  handing  out  innumerable  boxes 
from  some  invisible  reservoir. 

As  box  after  box  followed  each  other  rapidly 
into  the  capacious  stomach  of  Dr.  Grim,  he 
might  have  thought,  if  thought  was  permitted 
to  his  awe-stricken  mind,  "  What  the  devil !  it 
can't  be  that  that  rascally  apotliecary,  John 
Simple,  is  preparing  the  Patent  Pioneer  Pill, 
from  my  recipe  in  the  other  place — for  ex- 
portation V 

Each  one  of  the  shadowy  party  had  now  ad- 
ministered in  turn  to  the  terrified  Grim ;  and 
yet  they  seemed  to  think  that  the  course  was 
not  quite  complete :  for,  huddling  about  the 
stand  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  each  one  seized 
upon  vial,  powder-paper,  or  long-necked  bot- 


# 


THE  VISION  OF  DR.  NICHOLAS  GRIM. 


33 


tie,  and  despatched  its  contents  after  the  drugs 
and  fluids  that  had  already  travelled  down  the 
free  highway  of  Dr.  Grim's  throat.  The  bowl 
of  calves'-feet  jelly  was,  however,  quaffed  off 
at  a  draught  by  the  doughty  brewer  himself. 

The  apothecary,  casting  his  eye  upon  the  fat- 
faced  watch,  exclaimed,  "  Our  time  is  up !" — 
and,  resuming  their  places,  they  glided  out  of 
the  apartment  in  the  same  order  and  with  the 
same  silent  tread  as  they  had  entered. 

In  a  few  minutes.  Foolish  Will  came  in  from 
practising  his  ingenious  exploit  by  the  river, 
and  advancing  cautiously  into  the  study  of  Dr. 
Grim,  he  discovered  that  worthy  practitioner 
with  his  feet  spread  out  upon  the  floor,  his 
hands  clinging  fast  to  the  arms  of  his  chair,  and 
his  face  going  through  a  series  of  singular  and 
rapid  changes,  to  which  the  rollicking  motion 
of  his  whole  body  seemed  to  lend  variety  and 
vigor.  Will  Robin,  as  might  be  reasonably 
expected,  thought  that  the  doctor  was  playing 
off  his  countenance  in  a  sportive  way  upon 
him ;  and  unwilling  to  be  outdone  in  so  capital 
a  diversion,  he  drew  up  a  chair  directly  oppo- 
site Dr.  Grim,  and  planting  himself  upon  its 
edge,  placed  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  and 
commenced  reciprocating  faces  with  that  cor- 
pulent gentleman. 

Some  of  the  doctor's  exhibitions  were,  how- 
ever, so  entirely  original  and  astonishing,  that 
they  put  at  defiance  Will  Robin's  herculean 
efforts  to  rival  them  ;  and  the  doctor  rolled  his 
eyeballs  in  a  manner  so  picturesque  and  ex- 
pressive, as  to  render  every  attemi)t  to  imitate 
their  movements  utterly  fruitless.  To  these 
numerous  and  inimitable  divertisements,  the 
doctor  now  began  to  add  certain  indescribable 
motions  of  the  hands — waving  them  in  rapid 
curves  toward  the  door — ^joining  them  signifi- 
cantly upon  his  stomach — and  again  brandish- 
ing both,  first  toward  Will  Robin,  and  thea 
toward  the  hall.  As  they  sat  thus  contem^jla- 
ting  each  other,  and  as  Will  began  to  suspect 
something  more  than  amusement  lay  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  matter,  SoL  Clarion  entered,  with 
his  gig-whip  in  his  hand,  to  greet  the  doctor, 
and  communicate  the  result  of  his  city  visit  as 
to  certain  small  messages  that  had  been  intrust- 
ed to  him  by  Dr.  Grim.  As  he  drew  near,  he 
discovered  that  something  had  gone  wrong  with 
the  doctor  in  his  absence;  and  instinctively 
seizing  his  pulse,  and  finding  it  to  beat  at  an 
unusual  rate,  he  begged  the  doctor  to  speak. 
But  the  doctor  was  silent  as  a  stone. 

"  For  God's  sake !"  exclaimed  Grace  Grim, 
rushing  into  the  room  at  that  moment,  from  a 
brief  conversation  with  Will  Robin  in  the  hall, 
«  for  God's  sake,  what  is  the  matter  with  my 
father  ?" 

Dr.  Grim  smiled  upon  her  faintly,  but  made 
no  answer.  He  was  carried  to  his  bed,  and 
there  he  lay  sick  for  about  two  weeks,  articu- 
lating not  a  word  distinctly  during  that  time, 
but  mumbling  over,  sometimes  to  himself,  some- 
times aloud,  broken  phrases,  from  which  the 
C 


foregoing  narrative  w^3  gathered.  At  the  end 
of  the  time,  he  died  in  an  apoplectic  fit,  which 
seized  him  about  midday.  The  third  day  after, 
he  was  buried,  and  the  warm  tears  of  two  affec- 
tionate and  simple  mourners,  at  least,  wet  the 
sod  upon  his  grave. 


And  yet  the  world  remains,  although  those 
whom  we  love  and  reverence  are  buried  from 
sight,  and  life  must  go  on  in  its  old  courses  after 
it  has  leaped  the  temporary  obstruction — the      . 
pebble  in  its  channel.  ^ 

Obeying  this  wise,  though  seemingly  selfish 
instinct,  some  twelve  months  after  the  death  of 
Dr.  Nicholas  Grim,  two  fair  beings  in  the  youth 
of  life  stood  up  hand  in  hand,  and  before  them 
a  reverend  man  in  sable  garments  likewise 
stood,  and  he  pronounced  before  them  a  solemn 
form  of  words,  and — they  were  man  and  wife. 

A  week  or  two  after  his  marriage  with  Grace 
Grim,  Sol.  Clarion  received  the  following  epis- 
tle by  the  hand  of  a  country  neighbor  from  the 
city  of  Peth  ;  and  as  he  perused  it,  he  thought 
he  heard  each  line  ring  with  the  peculiar  nasal 
twang  of  its  author  : — 

Greenwich,  Conn., 

6th  Month,  2d  Day,  18—. 
Friend  Solomon  : 

It  grieveth  me  much  to  communicate  by  this, 
tidings  that  thine  uncle  is  deceased.   He  depart- 
ed this  life  on  first  day  morning,  of  a  malignant 
fever,  as  I  am  informed  by  Dr.  Slanter,  who  at- 
tended him  during  his  last  sickness.     His  mal- 
ady wrought  much  change  in  thine  uncle's 
looks,  as  I  can  state  from  personal  observance, 
having  inspected  them  with  great  care  imme- 
diacely  after  his  lamented  decease.    The  funeral 
Cakes  place  third  day  morning,  but  too  early 
for  thee  to  come  up ;  thou  hadst  better  not  un- 
dertake the  journey,  as  it  may  overweary  thee, 
thou  being  of  a  feeble  constitution  (as  I  know), 
from  a  boy.     Thine  uncle  hath  left  no  heir,  as 
thou  knowest  he  was  never  in  wedlock ;  con- 
sequently thou  art  his  successor  in  the  home- 
stead,  and  whatsoever  cash,  moveables,  and 
stock,  he  hath  left.     I  would  advise  thee  to 
plough  the  meadow  behind  the  house,  and  to 
sow  timothy  in  the  blue  grass  meadow.     The 
garden  needs  to  be  looked  after,  and  the  fruit- 
trees,  as  they  are  at  present  well-stocked,  should 
be  thinned  out.     Perhaps  I  had  better  use  the 
kitchen  herbs  and   early  apples  for  my  own 
family  use,  until  thou  comest  hither.   My  spouse 
Deborah  says  they  make  exceeding  good  pies. 
Zekiel  can  pluck  them,  and  it  will  be  no  great 
trouble ;  if  it  be,  a  small  commission  will  make 
all  right  between  me  and  thee.   Zekiel  proposes 
to  gather  the  vegetables  and  fruit  for  us  in  con- 
sideration of  thy  letting  him  have  a  little  of  the 
live  stock ;  a  pair  or  two  of  the  fowls,  and  a 
well-looking  calf  that  is  just  cast  by  the  spotted 
cow.     I  regret  to  add  that  Gideon  Barley's  &aA 
red  heifer  hath  strained  her  off  shoulder,  and  b  » 


34 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


may  lose  the  crittur.  I  recommended  salt  and 
water  for  the  animal ;  whether  Gideon  will  use 
it  yet  is  not  decided.  The  old  people  are  well 
and  ask  the  stagedriver  daily  (as  I  have  ob- 
served from  the  kitchen  window)  questions  con- 
cerning thy  welfare.  I  would  bring  this  news 
to  thee  in  person,  and  be  enabled  to  satisfy  thy 
gi'andfather  and  grandmother  touching  thy  prog- 
ress and  behavior  in  the  Babylon  where  thou 
art,  but  there  is  much  ploughing  to  be  done,  and 
I  am  deprived  of  Zephaniah's  aid,  he  being  sore 
of  a  foot  with  a  scythe  wound.  Leonard  hath 
gone  over  to  tend  the  mill  for  MiUer  Kirby,  and 
Zekiel  will  be  busy  running  to  and  fro  betwixt 
us  and  thy  garden  and  orchard.  Advising  thee 
to  keep  from  the  snares  that  beset  the  feet  of 
youth  in  the  ungodly  city,  and  reconmiending 
thee  to  pay  thy  tailor's  bill,  and  avoid  the  night 
air :  Thine, 

Uriah  Bloom. 

It  is  thought  that  Doublet,  the  old-fangled 
tory  lawyer,  will  not  last  the  summer  out.  I 
have  called  upon  him  a  score  or  so  of  times  in  a 
neighborly  way,  and  do  verily  believe  that  the 
old  man  hath  lost  his  wits,  for  he  ceases  not  to 
cry  out  for  one  Mand  Hamus,  a  king's  counsel 
I  judge,  from  such  words  as  he  delivers  with  the 
name.  However  on  this  point  I  will  inform 
thee  further  in  a  short  time,  as  I  intend  to  watch 
with  him  to-night,  to  see  what  further  hints  he 
may  drop  in  his  fever,  touching  this  and  other 
matters.  U.  B. 

Happening  a  short  time  after  this  in  the 
neighborhood  of  9^  Bowery,  Sol.  Clarion's  eye 
was  attracted  by  a  gorgeous  painting,  ei^hibiting 
a  great  variety  of  monsters  in  fanciful  colors, 
and  observing  the  words,  "  Wonderful  Wild 
Beast  Exhibition,"  he  stepped  in  and  asked  for 
the  proprietor,  Mr.  P.  Hyaena  Patchell.  But 
Mr.  Patchell  came  not  forth.  In  answer  to  his 
inquiry,  he  learned  that  the  smart  showman  had 
had  his  head  bitten  oflf  by  the  famous  Bengal 
lion,  in  an  attempt  to  investigate  the  lungs  and 
bronchia  of  that  interesting  animal,  for  the 
amusement  of  a  very  pleasant  assemblage  of 
apprentices,  maid  servants,  children  under  thir- 
teen at  half  price,  and  a  musty  medical  gentle- 
man, who  was  very  curious  to  learn  the  physio- 
logical effect  of  a  full  grown  man's  placing  his 
cranium  within  the  jaws  of  a  Bengal  lion  in 
robust  health. 

Counsellor  Doublet,  he  ascertained,  had  bust- 
led about  the  clerks'  offices  for  a  day  or  two,  and 
been  laughed  at  by  all  the  clerks  and  scriveners 
in  the  same ;  was  told  the  supreme  court  no 
longer  granted  the  writ  of  privilege — and  re- 
turned to  the  counti7  and  took  to  his  bed. 
By  the  next  mail  after  that  which  brought  the 
epistle  of  Friend  Bloom,  he  learned  that  the  little 
lawyer  had  died  over  night,  demanding  a  "  man- 
damus writ  of  privilege  !"  in  a  voice  of  author- 
ity; and  threatening  an  appeal  to  parliament 
if  it  were  not  granted ! 


THE  MELANCHOLY  VAGABOND. 

It  was  a  clear  October  morning.  The  hum 
of  the  city  was  just  beginning  to  swell  into  a 
distinct  sound;  the  sun,  like  a  cheerful  face 
smiling  from  amid  doubt  and  adversity,  was 
pushing  aside  the  clouds  in  the  east,  and  exhib- 
iting his  broad,  rubicund  features  in  full  glow 
and  freshness ;  sloops,  here  and  there,  and  other 
trim  vessels  were  starting  out  from  the  shore, 
and  gliding  up  or  down  the  river ;  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  stream  two  men  occupied  a  wea- 
ther-beaten, red  fishing-boat,  motionless  and 
silent.  One  of  them  sat  in  the  stern  with  his 
hands  clenched  upon  his  knees,  and  a  wo-begone 
expression  of  countenance ;  and  the  other  occu- 
pied the  middle  seat  with  an  oar  in  each  hand 
dipping  in  the  water. 

The  first  had  a  dry,  shrivelled  face,  was  short 
of  stature,  and  was  attired  in  a  tattered  gray 
overcoat,  stretching  from  chin  to  heel,  with  a 
woollen  cap,  fashioned  very  much  like  a  night- 
cap, on  his  head.  The  second  was  a  round, 
beef-fed  personage,  built  like  a  duck,  with  an 
immense  bill  and  corresponding  mouth,  and 
amply  fiUed  every  inch  of  his  garments  with  his 
person.  He  was  clad  in  a  long-tailed  clay-col- 
ored coat,  mud-colored  vest,  colorless  pair  of 
breeches,  and  dusty  hat.  ^_^  'f. 

"  Don't  you  feel  any  sort  of  a  freshness  from 
the  morning  air,  Neddy  ?"  asked  the  duck-fea- 
tured gentleman,  pulling  a  stroke  or  two  down 
the  river. 

"  No,  none  at  all,  no  how ;  there's  something 
here.  Nosey,"  laying  his  right  hand  upon  his 
heart,  "  a  dead  sickness  I'm  afeard  that  breeze 
nor  physician er  can  cure !"  He  then  heaved  a 
sigh,  and  joining  his  hands  together  again,  ex- 
claimed in  a  still  more  pathetic  voice,  "  Ah  ! 
you  knows  not.  Nosey  Bellows,  tho'  you  he's  a 
father,  what  it  is  to  have  a  ungrateful  dau'ter  ! 
T^have  a  girl  what  marries  throw  herself  away 
against  her  daddy's  will." 

"P«r'aps  we'd  better  pull  for  the  fishing 
ground, Neddy,"  said  the  duck-faced  man,  « the 
sight  of  the  cheerful  porgies  comin'  up  on  the 
hook  may  isort  o'  revive  you,  and  make  you 
forget  your  ST:ifr'rin's.  A  bit  of  nature  now  and 
then  is  very  pleasant  to  the  spirits !  Come," 
concluded  the  duck-faced  man,  "we'll  try  a 
stroke  for  the  island  ! — what  say  you,  Neddy 
Budge  ?" 

"Neddy  Budge  caii't  go.  Nosey,  no  how; 
you'd  better  pull  to  shore  and  land  me,  for  some- 
how or  other  I  always  feel  more  melancholy  on 
water.  So  I'll  turn  rudder/'  giving  the  tiller 
a  turn  feebly,  "  and  go  ashore  and  take  a  stroll 
along  the  banks  !" 

"  Well,  if  you  will,  you  will  !'*  said  Mr.  Bel- 
lows, drawing  his  oars  smartly  through  the 
water,  and  the  red  boat  shot  swiftly  toward 
land.  In  a  few  minutes  they  struck  the  shore. 
Budge  jumped  out,  and  Bellows  turning  again 
scudded  down  the  river,  took  in  another  friend 
of  his,  and  pointed  prow  for  Governor's  island. 


THE  MELANCHOLY  VAGABOND. 


The  history  of  Neddy  Budge  up  to  this  period 
was  simply  this.  He  had  opened  life  as  a  con- 
stable in  a  fifty-dollar  court.  From  his  humble 
position  on  the  floor  of  a  court-room,  clearing 
the  bar  and  bawling  «  to  order  !"  he  had,  one 
lucky  day,  by  a  sudden  change  of  parties  and 
favor  with  political  leaders,  found  his  way  to 
the  justice's  seat,  and  there  he  presided  for 
many  years  a  legal  dark-lantern,  by  whose  un- 
certain and  wavering  light  many  an  unfortunate 
plaintifi"  or  defendant  was  plunged  into  a  pit  of 
costs.  Again  the  wheel  of  fortune  turned. 
Again  he  handled  the  marshal's  truncheon  for 
a  time ;  but  even  that  simple  staff  of  authority 
was  wrested  from  his  hand,  and  he  became  an 
idle  hanger-on  upon  the  court,  without  business 
or  profit,  until  the  sweeper  of  the  court-room 
died,  and  then,  in  consideration  of  his  former 
luminous  services  on  the  bench,  Neddy  Budge 
was  inducted  into  that  modest  office.  He  soon 
became  a  poor  devil,  and  slipping  rapidly  through 
those  nice  gradations  which  are  known  only 
in  low  life,  he  settled  into  the  character  in 
which  he  has  appeared  before  the  reader,  namely 
that  of  a  vagabond  fisherman. 

After  Neddy  Budge  had  abandoned  Bellows 
and  his  boat,  he  directed  his  steps  along  the 
shore  indulging,  as  he  walked,  a  melancholy 
vein  of  thought  and  meditation. 

"  Who'd  have  thought  it,"  said  Neddy,  tor- 
turing his  face  into  an  expression  of  refined 
suffering,  "  a  girl  as  was  bro't  up  so  kindly — and 
so  well  edecated  as  Nancy — poor  Nan  !"  and  a 
small  drop  of  fluid  distilled  from  the  eyes  of  the 
Melancholy  Vagabond,  "  and  then  to  marry  sich 
a  tripe !  a  mere  dog-queller." — Here  Mr. 
Budge's  feelings  of  indignation  became  too 
strong  for  oral  expression,  and  he  accordingly 
plucked  his  woollen  cap  from  his  brow  and 
crushed  and  twisted  it  between  his  hands,  until 
all  semblance  of  its  character  as  an  ornament 
for  the  human  head  had  entirely  disappeared. 
"  I  can't  stand  it  no  how  any  longer,"  at  length 
uttered  Neddy  Budge,  stamping  his  foot  fiercely 
on  the  ground,  "  I'll  wring  his  neck  oft^,  and 
they  may  take  the  law  of  me  !  I  don't  care  no 
how  ! — I'll  choke  him  with  soot  afore  he  shall 
live  with  my  daughter  !  Yes  I  will !"  and  the 
evil-minded  Budge  doubled  his  fist  and  shook  it 
in  the  air  as  if  the  powerful  proposition  he  had 
just  made  had  been  assailed  by  some  invisible 
casuist.  Upon  the  delivery  of  this  emphatic 
threat,  Mr.  Budge  directed  his  steps  with  con- 
siderable speed  toward  the  city.  He  had  not 
walked  many  paces  in  this  direction  before  he 
resumed  his  original  course  with  more  modera- 
tion, faUing  again  into  a  strain  of  dolorous  re- 
flection. 

"But  I  ha'n't  the  spirit  to  murder  a  man, 
though  he  be  a  dog-killer,  and  as  helpless  and 
feeble  as  a  puppy  just  whelped.  If  he'd  have 
been  a  rag-picker,  or  a  horse-doctor,  or  a  mas- 
ter chimley-sweep,  or  any  sort  of  a  thing  but  a 
dog-killer,  Neddy  Budge  could  have  stood  it. 
But  then,  he's  a  despisable  murtherer  of  poor 
curs !  and  knocks  'em  in  the  head  for  the  cor- 


poration,  a  dollar  a-picce.  I  hope  Nancy  'U 
starve  afore  she  eats  bread  earned  by  sich  prac 
tices !" 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  with  his  eyes  cast 
sadly  upon  the  ground,  a  laughing  fellow,  with  a 
crimson  complexion,  slapped  Neddy  Budge  heart- 
ily upon  the  shoulder. 

This  worthy  was  a  joUy  constable,  a  former 
companion  of  Budge's,  and  always  known  and 
addressed  as  "  William."  And  here,  kind  read- 
er, allow  me  to  drop  a  pithy  apothegm,  founded 
on  much  observation  and  experience.  There  is 
a  class  of  persons  whose  full  name  is  as  difficult 
to  get  at  as  to  discover  the  longitude,  or  the 
meaning  of  a  Hebrew  commentator.  They  are 
known  simply  as  Johnson,  or  Hodges,  or  Smith ; 
or  as  John,  Bob,  Philip,  or  Dick.  Hostlers, 
coachmen,  negroes,  errand-boys,  constables,  and 
park-keepers,  are  generally  known  in  this  way. 
They  seem  to  constitute  a  kind  of  half-human- 
ity, which  is  sufficiently  honored  and  recognised 
by  a  single  appellative.  Why  clergymen  are 
put  to  the  inconvenience  of  christening  them 
into  full  names,  is  a  mystery  I  could  never 
fathom. 

"Good  morning,  judge  !"  said  the  jolly  con- 
stable, touching  his  hat  with  a  mock  air  of  pro- 
found reverence,  as  Neddy  Budge  looked  up, 
"  how  does  your  honor  feel  this  morning  !" 

"  Miserable,  William,  miserable.  I'm  in  sich 
low  spirits,  and  have  sich  a  ringing  in  my  head 
I  can't  hardly  live." 

"  Why,  how  is  this,  Neddy  ?"  continued  the 
jolly  constable,  "  your  mind  ought  to  be  as  light 
as  a  lark,  now ;  you've  got  no  cases  to  try,  no 
juries  to  panel" — 

"You  say  true,  William,"  interposed  the 
Melancholy  Vagabond,  "  but  I'm  afeard  a  ju- 
ry '11  be  panelled  on  me  afore  long  that  will  give 
in  a  final  verdict ;  and  my  case  will  be  tried 
beyond  appeals  to  higher  couits !"  And  the 
Melancholy  Vagabond  let  fall  a  tear  upon  his 
coat-sleeve. 

Hereupon  the  jolly  constable  looked  very  sol- 
emn, and  said,  "  Neddy  Budge,  you  didn't  use 
to  be  this  way  in  the  old  court ;  there.  Justice 
Budge  was  as  laughing  a  fellow  as  ever  sat  on 
the  bench.  Don't  you  recoUect,"  he  concluded, 
smiling,  and  nudging  Mr.  Budge  under  the  small 
ribs,  "  the  case  of  Wright  vs.  Passnips,  where 
you  threatened  one  of  defeiidant's  witnesses,  if 
he  didn't  stop  snivelling  in  court  you'd  send 
him  up  to  the  dry  dock  to  be  new  calked!" 
Upon  the  delivery  of  this  funny  reminiscence 
the  joUy  constable  exploded  in  a  horse-laugh, 
which,  however,  produced  only  a  sickly  smile 
upon  the  countenance  of  ex-Justice  Budge.  At 
this,  Catchpole  was  slightly  disconcerted,  and, 
shaking  Neddy  hastily  by  the  hand,  hurried  off 
to  court,  saying  he  "  must  take  out  a  fresh  sum- 
mons in  the  case  of  the  huckster  woman,  who 
always  puts  her  head  out  of  the  garret-window, 
saying,  she's  just  gone  out  of  town  !" 

Neddy  Budge  thereupon  seized  his  woollen 
cap  by  the  top,  gave  it  two  or  three  uneasy 
turns  upon  his  head,  settled  it  with  a  new  part  in 


36 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


front,  and,  plunging  both  hands  in  his  deep  coat- 
pockets,  proceeded  on  his  way  more  thoughtful 
and  melancholy  than  ever. 

The  gloom  which  now  pervaded  the  bosom  of 
Mr.  Budge,  had  been  gathering  over  it  for  more 
than  a  twelvemonth.  It  had,  at  length,  become 
insupportable.  The  poor  fellow  as  he  now  trav- 
elled along,  keeping  the  river  in  view,  burst 
forth  at  times  with  some  heavy  passage  of  com- 
plaining, or  sitting  down  upon  the  stump  of  a 
tree,  or  a  rock,  or  any  chance  object,  wrung 
his  hands  and  indulged  in  a  copious  discharge 
of  tears.  The  man's  only  and  darling  daugh- 
ter had  married  a  dog-killer !  Thus  Neddy 
Budge  rambled  about  the  whole  morning,  some- 
times keeping  upon  the  road,  but  oftener  strag- 
gling through  the  fields  or  along  the  shore.  At 
length  he  formed  a  desperate  resolve.  He  had 
reached  an  old,  deserted  granary,  standing  near 
the  river,  with  a  door,  over  which  swung  a 
rusty  iron  crane,  looking  forth  upon  the  water. 
Into  this  Neddy  Budge  easily  made  an  entrance. 
For  a  long  time  he  seemed  to  be  searching 
about  the  building  for  some  object  in  vain.  At 
length,  discovering  a  stout  piece  of  cord,  his  ob- 
ject seemed  to  be  attained,  and,  forming  one  end 
of  the  same  into  a  noose,  he  proceeded  calmly 
and  thoughtfully  into  the  upper  story  of  the  gra- 
nary. Here  he  threw  open  the  door,  drew  in  the 
crane,  and  attached  to  its  extremity  one  end  of 
the  rope.  In  a  moment  the  other  end  was  about 
his  own  neck,  he  had  given  the  crane  an  out- 
ward swing,  and  Neddy  Budge  hung  dangling 
in  the  air ! 

Nosey  BeUows,  his  companion  of  the  morn- 
ing, had  been  unsuccessful  in  his  fishing  ven- 
ture at  Governor's  island,  and  had  glided  up  the 
river,  and  dropped  anchor  off  the  Long  island 
shore,  opposite  the  very  building  from  which 
Neddy  Budge  had  just  thrown  himself.  He  was 
sitting  on  the  landward  side  of  the  boat,  with 
his  line  carelessly  dipping  in  the  water,  and 
looking  over  toward  the  city.  The  sun  was 
sunken  low  in  the  west,  and  brought  out  the 
object  upon  which  his  gaze  was  now  fastened, 
with  great  distinctness  against  the  sky. 

"  As  sure  as  a  fish  is  a  water  animal,"  ex- 
claimed the  duck-featured  gentleman  to  his 
friend  in  the  boat,  "  there's  a  man  hanging  from 
Astor's  old  granary  by  the  neck  !" 

At  this  his  friend  turned,  and,  looking  in  the 
direction  to  which  he  pointed,  replied,  "  Poh  ! 
Nosey,  it's  nothing  but  a  sack  of  wheat  that 
they're  swinging  in,  or  a  sheaf  of  straw  !"  and, 
looking  more  earnestly,  he  seemed  to  doubt 
something  the  report  of  his  own  vision. 

"  Sheaf  of  straw  nor  sack  of  wheat  has  pas- 
sed that  door  or  hung  on  that  crane  this  twenty 
year  ;  never  sin'  the  dead  pedler  was  found 
in  the  loft.  I'm  sure  its  a  man,  and  what's  more, 
we'll  pull  over  and  cut  him  down  ;  there  may  be 
some  snuff  o'  life  in  him  yet." 

Instantly  they  took  in  their  lines  and  anchor, 
and,  each  seizing  an  oar,  they  pulled  with  main 
and  might  straight  across  the  river.  As  they 
drew  nearer,  Bellows,  observing  the  long  gray 


overcoat,  exclaimed,  "  It's  Neddy  Budge,  as  I 
live  !"  and  he  threw  greater  strength  into  ever}"- 
stroke.  They  soon  landed,  and  both  ran  at  full 
speed  toward  the  old  granary.  In  a  moment 
they  drew  in  the  crane,  but,  finding  him 
stone-cold,  the  duck-featured  gentleman  re- 
marked, with  considerable  trepidation  in  his 
accent,  that  "  It  wouldn't  do  to  cut  him  down 
till  the  crowner  came.  It  was  agin  the  law  ! — 
So  I've  heard  poor  Neddy  himself  say  many  a 
time !" 

Nosey  Bellows  soon  despatched  his  friend  in 
quest  of  that  functionary,  and,  allowing  the  body 
of  Neddy  Budge  to  swing  back  to  its  original 
position,  he  descended  below  stairs  and  stood 
underneath  the  crane  looking  up,  with  singular 
expression  of  visnomy,  into  the  shrivelled  face 
of  his  deceased  friend.  He  was  there  joined 
by  a  second  party,  namely,  the  jolly  constable, 
who  had  come  that  way  to  try  the  inaccessible 
huckster  (who  lived  near  by)  with  a  "fresh 
summons." 

They  now  observed,  for  the  first  time  togeth- 
er, that  Neddy  Budge  held  his  woollen  cap  in 
his  hand,  which  was  extended  forward  as  if  in 
the  act  of  tossing  it  from  him,  when  it  was 
arrested  by  the  death-pang.  The  philosophy  of 
neither  could  solve  this  mysterious  position  of 
the  dexter  arm,  and  there  they  stood  wonder- 
ing till  the  coroner  arrived.  He  very  speedily, 
with  the  aid  of  the  constable,  summoned  a 
jury  from  the  neighborhood ;  who,  hearing  the 
testmiony  of  Nosey  Bellows  and  jolly  William, 
as  to  his  morning's  conversation  with  each  of 
them,  rendered  the  verdict,  "died  of  his  own 
act,  in  consequence  of  melancholy  and  depres- 
sion of  spirits."  The  jolly  constable  thereupon 
departed  in  search  of  the  ingenious  huckster ; 
the  body  of  Neddy  Budge  was  lifted  into  the 
red  fishing-boat,  and  Nosey  Bellows  and  his 
friend  rowed  sorrowfully  down  the  stream.  The 
next  day  the  Melancholy  Vagabond  was  buried. 


THE  MERRY-MAKERS.— EX- 
PLOIT  NO.  I. 

THE  MERRY-MAKERS  IN  QUEST  OF  A  DINNER  J 
AND  THE  COSTUME  IN  WHICH  THEY  INTRO- 
DUCED THEMSELVES  TO  CHICKEN  PIE  AND 
CIDER. 

Everywhere,  all  over  the  face  of  the  earth, 
are  scattered,  like  dimples,  crews  and  compa- 
nies of  droll  fellows,  to  keep  the  world  in  hu- 
mor, and  preserve  the  arts  of  laughter  and 
frolic  from  total  oblivion.  Here  and  there, 
some  two  or  three  of  them  will  obtain  a  foot- 
hold, and,  practising  their  mad  pranks,  and  ut- 
tering their  witty  sayings,  make  whole  counties 
and  townships  ring  with  the  echo.  These  are 
your  wild  blades,  roaring  boys,  with  something 
of  the  goosecap,  something  of  the  swaggerer  in 
their  composition,  whose  exploits  are  part  of 


THE  MERRY-MAKERS.—EXPLOIT  NO.  I. 


87 


ine  historj',  and  their  mirthful  speeches  part  of 
the  vernacular  of  country  villages  and  neigh- 
borhoods. In  the  chronicles  and  traditions  of 
such  places,  they  fill  the  posts  of  Robin  Hoods 
and  court-jesters ;  every  old  woman  in  a  cap 
takes  their  fame  into  keeping,  and  it  is  handed 
down  from  chimney  corner  to  chimney  corner, 
sometimes  even  as  far  as  the  third  generation  ! 
God  bless  the  jovial  tribe  !  for  they  have  saved 
many  a  good  face  from  becoming  mouldy  and 
wrinkled,  and  sent  a  cheerful  ray  down  into 
many  a  fine  heart  that  would  otherwise  have 
become  dull  and  torpid. 

Some  thirty  miles  from  the  good  city  of  New 
York,  a  pleasant  road  winds  through  the  bosom 
of  a  cheerful  range  of  low  hills,  covered  all  the 
way  with  rich  woods  and  pasture-lands.  In  the 
very  heart  of  these  hills  stood  a  dilapidated  and 
ancient  out-house,  in  which  were  assembled, 
early  on  a  clear  midsummer  morning,  some  six 
or  eight  laughing  feUows,  shabbily  dressed,  and 
engaged  in  earnest  conversation. 

"  Well,  my  lads  !"  said  one  of  them,  a  good- 
sized  man,  in  a  hawk  nose,  "  I  think  we  had 
better  forego  the  project  of  tapping  uncle 
Aaron's  cider-barrels  to-day.  The  liquor  will 
be  better  a  month  or  two  hence.  I  have  a  bet- 
ter game  to  propose,  that  I  think  you'll  like  to 
have  a  hand  in." 

«  What  is  it,  Bobbylink  ?— let  us  have  it," 
was  the  general  acclamation  and  question  of 
the  party,  as  they  gathered  eagerly  about  the 
speaker. 

*'As  many  as  would  as  leave  as  not  have 
clean  rigging  and  a  hot  dinner  to-day,  will 
please  to  not  keep  their  mouths  shut !"  and  a 
universal  "  Amen  !"  burst  from  the  throats  of 
the  persons  assembled. 

"  If  so,"  continued  the  speaker,  who  seemed 
to  be  master  of  the  revels,  "  report  yourselves 
and  your  condition  as  I  call  your  names." 

Saying  this,  he  drew  a  dirty  piece  of  paper 
from  his  hat,  and  called  "  Habbakkuk  Viol." 

*'  Here  :  breeches  open  as  Deacon  Barker's 
mouth  when  he's  praying ;  coat  with  tails  fight- 
ing agin  each  other,  and  suing  for  separation  ; 
shirt  turned  into  ribands,  and  gone  into  boots 
which  are  on  a  visit  to  the  cobbler's ;  belly  in  a 
state  of  insurrection." 

«  John  Smally." 

"  On  the  spot,  sir,  and  has  a  faint  recollec- 
tion of  a  breakfast  he  eat  'bout  a  month  ago  ; 
believes  there  was  such  a  meal  as  dinner  once 
in  vogue  in  these  parts.  Garments  similar- 
like to  Mr.  Viol's." 

«  Sam  Chisel." 

"  Your  sarvant !"  said  a  stout-built  fellow, 
with  a  slight  hump  on  his  shoulders,  throwing 
a  somerset  and  lighting  in  front  of  Mr.  Bobby-- 
link  with  a  solemn  expression  of  face.  "  Has 
attended  three  house-raisin's,  two  weddin's,  and 
one  christenin' ;  come  ofi"  with  a  dry  belly  from 
all  six.  For  why  ?  One  man  fell  down  dead 
with  an  opoplexy,  the  furst  mug  of  cider  he 
swallered ;  'cordingly,  the  barrels  was  all 
spiked,  for  fear  of  fudder  accidents.  The  oth- 
3 


er  two  raisin's  was  on  tne  rock  crystal,  cold 
water  plan  :  the  baby  at  the  christenin'  was  too 
small  herself  for  to  eat,  'cordingly  they  giv' 
nothin'  out.  The  two  weddin's  was  over  when 
I  got  there — 'cause  why  ?  'Bak.  Viol  told  me 
the  wrong  hour." 

«  That  will  do,  Mr.  Chisel,'^  said  the  good- 
sized  man ;  "  fall  in  with  Smally  there,  and 
save  your  stories  for  next  twenty-first  of  June. 

"  Harry  Harvest." 

"  Overcoat  in  good  condition.  Hat,  coat, 
breeches,  and  breakfast,  missing." 

After  these,  one  or  two  other  very  similar  per- 
sonages gave  corresponding  responses,  and  the 
roU-caU  was  completed. 

"  Follow  me,  my  lads  !"  said  Mr.  Bobbylink, 
taking  up  the  line  of  march  toward  a  crum- 
bling, old-fashioned  building,  of  which  the  out- 
house was  an  appurtenance.  The  edifice  which 
they  now  approached  had  been  unoccupied  and 
gradually  falling  into  decay  for  several  years. 
The  owner  of  the  lands  on  which  it  stood  had 
erected  a  new  tenement  on  a  different  part  of  • 
his  farm,  and  abandoned  this  to  bats  and  owls, 
and  such  companions  of  owls  as  Mr.  Bobbylink 
and  his  club  of  wild  fellows. 

There  was  a  part  of  the  building,  however, 
into  which  even  these  dare-devils  were  afraid 
to  intrude,  and  that  was  an  upper  chamber 
which  was  said  to  be  tenanted  by  the  ghost  of 
a  Jew  who  had  died  there  at  the  close  of  the 
lai^t  century.  In  that  room  it  was  currently  ru- 
mored that  the  spirit  of  the  Hebrew  kept  bache- 
lor's chambers  in  a  very  ghostly  manner — ta- 
king his  meals,  clinking  and  counting  his  silver,  * 
and  retiring  to  bed,  with  all  the  regularity  of  a 
gentleman  in  the  flesh.  To  confirm  this  state 
of  things,  Mr.  Sam  Chisel  said  that  he  had  seen 
a  man  in  a  thin  face  and  Roman  nose  stand  at 
the  window  several  times  "  atween  daylight  and 
dark,  his  hand  stroking  a  dry  tuft  of  whisker, 
like  a  goat."  And  Habbakkuk  Viol  asserted, 
on  his  own  personal  hopes  of  salvation,  that  he 
had  heard  a  graveyard-voice  distinctly  enunci- 
ate, when  Joshua  Jolton,  Esquire,  was  ringing 
his  barrow  shoats,  "  Dem  those  shwine !"  Into 
this  chamber,  notwithstanding  the  terrors  which 
guarded  it.  Bob  Bobbylink  now  boldly  advanced, 
followed  by  Smally,  Chisel,  Viol,  and  their  com* 
patriots,  in  a  state  of  considerable  trepidation 
and  paleness. 

"  Yesterday  afternoon,"  said  Bob  Bobbylink, 
in  explanation  of  this  sudden  intrusion  into  the 
haunted  apartment,  "  I  was  crossing  the  open 
garret  in  search  of  an  old  firelock  :  all  at  once 
the  casement  of  the  north  window  rattled,  one 
of  the  window-frames  fell  out,  and  a  gust  came 
roaring  through  the  building — swept  my  hat 
from  my  head — the  little  Jew's  door  burst  open, 
through  rolled  my  hat,  and  I  stood  shivering, 
bareheaded,  in  the  wind.  In  a  trice,  however, 
I  was  filled  with  huge  promptings  of  valor  and 
adventure,  and  pushed  forward  toward  the  little 
Jew's  bed-chamber.  I  found  nothing  but  an 
old  high-backed  chair,  a  bedstead  with  the  cords 
mouldering  to  pieces,  and  this  black  clothes- 


38 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


press  standing  against  the  wall.  The  little 
Jew  had  quit  the  premises,  and  as  I  was  the 
first  one  to  make  a  voyage  into  these  unknown 
parts,  I  claim  a  right  in  all  that  is  found,  as 
first  discoverer.  I  searched  diligently,  my  good 
fellows,  every  nook  and  cranny  of  the  room,  for 
cash  and  hard  silver,  and,  to  my  utter  astonish- 
ment, found  not  a  farthing.  Nevertheless,  I  have 
fallen  upon  something,  that,  if  it  be  well  man- 
aged, will  purchase  a  prime  dinner  for  us  for 
to-day,  at  least."  At  the  conclusion  of  this 
brief  narrative,  Mr.  Bobbylink  advanced  to  the 
clothes-press,  turned  a  rusty  key  in  the  lock, 
and  the  doors  flew  open,  and  disclosed  to  the 
staring  eyes  of  the  party  a  great  number  of  cu- 
rious dresses,  carefully  folded  up  and  laid  in 
order  on  the  shelves,  interlarded  here  and  there 
with  old-fashioned  swords,  matchlocks,  and 
pistols. 

"  I  don't  see  how  a  dinner  is  to  come  out  of 
this,"  said  Habbakkuk  Viol,  after  gazing  upon 
the  apparel  a  reasonable  length  of  time,  "  un- 
less, Bob,  you  propose  to  feed  us,  like  ostriches, 
on  rags  and  Iron.  Jack  Smally  here  has  a 
stomach,  I  doubt  not,  that  would  digest  one  of 
those  antediluvian  matchlocks  for  a  breakfast, 
and  despatch  a  pair  of  those  odd-looking  pistols 
between  meals.  Otherwise,  I  see  no  meal  nor 
mutton  in  a  case  of  old  clothes." 

"  Poh !"  retorted  Bobbylink,  with  an  air  of 
hearty  disdain,  "  Viol,  you  see  nothing  but  that 
which  is  plainly  before  your  eyes  ;  yea,  ani  it 
must  come  somewhat  in  contact  with  your  nose 
before  you  can  thoroughly  smell  out  its  mean- 
ing." 

"I  agree  with  Viol,"  interposed  Mr.  John 
Smally ;  "  I  see  no  purpose  to  which  you  can 
put  these  fantastic  dresses,  unless  it  be  to  ped- 
dle them  at  the  weaver's,  a  penny  a  pound,  and 
the  works  on  the  firearms  for  old  iron,  a  penny 
and  a  half." 

"  You  are  a  pretty  fellow,  Johnny  Smally," 
replied  Bob  Bobbylink,  with  an  air  of  still  great- 
er superiority  than  he  had  adopted  toward  Viol, 
"  a  pretty  fellow,  indeed,  to  tell  what  use  may 
be  made  of  these  instruments.  Your  conceits, 
Smally,  are  parcel  of  your  brain — patchwork 
and  rusty.  Your  skull  is  quilted  with  the  very 
odds  and  ends  of  your  grandmother's  rag-box, 
— stuffed,  like  an  old  saddle,  with  tow  and 
feathers — " 

Mr.  Bobbylink  would  have  prolonged  his  rep- 
rimand, had  he  not  at  this  moment  cast  his  eye 
upon  John  Smally,  who  hung  his  head,  played 
with  the  fragment  of  a  jacket-button,  and  ex- 
hibited other  indisputable  signs  of  penitence  and 
contrition. 

Now  it  should  be  understood  that  the  shirt- 
less Smally  was  the  factotum,  humble  servant 
and  parasite  of  Robert  Bobbylink ;  that  he  had 
discovered,  at  a  very  early  period  of  life,  that 
Mr.  Bobbylink  possessed  the  finest  pair  of 
skirts  of  any  gentleman  of  his  acquaintance ; 
that  he  had  attached  himself  to  said  skirts  very 
shortly  after  such  discovery,  and  had  clung  to 
the  same  up  to  the  present  period,  with  the  te- 


nacity of  a  genuine  mastiff.  He  accordingly 
made  it  his  special  business  to  circulate  Mr. 
Bobbylink's  jocose  sayings  far  and  wide  ;  to  re- 
peat his  stories,  with  the  prefix,  "  Mr.  Bobby- 
link said,"  at  all  the  convenient  inns  and  public 
places  within  a  dozen  miles'  walk ;  and  to  per- 
form similar  other  small  duties  which  a  vassal 
should  of  right  render  unto  his  liege  lord.  He 
was  Bob  Bobbylink's  humble  shadow.  If  Bob 
expanded  into  importance,  Mr.  Smally  felt  it 
his  duty  to  dilate  in  a  corresponding  manner ; 
if  Mr.  Bobbylink  at  any  time,  from  the  force  of 
circumstances,  or  detection  in  some  prank  or 
project,  was  made  to  look  dwarfish,  John  Smally, 
according  to  the  charter  by  which  he  lived,  was 
forced  to  look  as  small  as  a  grasshopper.  From 
all  these  causes,  a  rebuke  from  Mr.  Bobbylink 
was  no  less  than  a  thunder-clap  to  the  ears  of 
Mr.  Smally,  and  he  was  profoundly  hushed  and 
silent  until  it  rimibled  by ;  though  he  had  wit 
at  will  against  any  other  antagonist  than  his 
patron. 

"  Gentlemen  and  good  fellows,"  continued  Bob 
Bobbylink,  "  east  of  this  building,  about  five 
miles,  a  wedding  takes  place  this  morning ;  the 
wedding-dinner  wUl  be  on  the  table  at  one 
o'clock,  precisely.  I  propose  that  we  eat  that 
dinner.  We  shall  entitle  ourselves  to  the 
poultry,  vegetables,  boiled  tongue,  and  apple- 
sauce, which  will  figure  there,  by  right  of  a 
device  that  I  will  open  to  you,  if  you  will  be 
quiet  just  three  minutes  and  a  quarter."  At 
this  passage  of  his  address,  a  solemn  tranquil- 
lity rested  over  the  apartment.  "  I  have  exam- 
ined this  wardrobe  carefully,  aud  with  an  eye 
to  our  project.  I  find  a  suit  of  the  little  Jew's, 
including  the  tall  blue  cap  and  long  blue  coat 
in  which  he  was  so  well  known  in  these  parts ; 
that  I  shall  don  myself:  a  ghost  may  do  some- 
thing for  flesh  and  blood  sometimes.  Here  also 
is  the  dress  of  a  Hessian  horseman  ;  and  as  old 
aunt  Anderson  (who  says  she  lost  an  ear  by  a 
trooper's  blade  during  the  old  war)  will  be  at 
the  wedding,  she  will  undoubtedly  aid  us  a  lit- 
tle with  her  owl's  voice  when  we  appear. 
Habbakkuk,  you  have  something  of  a  ruffian 
trooper's  air ;  may  you  not  browbeat  a  passage 
to  a  dinner  with  the  butt-end  of  this  blunder- 
buss ?"  producing  a  rusty  article  of  that  descrip- 
tion from  a  drawer  of  the  clothes-press.  "  Let 
the  others,"  he  concluded,  "  faU  in  our  rear, 
properly  caparisoned,  and  all  is  safe.  If  clowns 
and  boors  can  withstand  the  ghost  of  a  Jew, 
and  the  blunderbuss  of  a  mad  Hessian,  there  is 
more  sustenance  in  beans  and  buttermilk  than 
I  have  dreamed  of !" 

The  old  building  echoed  with  a  hearty  shout 
as  Bob  Bobbylink  ended,  and,  under  his  direc- 
tion, they  speedly  doffed  their  ragged  dresses, 
and  set  about  accoutering  themselves  in  the 
new  equipments  thus  aptly  and  unexpectedly 
furnished.  The  articles  forming  an  entire  and 
complete  suit,  were  luckily  foimd  carefully 
pinned  together,  and  this  rendered  the  task  com- 
paratively easy  and  brief.  Besides  mere  gar- 
ments, they  discovered  wigs,  boots,  fixeanns 


THE  MERRY-MAKERS.— EXPLOIT  NO.  I. 


swords,  guns,  &.c.,  all  of  which  might  be  ren- 
dered of  service  in  the  approaching  exploit. 

"  While  I  was  rumaging  a  private  corner  of 
the  press,"  said  Bobbylink,  as  he  produced  the 
habiliments,  "  I  fell  upon  a  history  of  the  queer 
little  Jew,  written  by  his  own  hand,  in  a  parch- 
ment-book, from  which  it  appears  that  he  was 
originally  an  old-clothesman  in  England ;  after 
a  while,  like  a  grub,  he  turned  from  that  calling 
into  an  anti'kary  and  dress-fancier,  which,  you 
see,  is  only  a  better  sort  of  an  old-clothesman. 
Following  up  this  sort  of  a  profession,  he  gath- 
ered wherever  he  travelled  the  rarest  and  most 
curious  kinds  of  dress  and  armor — guns,  car- 
bines, muskets,  and  dragons,  as  he  calls  'em. 
He  says,  at  one  time  he  was  accused  of  having 
stolen  a  couple  of  dresses  from  a  nobleman's 
collection ;  but  this  he  stoutly  denies,  in  the 
name  of  Father  Abram,  Isaac,  and  Jacob.  Fi- 
nally, he  came  over  to  this  countiy  about  the 
year  seventeen  thirty-five ;  lived  in  the  city  a 
great  many  years ;  and  at  last  came  out  to  these 
parts  during  the  revolutionary  war,  and  added 
a  little  to  his  wardrobe  ; — there  his  parchment- 
book  breaks  off:  and  I  conclude  about  the  year 
eighteen  hundred  he  turned  from  a  dress-fancier 
into  a  ghost." 

In  the  course  of  two  or  three  hours  the  party 
was  completely  apparelled,  and  defiled  from  the 
old  bed-chamber  in  the  following  order :  First, 
Mr.  Robert  Bobbylink  gravely  stalked  forth  in 
the  guise  of  the  defunct  Israelite,  which  con- 
sisted of  the  tall  blue  cap  and  long  blue  coat 
already  mentioned,  the  latter  being  ornamented 
with  hieroglyphic  buttons ;  beneath  it  a  rich 
white  silk  vest,  with  gay  figures  and  devices  ; 
black  pantaloons,  which,  from  their  brevity, 
seemed  to  exhibit  a  reluctance  to  join  a  pair  of 
low  shoes,  surmounted  by  two  lively  buckles  of 
brass.  In  his  hand  Mr.  Bobbylink  bore  a  ma- 
ple cane,  the  property  and  customary  travelling 
companion  of  the  deceased  gentleman  whom  he 
represented.  It  was  with  intense  ditficulty  that 
Bob  Bobbylink  forced  himself  into  these  gar- 
ments, which  were  about  three  sizes  too  small 
for  his  person ;  and  he  was  obliged  to  chalk  his 
face  freely,  to  take  down  the  color,  and  give  it 
something  of  the  paleness  which  is  proper  and 
decent  for  a  ghost. 

Next  to  him,  in  order,  marched  Habbakkuk 
Viol,  wearing  upon  his  brow  a  ferocious  helmet 
of  jacked  leather,  guarded  by  rusty  steel  hoops  ; 
on  his  broad-shouldered  back  he  bore  a  long- 
waisted  fiery  red  coat,  with  fierce  metal  buttons ; 
his  nether  limbs  were  snugly  encased  in  chamois 
leather  breeches,  of  an  indescribable  complex- 
ion, the  lower  extremities  of  which  disappeared 
in  a  couple  of  heavy  boots,  enlivened  at  the  rear 
with  a  pair  of  jingling  iron  spurs.  Over  his 
breast,  in  a  leatlern  belt,  an  open-mouthed 
blunderbuss  swun',;,  sustained  at  one  end  by  his 
right-hand,  at  its .  mzzle  by  his  left. 

Behind  him  slovly  and  thoughtfully  waddled 
along  the  redoubted  John  Smally;  clad  in  a 
broad-skirted  Putch  coat,  with  awful  cuffs; 
legs  buried  in  trux  k  hose,  which  sAvelled  above 


and  beneath  the  knee  into  separate  inflations, 
ending  in  peaked  shoes  that  cut  the  ground  like 
scythes ;  upon  his  head  sat  a  jaunty  cocked- 
hat,  from  beneath  which  a  brown  queue  stream- 
ed like  the  tail  of  a  kite  or  a  comet.  In  his 
hand  he  sustained  (terrible  anachronism!)  a 
dragon  pistol,  as  old  as  the  age  of  Elizabeth — 
an  old-fashioned  weapon,  with  a  long  handle, 
its  works  in  the  centre,  and  the  ornament  of  a 
dragon's  head  at  its  muzzle.  Having  three  dres- 
ses underneath  his  outer  one,  Mr.  Smally  moved 
with  great  solemnity  and  slowness,  and  indulged, 
at  times,  in  singular  expressions  of  viznomy,  and 
strange  gesticulations  of  the  body. 

Treading  close  upon  the  heels  of  Smally,  came 
Sam.  Chisel.     How  can  I  (unless  in  truth  in- 
spired)   describe   the  jovial  figure   that  now 
sidled  through  the  chamber  door  ?  Stuffed  mon- 
ster !  elephant  in  broadcloth  !  balloon  that  hast 
taken  two  taper  legs,  dancing  inflated  on  the 
earth !     Mr.  Samuel  Chisel  was  endued,  on  the 
present  occasion,  in  the  habiliments  of  a  famous 
clown,  who  had  cast  his  clothes  in  the  city  of 
New  York,  during  the  war ;  thrown  aside  his 
cap  and  bauble,  and,  in  fine,  sold  out  his  ward- 
robe to  the  little  Jew  antiquary.  Upon  his  brow, 
then,  Sam.  Chisel  wore  a  singularly  construct- 
ed hat,  having  a  towering  steeple  of  felt  for  its 
centre,   with  a  small,  white   feather  peeping 
from  its  points,  and  two  flaming  angles  of  paint- 
ed paste-board  for  its  sides.     The  steeple  was 
garnished  with  innumerable  glittering  spangles, 
and  yards  of  gold  cord  coiling  about  to  its  very 
spire,  and  from  one  angle  hung  a  silken  tassel 
of  considerable  size,  in  peril,  every  moment,  of  be- 
ing devoured  by  a  monstrous  painted  lion,  ram- 
pant on  the  neighboring  pasteboard  corner,  with 
his  mouth  agape.   Around  the  base  of  this  triple 
hat  a  lively  belt  was  fastened  by  an  immense  pew- 
ter buckle ;  and  from  beneath  the  whole  a  red  wig 
depended,  under  cover  of  a  linen  bag,  which  was 
adorned  with  a  portentous  purple  rose,  or  swing- 
ing cabbage-plant.  The  huinp  of  Mr.  Chisel  re- 
posed beneath  a  brilliant  green  jacket,  adorned 
down  its  whole  front  by  vast  wooden  buttons, 
painted  white,  which  held  it  closely  fastened  to 
the  breast.    This  was  stuffed  out  to  portly  di- 
mensions by  the  aid  of  three  goodly  sheaves  of 
straw,  that  had  been  stowed  into  their  place  by 
the  united  strength  of  Viol,  Bobbylink,  and  Har- 
vest.   The  same  favor  had  been  likewise  con- 
ferred on  a  pair  of  black  silk  breeches,  whose 
extremities,  however,  tapered  off  so  unexpect- 
edly at  the  bottom,  as  to  make  it  seem  that  Mr. 
Chisel  had  lost  the  best  part  of  his  legs  in  some 
hot  engagement,  and  was  walking  upon  seg- 
ments or  slices  of  the  same.    Nevertheless,  im- 
mense buckles  denoted  the  place  where  knees 
should  have  been,  and  a  huge  pair  of  jack  boots, 
that  threatened  to  swallow  Mr.  Chisel's  whole 
person,  monstrous  as  it  was,  were  the  only  pos- 
itive evidences  of  such  members  that  could  be 
discovered.    In  the  neighborhood  of  the  knee- 
buckles,  long  knots  of  yellow  riband  curled 
about  his  person,  like  a  nest  of  playful  garter- 
snakes,  and  at  the  heels  of  the  huge  jack-boots, 


40 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


two  spurs,  with  rowels  somewhat  less  than 
small  coach- wheels,  thrust  themselves  forth. 
Under  his  right  arm  the  valiant  Chisel  sus- 
tained an  awful  two-handed  sword  (fabricated 
of  lath  and  painted  the  color  of  steel),  with  a 
green  grip ;  and  at  his  left  side  a  gaping  scab- 
bard of  calf-skin  dangled  as  he  walked. 

After  Mr.  Chisel,  at  an  humble  distance,  and 
bearing  about  the  same  relation  to  him  as  a 
lean,  starveling  sexton,  following  at  the  heels 
of  a  round-bellied,  well-kept  rector,  came  a 
withered  little  man,  christened  Tommy  Snipe, 
by  his  parents,  but  rebaptized  by  the  vulgar. 
Dried  Snipe.  This  gentleman  possessed  a  pa- 
per face,  with  a  thin  nose,  that  very  unjustly 
inclined  to  the  right  ear,  and  a  person  which 
might  be  reasonably  expected  to  correspond 
with  such  promising  upper-features.  He  took 
upon  himself  the  task  and  burden  of  persona- 
ting the  age  of  George  H. ;  wearing  a  dark 
brown  pigtail,  a  wide-skirted  coat,  reaching  to 
the  knees,  with  ruffles  at  the  wrist ;  a  long  vest 
with  large  pocket-flaps  underneath,  and  snug 
pantaloons  ending  in  pumps,  adorned  with  knots 
of  riband.  But  he  was  sadly  out  in  his  costume, 
by  mounting  on  his  head  a  sugar-loaf  hat,  and 
bearing  in  his  hand  a  clumsy  old  pistol,  managed 
by  a  wheel-lock,  with  its  works  all  at  the  muz- 
zle, like  the  brains  of  a  garrulous  fellow,  all  in 
his  tongue.  I  doubt  whether  the  throats  of  those 
old  iron  orators  ever  spoke  to  much  purpose. 
Into  one  of  his  coat-pockets  he  slyly  insinu^ed 
a  half-filled  powder-flask  and  shot-pouch,  for  the 
purpose,  perhaps,  of  practising  with  his  resus- 
citated pistol,  upon  a  few  of  Mr.  Joshua  Jolton's 
tame  pigeons  on  the  way  home,  if  the  adven- 
ture should  chance  to  miscarry. 

Behind  Mr.  Snipe,  Harry  Harvest  strutted  the 
ambitious  representative  of  a  still  earlier  reign. 
His  head  was  covered  with  a  low,  broad-brim- 
med beaver,  cocked  on  one  side,  one  corner  of 
which  had  been  knocked  out  by  a  roundhead 
broadsword,  with  a  dull,  dirty  feather  winding 
about  its  crown.  The  expressive  countenance 
of  Mr.  Harvest  shone  out  from  amid  a  fertile 
perriwig  that  flowed  in  a  complete  torrent  of 
hair  down  his  shoulders,  like  the  man  in  the 
moon  in  a  cloudy  night.  In  his  left  hand  he 
wore  a  smart  sword,  crossing  a  gay  doublet, 
reaching  to  the  top  of  a  pair  of  wide  stockings, 
tagged  up  with  points:  a  set  of  petticoat 
breeches,  and  a  few  yards  of  lutestring,  com- 
pleted the  dress. 

Thus  accoutred,  they  glided  noiselessly  from 
the  old  building,  and  stole  around  a  ledge  of 
rocks,  into  a  green  lane,  which  was  shaded  by 
trees  and  straggled  along  the  margin  of  a  brook 
for  something  like  a  furlong.  Here  the  pleas- 
ant by-way  ended,  and  they  found  themselves 
in  the  edge  of  an  oak  woods,  pursuing  an  ob- 
scure footpath,  which  sometimes  broadened  into 
an  open  space,  and  again  narrowed  to  a  track 
scarcely  sufllcient  for  the  passage  of  Mr.  Samuel 
Chisel. 

As  they  travelled,  the  journey  was  lightened 
by  occasional  extravagantly  authentic  stories, 


narrated  to  the  worthy  just  named,  by  Bob  Bob- 
bylink — interspersed  now  and  then,  with  a 
rough  cudgel-play  of  wits  between  Dried  Snipe 
and  Hank  Harvest ;  enlivened  still  more  at  in- 
tervals, by  a  series  of  mutual  tricks,  practised 
upon  each  other  all  round.  At  times  Habbak- 
kuk  Viol,  the  mad  Hessian,  would  discover  as 
he  stooped  to  drink  of  some  passing  stream,  an 
ominous  goose-quill  stuck  in  his  jacked  leather 
helmet,  vying  with  his  more  regular  trooper's 
feather.  Again  a  rapid  series  of  sudden  and 
invisible  kicks  would  descend  upon  the  swell- 
ing flank  of  Sam.  Chisel,  with  such  velocity  and 
fury,  as  to  shake  his  physical  commonwealth  to 
its  centre.  Dried  Snipe  being  a  tetchy  little 
fellow,  was  frequently  set  upon  and  sorely  bad- 
gered by  some  one  of  the  party.  ' 

"  I  think,"  said  the  gentleman  who  represent- 
ed the  seventeenth  century  on  this  occasion, 
addressing  himself  to  Tommy  Snipe,  "  when  I 
undertook  to  rob  a  henroost,  I  wouldn't  mistake 
a  patriarchal  cock,  for  a  maiden  pullet ;  you  are 
so  valiant.  Snipe,  you  should  have  known  him 
by  his  spurs !" 

"  I  knows  what  I  know,"  retorted  Mr.  Snipe. 
"  If  it  had  been  you,  I  might  have  known  you  to 
be  a  tender  bird  by  your  soft  coxcomb  !" 

"  Well  answered.  Dried  Snipe !"  quoth  the 
company  halting  in  a  cleared  space,  and  gather- 
ing about  the  disputants  (Bobbylink  advancing 
alone  on  a  lookout).  Quip  and  reply  now  rap- 
idly passed  between  the  contending  parties, 
until  at  length  the  tetchy  Mr.  Snipe  was  exas- 
perated beyond  endurance,  by  Harry  Harvest's 
alluding  to  his  features,  in  connexion  with  the 
appearance  presented  by  the  physiognomy  of  a 
dried  codfish  suddenly  animated.  At  this  un- 
savory and  pointed  insinuation  the  gentleman 
representing  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, in  his  style  of  dress,  grew  exceeding  wroth, 
and  would  have  done  terrible  damage  to  the 
person  and  habiliments  of  him  of  the  seven- 
teenth, by  drawing  from  his  pocket  his  small 
powder-flask,  and  proceeding  to  load  his  vener- 
able pistol,  had  not  fate  interposed,  and  by  the 
hand  of  John  Smally,  forcibly  plucked  the 
brown  wig  from  the  head  of  the  valorous  Snipe : 
whereupon  his  sugar-loaf  hat  slid  over  his  face, 
very  much  like  an  enormous  extinguisher.  In 
this  tomb  his  valor  was  effectually  buried  for 
the  present.  Meantime  Mr.  Harry  Harvest  had 
drawn  his  trusty  rapier,  but  was  prevented 
from  a  very  dexterous  employment  of  the  same, 
by  the  sudden  descent  of  Sam.  Chisel's  trenchant 
blade  of  lath  upon  his  head,  which  caused  his 
eyes  to  emit  sufllicient  sparks  and  flashes,  to  fire 
a  whole  field  of  artillery. 

And  now  the  gentlemen  of  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries  were  completely  at  the 
mercy  of  their  more  modern  comrades,  and 
might  have  been  speedily  put  to  death  by  the 
numerous  ingenious  tortures  practised  upon 
them,  while  thus  doing  penance  in  the  dark, 
had  not  Bob  Bobbylink  at  that  moment  return- 
ed, exclaiming,  with  sparkling  eyes,  "  the  sig- 
nal is  hove  out  \"  which  being  readily  under- 


THE  MERRY-MAKERS— EXPLOIT  NO.  I. 


41 


stood  by  the  party,  caused  a  supple  adjustment 
of  all  difficulties,  a  general  and  generous  for- 
giveness of  injuries,  and  they  resumed  the 
maixh. 

In  a  moment  or  two  they  had  emerged  from 
the  woods,  and  casting  their  eyes  toward  the 
east,  discovered  a  long  stripe  of  red  flannel  fly- 
ing at  the  head  of  a  well-pole.  The  sight  of 
this  signal  inspired  the  freebooting  varlets  with 
feelings  similar  to  those  which  fiUed  the  breast 
of  the  adventurous  Vasco  de  Gama,  on  obtain- 
ing the  first  view  of  the  Pacific  from  a  peak  of 
the  Andes ;  for  to  Viol,  Bobbylink,  &•  Co.,  it 
opened  visions  of  whole  seas  of  cider,  and 
mountains  of  mutton  and  roast  beef.  They  had 
now  arrived  in  an  orchard  in  the  rear  of  the 
dwelling,  whose  roof  covered  the  wedding-din- 
ner, which  was  the  grand  object  of  their  adven- 
ture, and  the  wedding-party  had  just  seated 
themselves  at  the  table  to  do  justice  to  its  va- 
rious excellence.  While  the  dinner-hunters  are 
discussing  the  most  expedient  order  of  entrance 
and  assault,  we  will  appropriate  a  few  words 
of  description  to  the  objects  we  have  mentioned. 

At  the  head  of  a  long  table,  then,  in  a  com- 
fortable sitting-room,  looking  out  upon  a  garden, 
was  seated  a  round-faced,  sliort  man,  in  a  new 
brown  coat,  with  light  brass  buttons,  and  at  his 
side,  a  red-cheeked,  dumpy  girl,  in  a  new  pink 
frock,  and  a  pair  of  blue  eyes,  in  capital  order. 
At  the  opposite  extremity  of  the  board  sat  two 
aged  females,  old  Aunt  Anderson,  the  grand- 
mother of  the  bridegroom,  and  at  her  left.  Aunt 
Frewell  Tomkins,  the  corresponding  relative 
of  the  bride.  Along  the  sides  of  the  table  were 
seated  Parson  Hob,  a  Methodist  clergyman,  in 
an  ill-cut  suit  of  black,  in  the  centre,  with  the 
mothers  of  the  bride  and  groom,  and  two  or 
tlu-ee  rustic  female  cousins,  as  wings  ;  opposite 
the  preacher  sat  the  bride  and  bridegroom's 
grandfathers,  flanked  in  like  manner  on  each 
side  with  the  male  parents  of  the  interesting 
couple,  whose  individual  interests  had  been 
merged  in  a  co-partnership  for  life,  with  a  like 
number  of  male  cousins  to  tally  with  the  fe- 
males mentioned.  This  interesting  company 
had  just  arranged  itself,  as  we  have  described, 
about  a  well-filled  board,  when  a  loud  knock 
was  heard  at  the  door,  and,  without  further 
warning,  a  man  with  an  iron-bound "  military 
cap  on  his  head,  and  a  heavy  blunderbuss  in 
his  hand,  stepped  into  the  apartment. 

He  grounded  his  arms  with  a  martial  air, 
and,  leaning  over  the  muzzle,  looked  around 
upon  the  wedding-party  with  great  coolness  and 
severity  of  countenance.  The  first  one  to  speak 
on  the  appearance  of  this  unexpected  figure 
was  Aunt  Anderson.  "  My  God !"  said  she, 
"  I  believe  it's  a  Hessian  !"  and  suddenly  seiz- 
ing her  spectacles  from  the  table  and  placing 
them  to  her  eyes,  she  shrieked,  "  It  is  !  yes,  it 
is  one  of  those  wild  war-fellows  of  the  revolu- 
tion !"  and  dropping  her  glasses  upon  the  floor, 
she  rushed  precipitately  out  of  the  room. 

By  thisltime,  a  second  figure  had  made  itself 
visible.    This  was  a  pade,  sepulchral  person- 


age, in  a  blue  cap  and  coat,  who  tottered  feebly 
into  the  apartment  with  a  cane  in  his  hand,  and 
took  his  station  a  little  in  advance  of  the  milita- 
ry apparition.  "  Good  gracious  !"  now  shrieked 
Hetty  Steddle,  a  pretty  servant-girl,  who  was  in 
waiting,  "  Lor'  bless  me,  if  that  ben't  the  ghost 
of  old  Shekkels  !"  and  with  a  hideous  noise  she 
followed  the  example  of  withered  Aunt  Ander- 
son. « It  must  be  the  spirit  of  the  old  Jew 
Shekkels  !"  said  the  two  old  grandfathers  al- 
most in  the  same  breath,  rising  from  the  table, 
placing  their  hands  upon  the  cloth,  and  peering 
anxiously  forward  into  the  face  of  the  man  in 
the  blue  coat  and  cap.  A  general  panic  had 
now  seized  the  company ;  the  dumpy  bride  suc- 
ceeded, after  two  or  three  ineffectual  attempts, 
in  fainting,  and  was  borne  in  the  arms  of  the 
short  man  in  the  round  face,  aided  by  two  or 
three  stout  boors,  into  the  fresh  air.  The  cler- 
gyman had  taken  advantage  of  the  open  door, 
and  suddenly  disappeared,  none  could  tell  (if 
they  cared)  whither.  The  females  in  a  body  fled 
the  haunted  table,  followed  by  the  bridegroom's 
father  between  the  two  venerable  grandsires, 
dragging  them  out  by  the  collar  with  main 
force.  Just  as  the  last  one  of  this  fugitive 
party  of  weddeners  had  vanished  through  one 
door,  their  places  were  supplied  at  another  by 
our  friends  Sam  Chisel,  Harvest,  Snipe,  and 
Smally,  who  were  equally  disposed,  with  them, 
to  do  justice  to  the  yet  untasted  meal  before 
them.  First,  the  Merry-makers  then  indulged 
in  a  sort  of  subdued  horse-laugh  all  round. 
Next,  the  door  was  secured  by  John  Smally  and 
Sara  Chisel  with  two  short  bayonets  thrust  an 
inch  deep  or  more  in  the  lintels ;  and  then  they 
arrayed  themselves  with  all  despatch  about  the 
smoking  board. 

According  to  an  ancient  custom  that  prevails 
in  that  region,  the  wedding-company  had  es- 
tablished themselves  at  the  table  before  the 
knives  and  forks  were  laid  at  the  plates  :  that 
being  a  service  generally  rendered  by  a  negro 
or  maid-servant  immediately  after  grace.  Our 
bold  adventurers  accordingly  found  themselves 
sadly  at  a  stand  for  lack  of  these  indispensa- 
bles :  all  except  Mr.  Harry  Harvest,  who  plied 
his  rapier,  of  the  middle  of  the  seventeeth  cen- 
tury, with  great  dexterity  at  the  ribs  of  a  roast- 
ed turkey,  and  Mr.  Chisel,  whose  lath-sword 
did  serviceable  execution  upon  pudding  and 
apple-sauce — shovelling  huge  streams  of  the 
latter  down  his  throat,  seasoned  with  draughts 
from  a  neighboring  cider- pitcher.  But  the  ex- 
ploits of  these  two  trenchermen  scarcely  satis- 
fied the  clamorous  bellies  of  Dried  Snipe,  Smally, 
Habakkuk  Viol,  and  Bob  Bobbylink. 

The  latter  worthy,  therefore,  rising,  and  catch- 
ing a  brace  of  fine  broiled  woodcocks  by  the 
legs,  and  thrusting  them  into  his  coat-pocket,  ex- 
claimed, "  Clear  the  deck,  my  lads  ! — we'll  ad- 
journ the  dinner  to  head-quarters  !"  And  saying 
this,  he  seized  upon  two  bottles  of  currant-wine 
and  a  fat  fowl,  and  thrust  them  into  a  long  bag 
that  he  had  secretly  brought  with  him,  to  show 
them  what  he  meant. 


42 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


Thereupon  a  scene  of  awful  and  indiscrimi- 
nate pillage  ensued.  Habakkuk  Viol  first  filled 
his  blunderbuss  with  cider  to  the  muzzle,  plug- 
ging it  in  with  a  roll  of  hot  bread,  and  after- 
ward stuffed  a  duck  into  either  pocket.  Sam 
Chisel  next  cast  out  two  sheaves  of  straw  from 
his  bosom,  aad  basted  his  green  jacket  with  a 
monstrous  chicken  pie,  a  dish  of  apple-sai>ce, 
and  a  leaden-covered  pitcher  of  fresh-brewed 
ale ;  filling  the  steeple  of  his  hat  with  hot  rolls 
and  other  dainties,  his  jack-boots  with  radishes 
and  roasted  apples,  and  his  calf-skin  scabbard 
with  pudding-sauce  and  drawn  butter.  An 
enormous  turkey  was  severed  and  shared  with 
Dried  Snipe,  who,  besides  this  moiety,  lined  his 
gaberdine  with  bread  and  cakes,  and  clapped  a 
blackberry  pudding  in  his  sugar-loaf  hat,  with  a 
small  plate  at  bottom  to  sustain  it.  The  im- 
mense vest-pockets  of  John  Smally  were  forth- 
with freighted  each  with  a  comely  loaf  of  pot- 
cheese,  and  into  the  skirts  of  his  Dutch  coat  he 
slid  a  goodly  tongue,  whispering  to  Bobbylink, 
"  This,  you  and  I  will  secretly  divide  !"  As  for 
Harry  Harvest,  he  was  desperately  fond  of 
greens,  and  took  charge  of  the  vegetable  depart- 
ment ;  and  accordingly  crammed  his  Charles  Sec- 
ond doublet  and  petticoat-breeches  between  the 
lining  with  beans,  peas,  asparagus,  and  ears  of 
early  corn.  Thus  armed  and  provisioned,  these 
gallant  cruisers  cautiously  undid  the  door,  and 
stole  warily  from  harbor  without  being  seen  ; 
for  the  whole  wedding-party  had  fled  into  the 
crib,  which  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  house, 
and  there  they  kept  themselves  in  a  state  of 
siege — the  short  bridegroom  having  ascended 
into  the  loft  of  the  same,  and  planted  his  round 
face  at  a  loophole  in  the  end,  maintaining  a 
brilliant  and  steady  lookout,  with  all  his  eyes, 
toward  the  front  of  the  building. 

The  Merry-makers  soon  attained  the  woods, 
and  Bob  Bobbylink,  looking  cautiously  back, 
saw  the  pretty  serving-girl,  Hetty  Steddle, 
standing  under  a  cow-shed  in  the  road,  holding 
her  hips,  and  ready  to  burst  with  laughter,  as 
she  gayly  winked  and  waved  her  hand  to  him. 

The  next  morning,  the  same  shabbily-dressed 
crew  to  which  we  introduced  our  readers  might 
have  been  seen  lurking  about  the  old  out-house, 
basking  in  the  sun  as  before,  but  with  improved 
visages,  sleek  with  the  fruits  of  their  yester- 
day's adventure. 


THE  GREAT  CHARTER  CON- 
TEST IN  GOTHAM. 

ILLUSTRATING  THE  CONNEXION  BETWEEN  PAT- 
RIOTISM AND  SILK  STOCKINGS,  AND  CACOGRA- 
PHY  AND  POPULAR  RIGHTS. 

There  is  a  particular  season  of  the  year  in 
the  city  of  New  York,  when  ragamuffins  and 
vagabonds  take  a  sudden  rise  in  respectability ; 
when  a  tarpaulin  hat  is  viewed  with  the  same 


mysterious  regard  as  the  crown  of  an  emperor, 
and  the  uncombed  locks  of  a  wharf-rat  or  river- 
vagrant  looked  upon  with  as  much  veneration 
as  if  they  belonged  to  Apollo  in  his  brightest 
moments  of  inspiration.  At  this  singular  and 
peculiar  period  in  the  calendar,  all  the  higher 
classes,  by  a  wonderful  readiness  and  felicity 
of  condescension,  step  down  from  their  pedes- 
tals, and  smilingly  meet  the  vulgar  gentry,  half 
way  up,  in  their  progress  to  the  beautiful  table- 
land of  refinement  and  civilization. 

About  this  time  gloves  go  out  of  repute,  and 
an  astonishing  shaking  of  dirty  fists  takes  place 
all  over  the  metropolis.  It  is  a  sight  to  electrify 
the  heart  of  a  philanthropist,  to  behold  a  whole 
community  in  a  state  of  such  perfect  Arcadian 
innocence,  that  all  meet  on  terms  of  familiar 
affection,  where  smile  responds  to  smile,  with 
equal  warmth — though  one  may  dimple  a  clean 
countenance,  and  the  other  force  its  pellucid 
way  through  a  fog  of  earthy  particles.  Happy, 
golden  time ! 

Reader,  if  you  chance  not  to  comprehend 
philosophically  this  sweet  condition  of  things, 
be  informed  that  a  charter  election  comes  on 
next  month ! 

The  charter  contest  of  the  year  eighteen  hun- 
dred and ,  is  perhaps  the  fiercest  on  rec- 
ord in  the  chronicles  of  New  York.  Several 
minor  skirmishes  took  place  with  regard  to  al- 
dermen, assessors,  and  constables  ;  but  the  main 
brunt  and  heat  of  the  engagement  fell  upon  the 
election  of  a  mayor  to  preside  over  the  porten- 
tous destinies  of  the  metropolis  during  a  twelve- 
month. 

It  seemed,  from  the  grounds  on  which  it  was 
fought,  to  be  the  old  battle  of  patrician  and  ple- 
beian. On  one  side,  the  candidate  was  Herbert 
Hickock,  Esquire,  a  wholesale  auctioneer,  and 
tolerably  good  Latin  scholar :  a  gentleman  who 
sallied  forth  every  morning  at  nine  o'clock  from 
a  fashionable  residence  in  Broadway,  dressed  in 
a  neat  and  gentlemanly  suit  of  black,  an  im- 
maculate pair  of  gloves,  large  white  rufiles  in 
his  bosom,  and  a  dapper  cane  in  his  hand. 

Opposed  to  him,  as  a  candidate  for  the  mayor- 
alty, was  a  master  shoemaker,  affectionately 
and  familiarly  known  as  Bill  Snivel.  He  was 
particularly  celebrated  for  the  amount  of  un- 
clean garments  he  was  able  to  arrange  about 
his  person — a  rusty,  swaggering  hat,  and  a  rug- 
ged style  of  English  with  which  he  garnished 
his  conversation.  The  great  principles  on 
which  the  warfare  was  waged  were,  on  the  one 
hand,  that  tidy  apparel  is  an  indisputable  evi- 
dence of  a  foul  and  corrupt  code  of  principles  ; 
and  on  the  other,  that,  to  be  poor  and  unclean, 
denotes  a  total  deprivation  of.  the  reasoning 
faculties. 

So  that  the  leading  object  of  the  Bill  Snivel 
party  seemed  to  be,  to  discover  Mr.  Hickock  in 
some  act  of  personal  uncleanliness  or  cacogra- 
phy ;  while  the  Hickock  party  as  strenuously 
bent  all  their  energies  to  the  detection  of  Mr. 
Bill  Snivel  in  the  use  of  good  English  or  unex- 
ceptionable linen.    The  ncimeswith  which  they 


THE  GREAT  CHARTER  CONTEST. 


4d 


L 


mutually  christened  each  other  exhibit  the  depth 
and  strength  of  their  feelings  on  this  point.  The 
one  was  known  as  the  Silk-stocking  Gentry : 
the  other  by  the  comprehensive  appellation  of 
the  Loafers. 

At  the  approach  of  a  New  York  charter  elec- 
tion, it  is  truly  astonishing  how  great  a  curiosi- 
ty springs  up  as  to  the  personal  habits  of  the 
gentlemen  presented  on  either  side  as  candi- 
dates. The  most  excruciating  anxiety  appears 
to  seize  the  community  to  learn  certain  little  bi- 
ographical incidents  as  to  their  birth,  parentage, 
morals,  and  the  ever^'day  details  of  their  life.  In 
truth,  on  this  occasion,  the  wardrobe  of  one  of 
the  nominees  had  been  so  often  and  so  face- 
tiously alluded  to  by  two  or  three  of  the  news- 
papers, that  the  Bill  Snivel  general  vigilance 
committee  had  felt  it  their  duty  to  furnish  one 
of  their  members  with  a  large  double  telescope 
— which  he  planted,  by  resolution  of  the  com- 
mittee, every  night  and  morning  directly  oppo- 
site the  chamber-window  of  Herbert  Hickock, 
Esquire,  with  the  laudable  purpose  of  discover- 
ing, in  an  authentic  way,  what  were  that  can- 
didate's habits  of  dress.  A  manuscript  report 
of  his  ingenious  observations,  it  is  said,  was  cir- 
culated freely  among  the  members  of  the  com- 
mittee. No  copy,  that  I  have  learned,  has  ever 
found  its  way  to  the  press.  As  every  one  knows, 
the  advent  of  an  election  creates  a  general  and 
clamorous  demand  for  full-grown  young  men  of 
twenty-one  years  of  age.  To  meet  this  demand, 
a  surprising  cultivation  of  beards  took  place 
among  the  Hickock  youth  who  happened  to 
want  a  few  days  or  months  of  that  golden  pe- 
riod. 

Furthermore,  a  large  number  of  the  Bill  Sniv- 
el voters  in  the  upper  wards  of  the  city,  became 
suddenly  consumptive,  and  were  forced  to  re- 
pair, for  the  benefit  of  their  health,  to  the  more 
southern  and  genial  latitudes  of  the  first,  sec- 
ond, and  third  wards  :  and  the  Hickock  men 
residing  in  those  wards  were  seized  as  suddenly 
with  alarming  bilious  symptoms  which  compelled 
them  to  emigrate  abmptly  to  the  more  vigor- 
ous and  bracing  regions  in  the  northern  part  of 
the  island.  Pleasant  aquatic  excursions,  too, 
were  undertaken  by  certain  gentlemen  of  the 
Bill  Snivel  tinge  of  politics  (whose  proper  dom- 
icils  were  at  Hartford  and  Haverstraw),  and 
they  came  sailing  down  the  North  and  East 
livers,  in  all  kind^  of  craft,  on  visits  to  their 
metropolitan  brethren,  and  dropped  their  com- 
pliments in  the  shape  of  small  folded  papers, 
in  square,  green  boxes  with  a  slit  in  the  top. 

To  keep  up  the  spirit  of  the  contest,  several 
hundreds  of  the  silk-stocking  men  packed  them- 
selves regularly  every  night  into  a  large,  oblong 
room,  and  presented  a  splendid  collection  of  fine 
coats  and  knowing  faces — like  a  synod  of  grave 
herrings  in  a  firkin — to  the  contemplation  of  sun- 
dry small  men,  with  white  pocket-handkerchiefs 
and  bad  colds,  who,  in  turn,  came  forward  and 
apostrophized  a  striped  flag  and  balcony  of  boys 
on  the  opposite  wall. 
.  Certain  other  hundreds  of  the  Bill  Snivel 


men  regaled  themselves  in  a  similar  way,  in 
another  large,  oblong  room,  except  that  the  gen- 
tlemen who  came  forward  to  them  served  them- 
selves up  in  spotted  silk  handkerchiefs — voices 
a  key  louder — noses  a  thought  larger — and  fa- 
ces a  tinge  redder  than  their  rivals.  The  for- 
mer occasionally  quoted  latin  and  the  latter  took 
snuflT.  With  regard  to  the  noises  which  now 
and  then  emanated  from  the  lungs  of  the  re- 
spective assemblages — there  was  more  music 
in  the  shouts  and  vociferations  of  the  Hickock 
meetings — more  vigor  and  rough  energy  in  the 
Bill  Snivel.  If  a  zoological  distinction  might 
be  made,  the  Bill  Snivel  voice  resembled  that 
of  a  cage-fujl  of  hungry  young  tigers,  slightly 
infuriated ;  while  the  Hickock  seemed  to  be  mod- 
elled on  the  clamor  of  an  old  lion  after  dinner. 
Each  meeting  had  some  particular  oratorical  fa- 
vorite. In  one,  a  slim  man  was  in  the  habit  of 
exhibiting  a  long,  sallow  face  at  8  o'clock  every 
evening,  between  a  pair  of  tall  sperm  candles,  and 
solemnly  declaring  that — the  country  was  ruin- 
ed, and  that  he  was  obliged  to  pay  twelve  and 
a  half  cents  a  pound  for  liver !  At  the  Bill 
Snivel,  a  short,  stout  man,  with  an  immense 
bony  fist,  was  accustomed,  about  half  an  hour 
later,  to  appear  on  a  high  platform — and  an- 
nounce in  a  stentorian  voice  that  "  the  people 
was  on  its  own  legs  again,"  which  was  rather 
surprising  when  we  know  how  fond  some  peo- 
ple are  of  getting  into  other  people's  boots; 
and  that  "  the  democracy  was  carrying  the 
country  before  it,"  which  was  also  a  profound 
postulate,  meaning — the  democracy  was  carry- 
ing the  democracy  before  it —  they  constituting 
the  country  at  all  times,  and  the  country  at  all 
times  constituting  them ! 

In  the  meantime,  committee-men  of  all  sorts 
and  descriptions  are  at  work  in  rooms  of  every 
variety  of  wall  and  dimension.  The  whole  city 
is  covered  with  hand-bills,  caricatures,  mani- 
festoes, exposures,  pointed  facts,  neat  little 
scraps  of  personal  history,  and  various  other 
pages  of  diverting  political  literature.  Swarms 
cluster  about  the  polls;  banners  stream  from 
windows,  cords,  and  housetops.  A  little  man 
rides  about  on  the  box  of  an  enormous  wagon, 
blowing  a  large  brass  trumpet,  and  waving  a 
white  linen  flag  with  a  catching  inscription — 
and  he  labors  at  the  trumpet  till  he  blows  his 
face  out  of  shape,  and  his  hat  off  his  head,  and 
waves  the  flag  until  it  seems  to  be  a  signal  of 
distress  thrown  out  by  the  poor  little  man  with 
the  brass  tnxmpet,  just  as  he  has  broken  his 
wind  and  is  sinking  with  exhaustion.  Scouring 
committees  beat  furiously  through  the  wards  in 
ever)'  direction.  Diving,  like  sharks,  into  cel- 
lars, they  bring  up,  as  it  were  between  their 
teeth,  wretched,  scarecrow  creatures,  who  stare 
about  when  introduced  to  daylight  as  if  it 
were  as  great  a  novelty  to  them  as  roast-beef. 
Ascending  into  garrets,  like  mounting  hawks, 
they  bear  down  in  their  clutches  trembling  old 
men,  who  had  vegetated  in  those  dry,  airy  ele- 
vations apparently  during  a  whole  century. 
Prominent  among  the  bustling  busy-bodies  of 


44 


TK^  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


the  hour  is  Fahrenheit  Flapdragon,  member  of 
the  Hickock  general  committee,  the  Hickock 
vigilance  ward  committee,  the  advertising  com- 
mittee, the  wharf  committee,  the  committee  on 
flags  and  decorations,  the  committee  on 'tar-bar- 
rels and  tinder-boxes,  one  of  the  grand  general 
committee  on  drinking  gin-slings  and  segar-smo- 
king,  and  member  of  the  committee  on  noise 
nd  applause.  By  dint  of  energetic  manceu- 
ering,  Flapdragon  had  likewise  succeeded  in 
being  appointed  chairman  of  a  single  committee, 
viz.,  that  on  chairs  and  benches.  He  attained 
this  enviable  elevation  (the  performance  of  the 
arduous  duties  of  which  drew  upon  him  the 
eyes  of  the  whole  ward  and  the  carpenter  who 
furnished  the  benches !)  through  tlie  votes  of  a 
majority  of  the  committee  of  five — one  of  whom 
was  his  brother-in-law  and  the  other  his  business 
partner.  The  casting  vote  he  had  himself  giv- 
en judiciously,  in  his  own  favor.  Fahrenheit 
Flapdragon  bore  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  great 
charter  contest,  now  waging  between  Hickock 
and  Snivel.  In  fact,  he  was  so  embarrassed 
with  engagements  during  this  hot-blooded  elec- 
tion, that  he  was  compelled  to  furnish  himself 
with  a  long-legged  gray  horse  early  on  the 
morning  of  the  second  day,  to  carry  him  about 
with  sufficient  rapidity  from  point  to  point  to 
meet  them  as  they  sprang  up.  The  little  man,  of 
a  truth,  was  so  tossed  and  driven  about  by  his  va- 
rious self-imposed  duties  in  the  committee-rooms, 
streets,  and  along  the  wharves,  that  he  came  well 
nigh  going  stark  mad.  During  the  day  he  harried 
up  and  down  the  streets,  from  poll  to  poll,  bear- 
ing tidings  from  one  to  the  other — distributing 
tickets — cheering  on  the  little  boys  to  shout, 
and  placing  big  men  in  the  passages  to  stop  the 
ingress  of  Bill  Snivel  voters ;  I  say  during  the 
day  he  posted  from  place  to  place  on  his  lank, 
gray  nag  with  such  fury  that  many  sober  peo- 
ple thought  he  had  lost  his  wits  and  was  hunt- 
ing for  them  on  horseback  in  this  distracted 
manner. 

At  night,  what  with  drinking  gin-slings  and 
brandy-and-water  at  the  bar  to  encourage  the 
vagabonds  that  stood  looking  wistfully  on — 
talking  red-hot  Hickock  politics  to  groups  of 
four  or  five  and  six — and  bawling  applause  at 
the  different  public  meetings  he  attended — he 
presented,  at  the  close  of  the  day's  services, 
such  a  personal  appearance  that  any  one  might 
fupposed  he  had  stayed  in  an  oven  till  the  turn- 
ing point  between  red  and  brown  arrived,  and 
then  jumped  out  and  walked  home  with  the  ut- 
most possible  velocity  to  keep  up  hia^  color. 
There  are  seventeen  wards  in  the  city,  and  eve- 
ry ward  has  its  Fahrenheit  Flapdragon. 

Wliile  these  busy  little  committee-men  are 
bustling  and  hurrying  about,  parties  of  voters 
are  constantly  arriving  on  foot,  in  coaches,  ba- 
rouches, open  wagons,  and  omnibuses,  accom- 
panied by  some  electioneering  friend  who  brings 
them  up  to  the  polls.  Every  hour  the  knots 
about  the  door  swell  until  they  fill  the  street. 
In  the  interior  of  the  building,  meanwhile,  a 
somewhat  different  scene  presents  itself.    Be- 


hind a  counter,  on  three  wooden  stools,  three 
men  are  perched,  with  a  green  box  planted  in 
front  of  the  one  in  the  centre,  and  an  officer 
with  a  staff  at  either  end.  The  small  piece  of 
green  furniture  thus  guarded  is  the  ballot-box, 
and  all  sorts  of  humanity  are  every  moment  ar- 
riving and  depositing  their  votes.  Besides 
the  officers,  two  or  three  fierce-looking  men 
stand  around  the  box  on  either  side,  and  chal- 
lenge, in  the  most  determined  manner,  every 
suspicious  person  of  the  opposite  politics.  "  I 
dispute  that  man's  vote,"  says  one,  as  a  ragged 
young  fellow  with  a  dirty  face  and  strong  odor 
of  brandy  approaches  ;  "  I  don't  believe  he  is 
entitled  to  vote."  "  Yes,  he  is,"  replies  anoth- 
er, "  I  know  him — he's  a  good  citizen ;  but  you 
may  swear  him  if  you  choose  !"  At  this  the 
vagabond  is  pushed  up  to  the  counter  by  one  of 
his  political  friends — his  hat  is  knocked  off  by 
an  officer — the  chief  inspector  presents  an 
open  bible — at  which  the  vagabond  stares  as  if 
it  were  a  stale  codfish  instead  of  the  gospels — 
a  second  friend  raises  his  hand  for  him  and  pla- 
ces it  on  the  book,  and  the  chief  inspector  is 
about  to  swear  him — when  the  Hickock  chal- 
lenger cries  out,  "  Ask  him  if  he  understands 
the  nature  of  an  oath  !"  "  What  is  an  oath  ?" 
asks  the  inspector,  solemnly.  "  D — n  your 
eyes  !"  hiccups  the  young  Bill  Snivel  voter. 

"  Take  him  out !"  shouts  the  inspector,  and 
the  officers  in  attendance,  each  picking  up 
a  portion  of  his  coat-collar,  hurry  him  away 
with  inconceivable  rapidity  through  a  back-door 
into  the  street,  and  dismiss  him  with  a  hearty 
punch  with  their  staves  in  the  small  of  his 
back. 

All  over  the  city,  wherever  a  square  inch  of 
floor  or  pavement  can  be  obtained — in  bar- 
rooms, hotels,  streets,  newspaper  offices — ani- 
mated conversations  are  got  up  between  the 
Hickock  gentry  and  the  Bill  Snivel  men. 

"  If  dandy  Hickock  gets  in,"  says  a  squint- 
eyed  man  with  a  twisted  nose,  "  I've  got  a  roost- 
er pigeon — I'll  pick  his  feathers  bare — stick  a 
pipe-stem  in  his  claw,  friz  his  topknot — and  of- 
fer him  as  a  stump  candidate  for  next  mayor." 

"  Can  your  rooster-pigeon  spell  his  own 
name.  Crossfire  ?"  asked  a  tall  Hickock  street- 
inspector — "  if  he  can't,  you'd  better  put  him  a 
quarter  under  Bill  Snivel ;  it  would  be  as  good 
as  an  infant  school  for  him !" 

"  I  think  I'd  better  take  jny  little  bantam- 
cock,"  retorted  the  squint-eyed  man,  "  he's  got  a 
fine  comb,  which  would  answer  for  shirt-ruf- 
fles ;"  and  the  Bill  Snivel  auditors  gave  a  clamor- 
ous shout. 

"  If  he's  got  a  comb,"  said  the  tall  inspector, 
stooping  toward  the  shouters,  "  it's  more  than 
what  Bill  Snivel's  head  has  seen  this  two  and 
forty  years !"  The  Hickock  gentry  now  sent 
up,  in  turn,  a  vigorous  hurrah ;  and  a  cou- 
ple of  ragamuffins  in  the  mob,  who  had  been 
carrying  on  a  little  under-dialogue  on  their  own 
account,  now  pitched  into  each  other  in  the 
most  lively  manner,  and  after  being  allowed  to 
phlebotomize  each  other  very  freely,  were  drawn 


THE  GREAT  CHARTER  CONTEST. 


45 


apart  by  their  respective  coat-tails  and  carried 
to  a  neighboring  pump. 

The  battle  by  no  means  ceases  at  the  going 
down  of  the  sun ;  for,  besides  the  two  large  as- 
semblages to  which  we  have  before  alluded, 
there  is,  in  each  ward,  a  nightly  meeting  in 
some  small  room  in  the  second  stor)'  of  a  public 
house,  where  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  mis- 
cellaneous human  beings  are  entertained  by 
sundry  young  attorneys  and  other  spouters, 
practising  the  English  language  and  trying  the 
force  of  their  lungs.  At  these  meetings  you 
will  be  sure,  whenever  you  attend  them,  to 
meet  with  certain  stereotyped  faces — which  are 
always  there,  always  with  the  same  smiling  ex- 
pression, and  looking  as  if  they  were  a  part  of 
the  wainscoting,  or  lively  pieces  of  furniture 
fixed  there  by  the  landlord  to  please  his  guests. 
The  smiling  gentlemen  are  office-seekers.  In 
the  corner,  sitting  on  a  small  table,  you  may 
observe  a  large  pufFed-out  man  with  red  cheeks ; 
he  is  anxious  to  obtain  the  appointment  of  beer- 
gaugei  under  the  corporation.  Standing  up  by 
the  fireplace  is  a  man  with  a  dingy  face  and 
shivering  person,  who  wishes  to  be  weigher  of 
coal,  talking  to  a  tall  fellow  who  stoops  in  the 
shoulders  like  a  buzzard,  with  a  prying  nose  and 
eye,  and  a  face  as  hard  and  round  as  a  paving- 
stone,  who  is  making  interest  for  reappointment 
as  street  inspector.  There  is  also  another,  with  a 
brown -tanned  countenance,  patriotically  lament- 
ing the  decline  of  the  good  old  revolutionary 
spirit — who  wants  the  office  of  leather  inspector. 

The  most  prominent  man  at  these  meetings 
is  orator  Bog,  a  personage  whose  reputation 
shoots  up  into  a  wonderful  growth  during  the 
three  days  of  election,  while  his  declamation  is 
fresh,  but  which  suddenly  withers  and  wilts 
away  when  the  heat  of  the  conflict  has  cooled. 
His  eloquence  is  the  peculiar  offspring  of  those 
sunny  little  republican  hotbeds,  ward  meetings. 

He  has  just  described  the  city  as  "  split  like 
a  young  eel,  from  nose  to  tail,  by  the  diabolical 
and  cruel  knife  of  those  modern  Catilines,"  the 
aldermen  of  the  city,  they  having  recently  run  a 
main  street  through  it,  north  and  south. 

"  These  are  the  men,"  he  exclaimed  with  an 
awful  smile  on  his  countenancp,  "  these  are  the 
men  that  dare  insult  democracy  by  appearing 
in  public — like  goslings — yes,  like  goslings  ! — 
with  such  articles  as  these  on  their  legs  !"  and 
thrusting  a  pair  of  tongs — heretofore  dexterous- 
ly concealed  under  the  skirts  of  his  coat — into 
his  hat,  which  stood  upon  the  table  before  him 
— he  drew  out  a  pair  of  fine  silk  stockings  and 
swung  them  triumphantly  over  the  heads  of  the 
mob,  which  screamed  and  clamored  with  huge 
delight  at  the  spectacle.  "  And  such  articles  as 
these  !"  he  shouted,  producing,  from  the  same 
receptacle,  a  shirt  about  small  enough  for  a 
yearling  infant,  with  enormous  green  ruffles 
about  large  enough  for  a  Patagonian. 

«  Look  at  it !"  cried  Bog,  throwing  it  to  one 
of  the  mob. 

"  It's  pine-shavin's,  painted  green,"  shouted 
the  mob. 


"Smell  of  it  .'"cried  Bog. 
"  It's  scented  with  assy-fetid-y  I"  vociferated 
the  ecstatic  Bill  Snivel  men,  and  a  hearty  burst 
of  laughter  broke  forth. 

Several  lusty  vagabonds  came  near  going  in- 
to fits  when  Orator  Bog  facetiously,  though 
gravely,  stopped  his  nose  with  his  thumb  and 
finger  and  remarked,  "  I  think  some  one  has 
brought  a  skimk  into  the  room  !" 

The  last  hour  of  the  last  day  of  the  great 
charter  contest  has  arrived.  Every  carman, 
every  merchant's  clerk,  every  negro  with  a 
freehold,  every  stevedore,  every  lamplighter, 
every  street-sweeper,  every  vagrant,  every  vag- 
abond, has  cast  his  vote. 

Garret,  cellar,  sailor's  boarding-house,  shed, 
stable,  sloop,  steamboat,  and  dockyard,  have 
been  ransacked,  and  not  a  human  being  on  the 
great  island  of  Manhattan  has  escaped  the 
clutch  of  the  scouring  and  district  committees 
of  the  two  great  contending  parties.  At  this 
critical  moment,  and  as  the  sun  began  to  look 
horizontally  over  the  chimney-tops  with  a  broad 
face  as  if  he  laughed  at  the  quarrels  of  Hickock 
gentry  and  Bill  Snivel  men,  two  personages  were 
prowling  and  prying  along  a  wharf  on  the  East 
river,  like  a  brace  of  inquisitive  snipe. 

At  the  self-same  moment  the  eyes  of  both 
alighted  on  an  object  floating  in  the  water,  at 
the  self-same  moment  both  sprang  forward  with 
a  boat-hook  in  his  hand,  and  fastened  upon  the 
object  of  their  mutual  glances,  one  at  the  one 
extremity,  the  other  at  the  other.  In  a  time  far 
less  than  it  takes  the  north  star  to  twinkle,  the 
object  was  dragged  on  shore  and  proved  to  be 
the  body  of  a  man,  enveloped  in  a  fragmentary 
blue  coat,  roofless  hat,  and  corduroy  pantaloons. 
"  I  claim  him,"  said  one  of  the  boat-hook 
gentlemen,  a  member  of  the  seventh  ward  Hick- 
ock wharf  committee ;  "  I  saw  liim  fijrst !  he's 
our  voter  by  all  that's  fair  !" 

"  He  wants  a  jugful  of  being  yours,  my  lad," 
retorted  the  other,  a  member  of  the  Bill  Snivel 
wharf  committee.  "  He's  too  good  a  Christian 
to  be  yours — for  don't  you  see  he's  just  been 
baptized  ?" 

"  He's  mine  !"  responded  the  Hickock  com- 
mittee-man, "  for  my  hook  fastened  in  his  collar, 
and  thereby  saved  his  head — he  couldn't  vote 
without  his  head !" 

"  A  timber-head  he  must  have  if  he'd  vote  the 
shirt-ruffle  ticket,"  retorted  the  Bill  Snivel  com- 
mittee-man. 

By  this  time  a  mob  had  gathered  about  the 
disputants,  who  stood  holding  the  rescued  body 
each  by  the  leg,  with  its  head  downward  to  let 
the  water  drain  from  its  windpipe. 

"Why,  you  land-lubbers,"  cried  a  medical 
student,  pushing  his  professional  nose  through 
the  throng,  "  you'll  give  the  man  the  apoplexy 
if  you  hold  him  that  way  just  half  a  minute  long- 
er." In  a  trice  after,  a  second  medical  student 
arrived,  and,  hearing  what  the  other  had  said, 
exclaimed,  "  It's  the  best  thing  you  can  do — 
hold  him  just  as  he  is,  or  he's  sure  to  get  thv* 
dropsy."    The  mob,  however,  interfered — the 


^' 


46 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


man  was  laid  on  his  back — and  one  of  the  med- 
ical students  (who  was  propitious  to  the  Hick- 
ock  code  of  politics)  taking  hold  of  one  wrist — 
and  the  other  (who  advocated  the  Bill  Snivel 
system)  seizing  the  other,  they  commenced  cha- 
fing his  temples,  and  rubbing  the  palms  of  his 
hands. 

The  wharf  committee-men,  meantime,  felt  in- 
clined to  renew  the  dispute  as  to  their  claim  on 
the  body  of  the  half-drowned  loafer,  but,  by 
advice  of  the  medical  gentlemen,  it  was  de- 
ferred to  be  settled  by  the  man's  own  lips, 
whenever  he  should  recover  the  use  of  them. 
The  medical  students  chafed  and  rubbed,  and 
every  minute  leaned  down  to  the  ear  of  the 
drowned  body,  as  if  to  catch  some  favorable  gno- 
sis. "  Hurrah  for  Hickock  !"  shouted  the  man, 
opening  his  eyes  just  as  one  of  the  medical  stu- 
dents had  withdrawn  his  mouth  from  his  ear. 
The  Hickock  portion  of  the  mob  gave  three 
cheers.  "  Hurrah  for  Bill  Snivel !"  shouted  the 
resuscitated  loafer  as  the  other  medical  student 
applied  his  lips  to  his  organ  of  hearing. 

The  loafer  was  now  raised  upon  his  legs, 
and  marshalled  like  some  great  hero  between 
the  medical  students  and  the  two  members 
of  the  wharf  committees — and  borne  toward 
the  polls — having  each  hand  alternately  sup- 
plied by  the  Hickock  people  and  the  Bill  Sniv- 
vel,  with  the  tickets  of  the  respective  par- 
ties. They  arrived  at  the  door  of  the  elec- 
tion room,  with  the  body  of  this  important  and 
disputed  voter,  just  one  minute  after  sundown, 
and,  finding  him  thus  to  be  of  no  value, 
the  Hickock  medical  student  aud  committee- 
man, and  the  Bill  Snivel  student  and  committee- 
man, united  in  applying  their  feet  to  his  flanks 
and  kicking  him  out  of  the  building  ! 

In  two  or  three  days  the  votes  of  the  city 
were  duly  canvassed,  aud  it  was  found  that  they 
stood,  for  Bill  Snivel,  13,000— for  Herbert  Hick- 
ock, 13,303— scattering,  20.  Three  hundred 
and  three  learned  Bill  Snivel  gentlemen  hav- 
ing, in  consequence  of  their  limited  knowledge 
of  orthography  and  politics,  voted  for  Bill  Sniv- 
el for  constable  instead  of  mayor  !  Herbert 
Hickock,  Jlsq.,  was,  therefore,  declared  duly 
elected  Mayor  of  the  city  j^nd  covuxty  ofNew 
York. 


THE  WITCH  AND  THE  DEACON. 

A  DEACON  WITH   A   HEART   LIKE  A  WHIRLPOOL, 
AND  A  GOBLIN  WITH  A  TAIL  LIKE  A  FISH. 

.  pURiNG  Jhe  close  of  the  seventeenth  century 
the  Jpnnce  oT  dalEness  made  several  very  hot 
inroads  into  different  quarters  of  the  righteous 
old  colonies  of  New  England.  In  truth,  there 
was  so  "  prodigious  a  descent  of  devils  upon 
divers  places  near  the  centre  of  this  province,"* 
and  it  suddenly  swarmed  in  every  nook  and 

*  Cotton  Mather. 


corner  with  such  crowds  of  sj)cctres  and  gob- 
lins, that  the  good  people  were  in  a  fair  way 
of  being  ejected  to  furnish  them  a  settlement. 
Never  was  the  devil  supplied  with  so  great  a 
variety  of  recruits.  The  fierce  incursions  of 
which  I  have  spoken  were  sometimes  headed 
by  one  captain,  sometimes  by  another.  In  one 
quarter  the  troops  were  led  on  by  a  black  man, 
of  a  gunpowder  aspect,  and  more  than  human 
dimensions.  This  fellow  generally  skirmished 
about  the  edges  of  woods  and  timber-lands, 
clutching  up  straggling  old  beldames  and  tame 
Indians.  Then  there  was  your  tawny-colorcd 
goblin,  short  of  stature,  who  was  "so'nretitnes 
seen  with  a  wbole  pack  of  spectres  hovering  at 
his  heels  ;  your  pugnacious  devil,  whose  chief 
sport  it  was  to  distribute  dry  blows  liberally  about 
the  ears  of  the  poor  wretches  who  came  within 
his  jurisdiction ;  your  high-flying  devil,  who 
snatched  people  out  of  their  chambers,  and 
horsed  them  away  miles  through  the  air,  over 
trees  and  hills,  free  of  postage ;  beside  a  large 
assortment  of  menial  imps,  who  were  drubbed 
heartily  by  their  employer  if  they  failed  to  do 
their  vile  work  to  his  satisfaction.  To  these 
were  sometimes  added  a  better-bre3~class  of 
goblins,  who  acted  as  secretaries  and  book- 
keepers (at  a  liberal  salary  I  presume)  to  the 
devil,  and  who*  had  charge  of  the  great  red 
muster-book  to  which  new  recruits  were  forced 
to  put  their  hands.*  Never  was  a  campaign 
of  old  Nick  better  arranged,  or  carried  on  with 
more  spirit. 

It  was  on  a  night  in  the  year  sixteen  ninety- 
seven,  and  after  the  smoke  and  heat  of  the 
main  engagement  at  Salem  had  died  away,  that 
a  tall  woman,  about  sixty  years  of  age,  was 
crossing  a  stone  fence  in  the  choleric  little  vil- 
lage of  Rye.  It  was  a  still,  cheerful  night,  in 
the  close  of  August,  and  the  moon  shone  down 
into  the  field  upon  which  the  aged  woman  was 
entering  with  a  brightness  so  pure  that  it  seemed 
almost  unnatural. 

Before  her  lay  an  enclosed  space  of  about 
four  acres,  stretching  up  from  the  edge  of  a 
quiet  little  brook  to  the  brow  of  a  hill,  and 
covered  with  busj^es,  shrubs,  and  herbs,  of  ev- 
ery description.  Near  the  water's  edge  a  whole 
company  of  braggart  bulrushes  thrust  up  their 
heads,  and  ^prded  it  over  the  inoffensive  and 
unambitious  little  stream  with  an  air  of  vast 
superiority,  while  around  these  topping  pre- 
tenders a  few  humble  water-cresses  gathered 
themse^'^es,  and  modestly  vegetated  and  blos- 
some<?.  Farther  on,  and  along  the  fence,  a 
testy  crew  of  blackberry  bushes  had  assembled, 
and  stood  wagging  their  heads  in  every  wind 
that  stirred,  and  near  them  a  malignant  poison- 
vine  crept  along  the  rails  like  a  serpent. 

As  ;he  old  woman  stepped  into  the  field  out 
of  a  piece  of  woods  that  overhung  it  from  the 
west,  she  startled  a  garter-snake  from  the  bank, 
and  the  timid  creature,  with  its  light  streaks 

*  For  authority  as  to  these  abstruse  points,  consult 
««  More  Wonders  of  the  Invisible  World"  (1700),  tracts 
pamphlets,  and  surviving  aged  females 


>« 


THE  WITCH  AND  THE  DEACON. 


47 


of  yellow  dashed  with  spots  of  blue,  twinkled 
away  through  the  grass  toward  the  brook, 
leaving  behind  it,  or  seeming  to  leave  behind 
it,  as  it  glided  swiftly  along,  a  trail  of  mixed 
orange-colored  light. 

"  A  better  night  heart  could  not  wish,"  mut- 
tered the  old  woman,  as  she  strided  into  the 
field ;  "  but  where  Dick  delays  I  can  not  guess. 
He  promised  to  be  about  through  the  village 
with  the  basket  before  I  could  be  here  by  the 
woods.  A  slow  foot  gets  a  light  supper,  Dick." 
Uttering  this  sententious  saying,  she  bustled 
about  the  ground,  plucking  here  and  there  a 
handful  of  some  herb  or  other,  and  laying  it 
carefully  in  the  lap  of  her  gown.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  was  joined  by  a  low,  strange-look- 
ing young  man,  about  twenty  years  old,  who 
had  upon  his  head  a  hat  which  had  been  per- 
haps, originally,  of  the  shape  of  a  bell,  but 
which  was  pinched  by  time  and  weather,  at  the 
top,  until  it  now  resembled  a  withered  winter- 
pear.  On  his  arm  he  bore  a  dilapidated  oaken 
lasket. 

"  Richard,    wherefore    didst    thou    tarry  ? 
Thou  knewest  the  business  was  pressing  hith- 
,  "irward.     The  ale  you  might  have  tippled  at 
another  time !" 

"  I  have  not  tarried,"  replied  the  strange- 
looking  young  man,  "  to  guzzle  Ale  in  the  vil- 
lage, nor  to  quaff  of  old  Zickland's  cider-casks ; 
nor  has  old  Zickland's  watch-dog  held  me,  as 
he  did  the  other  night,  by  the  coat-tail." 

"  What  was  it,  then,  that  kept  thee  ?"  asked 
the  old  woman,  peering  into  his  face  with  a 
.  look  of  considerable  anxiety  and  interest. 

R  /  "  No  less  than  that  church  mastiff.  Deacon 
r  /  JSraiigle,  and  his  yoke-fellow  Fishtyke,  the  el- 
der. They  fastened  on  me  with  tongue  and 
teeth  as  I  passed  the  parsonage — and  demand- 
ed, whither  I  was  going  ?  for  what  purpose  that 
basket  was  meant  ?  and  whether  you  was  at 
home  to-night  ?" 

"  A  curse  be  on  the  tribe !"  said  his  aged 

companion  lifting  her  head  up  until  her  bowed 

form  was   almost  erect,  and   striking   a  staff 

which  she  bore  in  her  hand  sharply  upon  the 

^   ground.     "  An  old  woman's  curse  light  on  the 

(    meddlesome  interlopers,  the  children  of  Belial 

f     )  "that  will  not  let  the  musty  taper  of  an  old  body's 

N  J  life  go  out  without  helping  it  with  a  devilish 

r   /whiir  of  their  pious  breath  !" 

^    Vx,    "  Curse  not  so  loud,  if  you  please.  Aunt  Gat- 

'       Tty,"  said  the  young  man,  "  the  big-eared  dogs 

are  not  far  off,  I  reckon ;  for  I  saw  them  sneak 

up  into  the  shadow  of  the  fence,  as  I  left  'em, 

with  their  faces  turned  this  way." 

"If  the  evil  will  hear,  let  them  hear,"  con- 
tinued Aunt  Gatty  in  a  still  louder  voice  in 
spite  of  her  companion's  remonstrance,  "I 
have  been  hunted  like  a  paynter  from  Salem  to 
Weathersfield— from  Weathersfield  to  Har'- 
ford — through  every  hole  and  corner  of  the 
f  colonies — and  now  they  would  worry  me  out  of 
this  abiding-place  with  their  horns  of  Jericho 
and  false  shoutings  and  clamors  at  my  heels  ?" 
The  wrath  of  Aunt  Gatty  now  sunk  into  a  sul- 


len silence  and  they  proceeded  quietly  in  their 
labor. 

"  It's  strange,  Dick,"  she  said  at  length  in  a 
calmer  tone,  "that  men  who  spend  an  hour, 
morning  and  artefiidori,  one  day  out  of  Seven  to 
teU  how  much  they  love  their  brethren,  will  f 
harass  an  old  woman  who  spends  her  time  in  /   y 
doing  the  same  thing  without  sayin'  anything  (  f^- 
^about  original  siii  or  her  pious  intentions — ;    "" ' 
curing  bodies  more  nor  they  cure  Tdttls,  I'll( 
warrant !" 

"  It's  the  cock  that  mounts  the  fence  and 
splits  his  throat  with  crowing  that  lays  no  eggs, 
you  know,  Aunt  Gatty,"  replied  Dick,  with  a 
subdued  laugh. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Aunt  Gatty,  adopting  the 
same  strain,  "  and  you  know,  Dick,  how  often 
deacon  crow  in  the  woods,  visits  about,  in  his 
black  coat,  among  the  birds  to  see  that  they're 
all  in  a  plump,  healthy  condition" — "  Particu- 
larly 'bout  killing-time !"  interposed  Dick. 
Another  brief  pause  now  ensued,  which  was 
interrupted  again  by  Aunt  Gatty's  remarking —  .  *|k 
"  I  trow,  Richard,  here  is  the  finest  plantain- 
leaf  I've  found  this  many  a  day :  it's  broad 
enough  to  kiver  any  galled  horse's  haunch  that 
ever  smarted,  or  to  cure  the  pinch  of  the  worst 
witch  that  ever  rode  a  bean-pole !" 

This  observation  was  followed  up  by  a  long 
and  elaborate  lecture  on  the  various  uses  to 
which  plantain  might  be  judiciously  applied. 

"  What's  this  ?"  asked  Dick  at  the  close  of 
her  shrewd  observations,  presenting  an  herb 
with  a  small  crooked  root,  and  a  smooth  green 
leaf  something  in  the  shape  of  an  Indian  arrow- 
head. ., 

"  Thou  art  a  pretty  fellow,  Dick  Snikkeife,  to 
gather  yerbs  !"  said  the  old  woman  taking  the 
plant  and  giving  it  a  hasty  examination — 
"  Why,  this  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  colt's 
foot.  It  'udn't  take  a  witch  to  tell  thee  that, 
Dick !  Come  this  way,  Richard,"  she  con- 
tinued, sitting  down  upon  a  rock  in  the  middle 
of  the  field,  laying  her  crutch  across  her  lap, 
and  placing  the  basket  at  her  side,  "  it's  .time 
that  you  know'd  the  properties  of  yerbs : 
eighteen,  last  shearing  time,  and  not  able  to  tell 
old  colt's  foot !" 

Dick  Snikkers  at  this  bidding  took  a  seat  at 
her  side,  and  culling  from  the  basket,  herb  after 
herb,  the  old  woman  expatiated  on  its  qualities 
with  a  learned  spirit. 

"  Here's  wild  yisup,  Dick,"  she  said,  "  you 
must  be  kerful  to  teU  it  from  balsam ;  which  is 
shorter  and  more  bunch-like  at  top.  It  has  a 
pleasant  smell,  and  is  a  very  nice  yerb,  Dick. 
Well  should  I  know  thee,  yisup !"  holding  a 
bunch  of  it  up  and  contemplating  it  with  a  fix- 
ed and  thoughtful  eye,  "  for  they  gave  thee  to 
the  poor  girl,  Maggy  Rule,  of  Salem,  that  was 
possest  by  evil  angels.  They  said,  Richard,  I 
was  her  evil  spirit ! — poor  thing,  she's  in  Heaven  ^^^^ 
now,  and  can  tell  whether  old  Gartred  Heer-  y) 
about  ever  harmed  her  life,  in  thought,  word,  or 
look  !''  "  Hush  !"  said  Dick  Snikkers,  « I  heard 
some  one  over  there  by  the  sassafras  tree.'* 


48 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


« 


At  that  moment  the  shadow  of  a  man  glided  be- 
hind the  trunk  of  a  monstrous  black  walnut, 
which  overhung  the  brook ;  but  the  shade  of 
the  tree  prevented  his  being  discerned  by  either 
of  the  parties. 

"  Pooh  \"  said  the  old  woman,  listening  anx- 
iously for  a  moment,  "  It's  nothing  but  a  dead 
nut  that  fell  from  a  dry  limb." 

"  'Tis  more  than  that.  Aunt  Gatty,  I'm  sure," 
responded  Dick,  "  for  I  heard  something  cough 
like  a  man — and — hark — there's  some  one  an- 
swering him  over  here  by  the  elder-bushes  !" 

"  I  hear  no  noise,  Dick ;  the  moon  has  put  the 
whim  into  your  head — or  else — it's  nothing  more 
than  a  couple  of  hoarse  crickets  playing  under 
a  sorrel  patch !" 

From  some  source  or  other,  however,  Aunt 
Gatty  had  been  impressed  with  the  necessity  of 
quitting  the  spot  as  speedily  as  possible  and  ob- 
taining the  shelter  of  a  good  roof.  She  there- 
fore hurriedly  closed  her  lecture,  hooked  the 
basket  upon  her  arm,  seized  her  crutch,  and,  fol- 
lowed by  Dick  Snikkers,  hastened  away. 

The  next  morning  the  sun,  at  an  early  hour 
as  it  shone  or  rather  struggled  through  a  single 
dusky  pane  in  the  eastern  side  of  the  vestry  room 
of  the  old  Rye  church,  fell  upon  three  men 
seated  at  a  triangular  table,  each  at  a  side. 
The  silver-mounted  cane  of  one  of  them  lay 
obliquely  across  the  table,  and  the  hats  of  all 
three  hung  upon  wooden  pins  fixed  about  the 
apartment.  One  of  the  party  was  a  middle- 
aged  man  with  a  long,  dry  countenance  and  a 
complexion  like  a  mulberry.  His  coat  was  but- 
toned up,  in  a  threatening  manner,  from  waist- 
tband  to  chin,  and  about  his  whole  person  and 
bearing  there  was  an  air  of  pompous  authority. 
"This  matter  must  be  looked  to,"  said  he, 
throwing  his  head  back  into  his  coat  collar,  ad- 
vancing his  respectable  paunch,  and  placing  his 
hands  knowingly  under  the  tails  of  his  coat. 
"  The  Lord  will  not  suffer  the  evil  to  triumph — 
nor  jwimr  'IBlessed  be  the  name  of  God,  he 
hath  given  unto  us  his  inspired  statutes ;  and  as 
firs!  deacon  of  the  Congregational  meeting- 
l/  house  in  Rye,  Philip  Brangle,  will  enforce 
them,  even  unto  the  hanging  of  witches  and 
sorcerers !" 

"  There  I  differ  from  thee.  Brother  Brangle  : 
I  hold  that  witches  should  be  exterminated  by 
fire  and  fagot,  for  thereby  the  evil  angel  or 
spirit  is  conquered  with  his  own  element,  yea, 
even  hell-fire !" 

This  heroic  suggestion  proceeded  from  the 
mouth  of  Mr.  John  Fishtyke,  elder,  and  a  most 
,  singular  mouth  it  Was,  and  still  more  singular 
was  the  whole  countenance  to  which  it  belong- 
ed. Nature,  from  some  unaccountable  whim  or 
other,  had  seen  fit  to  group  all  the  features  of 
Mr.  John  Fishtyke  in  the  very  centre  of  his 
face :  his  nose,  eyes,  and  mouth,  were  huddled 
closely  together,  leaving  a  very  extensive  suburb 
of  unsettled  visnomy  to  lie  barren  beyond. 
The  elder's  head  from  a  front  view  was  thus 
made  to  resemble  the  human  lineaments  paint- ! 
ed  in  the  bull's  eye  of  a  large  target.  1 


"  I  fancy  not,"  continued  the  owner  of  this 
paradoxical  countenance,  "  being  dragged  twice 
through  the  pond  by  the  same  cat.  Hanging 
hath  been  tried  and  found  of  hone  effect.  Were 
not  sorcerers  and  witches  strung  up  like  onions, 
at  Weathersfield  and  Salem,  Deacon  Brangle — 
and  what  did  it  avail  ?  Did  not  witchcraft 
increase  ?  Did  not  the  lions  and  bears  of  hell 
abound  greatly  thereafter  ? — This  is  pulpit- 
news  !" 

"I  care  not  to  argue  the  question  at  this 
present  season,"  replied  the  mulberry-complex- 
ioned  deacon.  "  Hung  she  shall  be — If  I  am 
Philip  Brangle,  Deacon— like  a  dead  skunk  L" 

"If  she  be  not  bUrned,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
I  will  yield  up  my  eldership  :  burned  to  a  black 
crust,  the  foul  hag !" 

"  I  have  picked  the  gallows  tree ;  therefore 
disquiet  thyself  no  further.  Elder  Fishtyke !" 
retorted  Brangle. 

"And  I  have  chosen  the  fagots  for  her 
burning,  and  they  are  now  cleft  in  my  door 
yard — so  be  at  ease  !" 

"  Thou  art  in  league  with  the  wretches,  I 
verily  fear,  Mr.  Fishtyke :  thou  so  strongly 
urgest  fire,  in  which  thou  knowest  (being  their 
natural  element)  they  may  live  like  salaman- 
ders !" 

"  Has  it  ^ome  to  this  !"  exclaimed  John 
Fishtyke,  advancing  one  leg  before  the  other 
and  dashing  his  fist  furiously  upon  the  trian- 
gular table,  while  a  general  conflagration  raged 
in  the  unsettled  outskirts  of  his  physiognomy, 
which  gradually  extended  inward  kindling  his 
eyes,  nose  and  cheeks  until  his  whole  counte- 
nance was  fairly  a-blaze.  "  Ha !  ha  !  has  it 
come  to  this,  I  am  colleague  of  witches — am 
I  ? — As  true  as  the  Holy  One  of  Israel  liveth" — 
he  was  proceeding  to  utter  some  terrible  threat 
when  he  was  interrupted  by  the  gentleman  who 
occupied  the  third  side  of  the  triangle,  who 
mildly  remarked,  "  Before  we  proceed  to  hang 
or  burn  the  accused,  would  it  not  be  well  to 
have  evidence  of  her  guilt  ?" 

Here  was  common  ground  for  Brangle  and 
Fishtyke,  who  were  not  to  be  cheated  of  their 
victim  by  the  mere  want  of  proofs,  and  they 
both  broke  out  together.  "  Did  I  not  see  her 
last  night  with  her  familiar,  in  Lyon's  black 
meadow,"  said  Brangle,  *'  Giving  him  hellish 
instruction  in  drugs,"  continued  Fishtyke,  "  con- 
fessing that  she  was  Margaret  Rule's  evil 
angel,"  said  Brangle,  "  and  that  she  was  the 
worst  witch  that  ever  rode  a  bean-pole,"  con- 
tinued Fishtyke.  "  What  was  it  she  averred 
concerning  the  lameness  of  Lyon's  colt's  foot  ?" 
"  That  she  had  a  hand  in  it,"  answered  Fish- 
tyke. 

"  Pause,  if  you  please,  my  friends,"  said 
the  mild  man  who  was  the  clergymen  of  the 
cure  or  parish — "What  look  and  person  had 
her  familiar  ?" 

In  reply  to  this  question.  Deacon  and  Elder 
again  broke  forth  in  a  common  cry — "  A  huge 
black  man  with  hair  like  white  wool,'*  said 
Fishtyke. 


THE  WITCH  AND  THE  DEACON. 


49 


r 


V 


I 


\ 


"  A  small  white  man  with  black  hair,"  said 
Brangle. 

"  He  bore  an  enormous  matchlock  in  his 
haiul,"  said  Fishtyke. 

*'  It  was  a  slim  iishing-rod,"  said  Brangle. 

**  Horns  like  an  ox,"  continued  Fishtyke. 

**  A  sailor's  cap  close  to  his  head,  methought,'^ 
said  Brangle. 

"  A  long  tail  behind  him  like  a  whale." 

"  A  round-about  and  tight  breeches." 

"Hold,  gentlemen,"  interposed  the  mild 
clergyman — "  Be  seated,  an  it  please  you. 
Your  testimony  differs  so  widely  as  to  the  per- 
sonal appearance  of  the  woman's  familiar  or 
goblin,  I  doiibt  whether  it  would  be  possible 
for  you  ever  to  identify  the  supposed  sorceress 
herself.  We  had  better  proceed  to  the  business 
of  our  cure." 

"If  you  please,"  said  the  mulberry-faced 
Brangle,  rising  with  much  solemnity,  embed- 
ding his  head  in  his  coat  collar,  advancing  his 
swag-belly  and  adjusting  his  hands  beneath  his 
coat-tail  as  before, — "  If  you  please  :  the  Lord 
in  his  righteous  and  iiiscrutaBre  providences 
r  hath  made  Philip  Brangle  a  Deacon  and  head 
of  the  Rye  Congregational  settlement.  The 
duties,  the  cares,  the  labors,  the  anxieties  of 
that  station  he  intends  to  fulfi>  untU  '  Philip 
Brangle'  is  indorsed  on  a  silver  plate  upon  his 
coffin.  As  to  this  witch — this  vile  bosom-friend 
and  ape  of  the  devil — if  ocular  proof  be  not 
sufficient,  is  there  not  enough — yea,  more  than 
enough  of  other  evidences  ?" 

"  As  brief  as  convenient,  Deacon  Brangle," 
interposed  the  mild  clergyman. 

"  Was  it  longer  ago  than  last  Sabbath  day," 
continued  Brangle,  "  that  I  saw  her,  at  a  public 
meeting — leave  the  church  in  haste  and  forci- 
bly put  to  the  door  as  she  passed  out.  The 
devil  had  sent  for  her  and  she  must  come  !" 
I  "  It  might  have  been  the  colic,"  suggested 
V^the  mild  clergyman. 

"  On  the  twenty-second  of  June  last,"  re- 
gimied  the  Deacon,  referring  to  a  gilt-edged 
note-book  that  he  held  in  his  hand,  "did  I 
not  hear  the  sound  of  a  trumpet,  from  her  hovel, 
late  in  the  evening,  summoning  a  meeting  of 
witches  and  sorcerers  at  that  place  ?" 

"  It  was  the  horn  of  the  stage-driver,"  said  the 
i  mild  clergyman,  "  for  I  received  a  letter  by  the 
^same  mail.     He  was  detained  beyond  his  hour 
by  a  break  in  the  Harlaem  bridge." 

Nettled  by  this  summary  disposal  of  his 
charges,  he  at  length  exclaimed,  as  if  he  expect- 
ed to  settle  the  question  beyond  dispute  in  his 
own  favor,  by  so  cogent  an  evidence — "  Do  you 
tell  me,  sir,  that  the  fowls  of  Mr.  Deliverance 
Lyon  have  not  been  under  diabolical  possession 
ever  since  this  Gad  Heerabout  came  into  these 
parts  ?  Have  not  many  of  them  gone  off  the 
roost  and  disappeared,  none  could  tell  whither  ! 
What  hath  become  of  that  fine  cock-turkey — 
the  pride  of  his  yard?  Whither  have  gone  his 
fatted  geese  and  his  noble  brood  of  short-legged 
hens  ?  Evil  angels  have  made  way  with  them,  I 
D 


fear;  they  have  suffered  sorely  from  spectral 
visitation." 

"  More  probably  converted  into  chicken-pie 
and  roasted  birds,  by  INIungo  Park,  his  head 
slave  :  with  Richard  Snikkers  as  an  accom- 
plice," suggested  the  mild  clergyman. 

"  Will  you  have  the  woman  examined  in  our 
presence  ?"  cried  Philip  Brangle,  as  a  last  resort. 
"  I  saw  her  just  pass  the  door." 

"  To  that  there  can  be  no  reasonable  hin- 
drance," answered  the  clergyman,  *^  if  it  be  done 
soberly." 

Thereupon  Messrs.  Brangle  and  Fishtyke 
prepared  to  sally  forth,  arrest  Gatty  Heerabout, 
and  bring  her  before  the  parochial  court. 

It  may  be  as  well  to  observe  in  this  place, 
that  Dick  Snikkers,  before  the  session  of  the 
court  began,  had  found  his  way  under  the  floor 
of  the  church — lifted  a  board,  and  climbing  over 
the  pulpit,  landed  himself  in  a  little  terra  in- 
cognita of  an  attic  or  garret  above  the  small 
vestry-room,  in  which  it  was  assembled.  Here, 
through  a  knot  hole,  he  had  listened  to  all  their 
proceedings  and  enjoyed  the  inexpressible  plea- 
sure of  observing  the  combustible  countenance 
of  Fishtyke,  and  the  mulberry  complexion  of 
Deacon  Brangle,  in  their  various  striking 
phases. 

As  soon  as  the  apprehension  of  Dame  Heer- 
about was  named,  he  had  made  his  way  back 
into  the  open  air — leaped  two  or  three  fences — 
stood  in  the  road  before  Aunt  Gatty — and  an- 
nounced to  her  their  purpose  of  questioning  her 
in  person. 

"  Let  them  question,"  she  replied,  in  answer 
to  Dick's  information,  standing  erect  and  turn- 
ing her  face  toward  the  church — "  I  fear  no 
man,  face  to  face,  to  answer  unto  the  deeds 
done  in  the  body ;  as  far  as  man  may  rightly 
question.  On  to  the  meetinghouse  :  they  shall 
not  be  leg-weary  nor  arm-weary  in  dragging 
me  to  the  trial !"  Mastering  her  crutch  with  a 
strong  hand,  and  adjusting  her  bonnet  carefully 
to  her  head,  she  marched  with  a  haughty  step 
toward  the  vestry-room.  She  arrived  at  the 
door  just  as  Brangle  had  planted  his  cane  upon 
the  ground  to  take  his  first  step  towards  her 
apprehension. 

"  How  is  this,  Jezebel !"  he  exclaimed,  taking 
her  violently  by  the  wrist;  "hast  thou  the 
effrontery  to  approach  the  sanctuary  so  nearly 
as  this  after  leaving  it  as  thou  didst  last  Lord's 
day." 

«  Take  off  that  hand,"  she  exclaimed  in  turn, 
"  or  an  acquaintance  will  be  gotten  up  forth- 
with betwixt  my  staff  and  thy  head."  And  so 
saying  she  raised  her  crutch  in  token  of  the 
promised  introduction;  but  Deacon  Brangle, 
unwilling  to  trespass  on  her  kindness  in  that 
particular,  speedily  dismissed  her  hand  from  his 
grasp. 

The  whole  party  was  now  assembled  in  the 
vestry-room. 

"  Gartred  Heerabout,"  said  the  mild  clergy- 
man, «  you  have  been  suspected  of  witchcraft 


50 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


by  Deacon  Brangle  and  Elder  Fishtyke.  What- 
ever I  may  think  of  the  charges  which  have 
been  made  against  you,  I  was  willing  that  you 
should  be  examined  in  vestry  before  you  were 
called  to  answer  for  your  life  to  the  civil  magis- 
trate. Deacon  Brangle,  you  may  examine  her — 
temperately,  if  you  please  !" 

"  Woman  !"  began  Brangle,  mounting  to  his 
feet  and  screwing  his  countenance  into  a  hard, 
inquisitorial  expression — "  Woman  !  were  you 
not  out  last  night  culling  drugs,  for  hellish  pur- 
poses, in  the  black  meadow  ?  and  instructing 
your  familiar  goblin  in  the  art  of  applying  those 
drugs  to  purposes  of  sorcery  and  witchcraft  ? 
Answer  as  you  value  your  soul  I" 

*'  Oh  God !  God  !"  exclaimed  the  woman  in 
reply  clasping  her  hands  and  raising  them  above 
her  head  in  an  attitude  and  with  an  expression 
of  intense  supplication — "MerciiiiLGpd!.  Jh^ 
I  ....'^fry  bread  that  a  poor  old  woman  eats,  turns 
bitter  in  her  mouth  !  My  masters,"  she  contin- 
ued, dropping  her  hands  heavily  upon  her  breast, 
and  turning  her  gaze  upon  the  party  about  the 
table,  "  Myjaasters,  I  am  nothing  but  a  poor  old 
herb-gatherer.  '!£  to  soothe  the  lonely  hours  of 
some  broken,  sick  man,  with  a  simple  medicine — 
a  plantain-leaf,  a  bit  of  birch  bark,  or  a  drink  of 
wild  yisup  tea,  makes  Gartred  Heerabout  a  witch, 
be  she  a  witch  to  time's  end  and  yea,  for  aught 
I  care,  to  eternity's  end — if  such  might  be  !" 

"  A  confession  as  to  the  drugs,"  cried  Dea- 
con Brangle. 

"Palpably,"  responded  Elder  Fishtyke — 
"  what  says  the  woman,  touching  the  familiar 
goblin  with  her  in  the  meadow  ?" 

"  It  was  Dick  Snikkers,  please  your  wor- 
ship," replied  aunt  Gatty,  with  a  smile  that  be- 
trayed something  of  contempt,  "  helping  me 
gather  the  yerbs — and  I  was  telling  him  the 
yerbs'  qualities." 

"  A  fine  fable,  thou  old  brass-jawed  hag ;  her 
soul  is  in  a  hopeful  way,  is  it  not,  think  you, 
brother  Fishtyke  ?"  said  Brangle,  turning  to 
the  elder ;  "  she  exhibits  observable  symptoms 
of  a  new  creature ! — Poor  wretch,  thou  hadst 
better  recal  what  thou  saidst  last  night  about 
the  bewitching  of  Margaret  Rule  of  Salem !  out 
with  it !" 

"May  the  gracious  One  pardon  thee  for  this 
t/  mistreatment  of  an  old,  friendless  woman.  I 
never  harmed  thee — why  shouldst  thou  perse- 
cute me  ?  I  never  laid  hand's-weight  on  child 
or  chick  of  thine — why  wilt  thou  smite  me  with 
hard  words  ?  I  am  no  witch,  God  knoAvs,  but 
a  simple,  sarviceful  old  body,  with  a  soul  like 
yourself.  Deacon  Brangle,  believe  it  or  not  as 
you  choose !" 

The  old  woman  dropped  her  head  upon  her 
bosom  and  sobbed  audibly  and  heavily ;  and  the 
mild  clergyman  was  so  much  affected  by  her 
emotion,  that  he  was  forced  to  turn  his  head 
tiway  to  conceal  a  tear. 

"  A  sou)  like  Deacon  Brangle !"  cried  the  ves- 
tryman, horror-lstruck  with  the  supposition.  "A 
soul  like  Deacon  Brangle ! — thou  art  fool  as 
well   «s  witch.    Begone — it  is  folly  to  waste 


words  in  examining  such  as  thee.  The  rope  of 
the  hangman  will  settle  the  matter  before  sun- 
down— begone !" 

In  spite  of  the  remonstrance  and  entreaty  of 
the  clergyman,  he  enforced  his  command  by  seiz- 
ing the  old  woman  and  dragging  her  forcibly 
toward  the  door.  Her  spirit  was  aroused  by 
this  unexpected  insult,  and,  exerting  a  strength 
n^  supposed  to  belong  to  her ,*she-threw  off  his 
grasp,  an'd,  standing  proudly  erect,  exclaimed, 
"  Wo  upon  thee  and  thine  !— henceforth  for  ev-ty* 
er — wo  and  wailing  without  end !  Or  ever 
the  sun  sinks,  Gatty  Heerabout,  mayhap,  will 
be  beyond  reach  of  judge  or  deacon."  With 
these  words  she  strided  calmly  and  haughtily 
away. 

As  she  gained  the  door.  Deacon  Brangle  said, 
in  a  hushed  and  trembling  voice,  "  She  is  aided, 
by  devils,  I  do  believe ;    Satan,  I  verily  fear, 
wrenched  her  arm  away  from  my  hold ;"    and, 
as  she  disappeared,  he  lifted  his  voice  and  crie|\ 
out  after  her — "  Avoid,  thou  she-devil,  in  the  \ 
name  of  God  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Ho-  J 
ly  Ghost,  avoid!"  / 

As  Deacon  Brangle  wended  homeward  from  ^ 
the  vestry-room,  after  the  close  of  the  morning's 
business,  he  discovered  Dick  Snikkers  sitting 
upon  the  fen«e  of  Rye  bridge,  whistling  with 
all  his  might. 

He  presented  to  the  vision  of  the  deacon  a 
very  singular  and  novel  spectacle,  having  on 
the  upper  part  of  his  person  a  gay  white  round- 
about and  pear-shaped  hat,  and,  on  his  nether 
extremities,  a  pair  of  tight  pantaloons,  and  low, 
red  shoes ;  and  possessing,  withal,  a  nose  turn- 
ed up  slightly  at  the  end,  which  gave  a  humor- 
ous appearance  to  his  visage,  and  a  set  of  twink- 
ling, black  eyes,  that  kept  a  bright  lookout  up- 
on the  little,  hooked  feature  just  mentioned. 
Add  to  this,  that  he  now  had  both  hands  forced 
vehemently  into  his  pockets,  and  that  both 
cheeks  were  inflated  with  the  blasts  of  wind 
which  supplied  the  clamorous  music  that  reach- 
ed Deacon  Brangle's  ear,  and,  we  may  honest- 
ly say  that  he  furnished  a  rare  and  original  ob- 
ject of  contemplation. 

"  Good  morrow,  your  worship,"  said  Dick 
Snikkers,  pausing  just  long  enough  in  his  labor 
to  utter  these  words,  and  resuming  his  musical 
vocation  as  soon  as  they  were  delivered. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Snikkers,"  responded 
the  deacon,  darkening  his  mulberry  complexion 
with  an  incipient  frown,  with  the  expectation 
of  awing  Mr.  Snikkers  into  silence  or  a  petri- 
faction, "you  seem  to  be  in  fine  spirits  this 
morning !" 

"  Only  whistling  a  little  for  the  consumption,'* 
replied  Dick. 

"  Whistling  for  the  consumption !"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Brangle,  moderating  the  severity  of  his 
manner,  considerably,  for  his  curiosity  equalled 
his  pompousness  every  day  in  the  week,  except 
vestry-meeting  days  and  Sundays,  "that's  a  very 
singular  remedy,  Richard,"  said  he  familiarly. 

"  Not  at  all,  your  worship,"  answered  Dick, 
charmed  with  his  style  of  address,  and  throwi"" 


THE  WITCH  AND  THE  DEACON. 


51 


a  queer  look  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye — "  not 
at  all,  your  worship — we  poor  folk  can't  afford 
to  pay  the  doctor — so  we  must  needs  make  na- 
tur'  our  mediciner.  Now,  in  the  matter  of  a 
cold.  Deacon  Brangle,  you'll  obsarve,  if  you 
was  ever  passing  through  a  lane  in  a  mornm' 
after  a  chill,  rainy  night — you'll  obsarve  a  bird 
on  the  end  of  every  stake  blowing  it  out  strong 
through  his  throat,  like  a  young  harry-cane — 
and  what's  it  for  ?  Why,  they've  all  cotcht  colds 
over  night,  and  they're  a  whistling  'em  away!" 
At  this  profound  and  philosophical  explana- 
tion, the  mulberry  countenance  of  Philip  Bran- 
gle becaue  amazingly  thoughtful — he  cast  his 
eyes  in  meditative  glances  upon  the  ground — 
and  his  chin  sank  inquiringly  upon  the  silver- 
mounted  extremity  of  his  waUcing-stick. 

"  It's  so,  your  worship,"  said  Dick  Snikkers, 
"  there  can  be  no  doubt  on  it.  I've  heard  aunt 
Gatty  tell  what  I've  told  your  worship  more  than 
fifty  times !" 

"  A  strange  woman,  that  Dame  Heerabout," 
said  Brangle,  lifting  his  mulberry  features, 
through  which  an  altogether  new  expression 
had  suddenly  shot.  "  She's  always  observing 
nature,  I  suppose,  Richard  ?  Night  and  day, 
are,  no  doubt,  all  the  same  to  her  in  pursuit 
of  this  useful  knowledge — is  it  not  so,  Mr. 
Snikkers  ?" 

"  Does  your  worship  observe  anything  green 
in  my  left  orb  ?"  responded  Mr.  Snikkers,  em- 
ploying a  very  elegant  species  of  interrogatory, 
which  is  ignorantly  supposed  to  have  sprung  up 
in  these  latter  days,  whereas,  it  was  a  common 
topic  of  conversation  in  iEsop's  time,  between 
the  currant-bush  and  the  gooseberry-. 

This  question  seemed  to  be  so  peculiarly  point- 
ed and  pertinent,  as  to  awaken  Mr  Brangle's  most 
powerful  feelings  in  reply ;  and,  hastily  convert- 
ing his  mulberry  into  a  deep  red,  he  exclaimed 
— "  Thou  Ueggarly  scamp  !  how  darest  thou 
talk  in  this  way  to  Philip  Brangle,  first  Deacon 
^  of  _the  Rye  Congregational  church  ?  I'll  teach 
thee  what  becomes  such  fellows : — You  are 
hereby  summoned  to  appear  before  the  paro- 
chial vestry  of  our  church  on  Thursday  after- 
noon next,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  to 
answer  for  contempt  of  one  of  its  officers,"  and 
he  handed  to  Mr.  Snikkers  a  printed  summons, 
regularly  filled  up,  with  his  own  name  inserted. 
Mr.  Dick  Snikkers  received  the  document, 
and  immediately,  tearing  two  circular  holes  in 
it,  placed  it  in  a  very  expressive  manner  across 
his  nose  to  mimic  spectacles,  and  commenced 
whistling  a  psalm-tune.  Deacon  Brangle  had 
cast  his  eye  back  to  see  how  his  decisive  ser- 
vice of  a  church-warrant  had  operated  on  the 
nerves  of  Dick  Snikkers,  just  as  that  young  gen- 
tleman had  opened  his  concerto  in  glasses. 

The  sight  was  too  much  for  the  pious  Bran- 
gle, and,  striding  swiftly  back,  he  cried  out — 
"  I'm  the  vestry  myself;  I'll  settle  the  contempt 
on  the  spot ;  boy,  I  will  wring  thy  nose  !"  Say- 
ing this,  he  darted  upon  that  organ  of  Dick 
Snikkers  like  a  pike-fish  upon  a  fresh  bait. 


kers,  darting  upon  the  same  feature  of  Mr.  Bran- 
gle. Of  the  two,  Snikkers  might  be  considered 
the  more  successful,  as  he  did  fasten  upon  the 
knob  of  Mr.  Brangle's  face,  whereas,  Mr.  Bran- 
gle merely  managed  to  pass  his  thumb  and  fin- 
ger over  the  extremity  of  a  smooth  willow  whis- 
tle, which  hung  at  one  of  Dick  Snikkers'  but- 
ton-holes. However,  he  performed  the  whole 
ceremony  on  it  with  the  same  hearty  honesty 
as  if  it  had  been  the  genuine  organ,  Dick  Snik- 
kers, meantime,  pulling  away  at  the  real  nose 
in  admirable  and  muscular  style. 

At  length  Snikkers  drew  off,  and  Brangle 
drew  off,  carrying  with  him  a  nose  as  red  as  a 
brick  with  pulling,  and  Dick  Snikkers'  willow 
whistle  between  his  fingers. 

"Egad!"  said  the  deacon,  with  a  horrible 
chuckle,  as  he  drew  out  the  latter  article,  which 
he  had  unconsciously  thrust  into  his  coat-pock- 
et— "  I  believe  I've  pulled  the  fellow's  nose  off. 
Ah  !"  steirting  back  with  a  monstrously  chop- 
fallen  countenance,  "  what  have  we  here — the 
fellow's  baby-whistle.  It  can't  be  that  I  was 
tugging  at  this  all  the  time,"  and  an  awful  sen- 
sation thrilled  through  his  mind ;  "  it  must  be, 
I  thought  the  scamp  had  got  a  strange  notch  ia 
his  nose  !"  With  this  last  observation  he  ab- 
ruptly pitched  the  toy  over  a  stone  fence  into 
the  bushes,  and  hurried  away  meditating  re- 
venge, and  still  more  resolved  to  push  the  mat- 
ter against  Gatty  Heerabout,  in  whose  plans 
this  irreverent  dog  seemed  to  be  an  accomplice. 
It  may  be  well,  however,  to  observe,  that  in  car- 
rying his  schemes  into  effect  he  was  doomed  to 
lose  the  valuable  aid  and  co-operation  of  Mr. 
Fishtyke;  for  that  exemplary  gentleman  had 
refused  to  have  anything  further  to  do  with  the 
affair,  when  he  found  it  impossible  to  obtain  a 
compromise  suggested  by  him,  by  which  Gatty 
Heerabout  was  to  be  "  first  burned  to  a  crispy 
or  roasted-pig  brown,  and  then  hung  by  the  neck 
till  dead  !"  He  therefore  broke  off  all  connex- 
ion with  Deacon  Brangle,  vaunting  that  he 
would,  before  long,  get  a  witch  to  prosecute  on 
his  own  account ! 

As  the  sun  sloped  toward  the  west  on  the  af- 
ternoon of  that  same  day,  and  as  broad  masses 
of  its  light  entered  the  open  door  of  a  crumbling 
cottage,  or  rather  hovel,  which  stood  upon  the 
brow  of  a  hill,  overlooking  Rye,  they  fell  upon 
the  form  of  old  Gartred  Heerabout,  sitting  in 
a  rush-bottomed  chair,  with  a  bible  spread  open 
on  her  knees.  The  excitement  of  long-contin- 
ued persecution  and  the  seD^e  of  insult  attached 
to  the  charge  of  witchcraft,  together  with  a 
strong  natural  sensibility  of  character,  appear 
to  have  at  length  affectei  her  reason,  and  as 
she  sat  lonely  and  unfriended  in  her  hovel,  her 
mind  poured  itself  out,  in  reminiscences  of  an 
earlier  and  happier  peviod  of  life,  mingled  with 
bitter  denunciations  f.nd  gloomy  forebodings  of 
some  dreaded  event  near  at  hand. 

"  The  Lord  will  deliyej  him  that  is  spoiled 
out  of  the  hand  of  the  oppressor !"  she  exclaim- 
ed, adopting  the  phraseology'  of  scripture.  "He 
And  I'll  wring  yours !"  retorted  Dick  Snik-  j  is  against  thee,  oh  inhabitant  of  the  valley ! 


52 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


Go  up  to  Lebanon,  and  cry;  and  lift  up  thy 
voice  in  Beshan.  Wo  "be  unto  the  pastors  that 
destroy  and  scatter  the  sheep- of  my  pasture  ! 
L"  gaith  the  Lord.  Do  no  wrong,  do  no  violence 
to  the  stranger,  the  fatherless" — and  then  she 
broke  abruptly  into  a  different  strain. 

"Ah  Dick,  Dick,  would  that  Enoch  Heer- 
about  were  now  living — he  was  a  comely  man, 
Dick,  and  would  have  been  a  good  father  to 
thee,  and  thou  shouldst  have  borne  his  name, 
witch's  son  or  no — those  were  brave  days  when 
Enoch  came  a-wooing : 

"  Were  he  as  poor  as  Job, 
And  I  in  a  royal  robe — 
Made  Lord  of  all  the  globe, 
He  should  be  mine  1" 

"  It's  a  long  day  that  has  no  sunset — the  sun 
looks  blood-red — what  can  that  mean  ?"  she 
exclaimed,  starting  to  the  door  and  gazing  with  a 
wild  and  fixed  eye  upon  the  declining  luminary, 
which  was  just  wheeling  its  broad  and  lurid 
orb  into  the  bosom  of  an  oak  forest  that  crown- 
ed a  distant  height. 

At  that  moment  an  ominous  sound  reached 
her  ear— the  long,  shrill  whistle  of  Dick  Snik- 
kers  or  more  properly  Dick  Heerabout,  follow- 
ed by  the  tramp  of  horsemen  and  the  hurtling, 
conlused  noise  of  a  multitude  drawing  near.     In 
an  instant  more,  a  large  crowd  of  men,  women, 
and  chUdren,  appeared  at  the  foot  of  the  hill 
with  fiery  and  eager  faces  turned  towards  her, 
and  foremost  among  them  she  described  Philip 
Brangle  with  two  officers  on  horseback.    The 
old  woman  stood  rooted  and  motionless  on  the 
threshold,  gazing  down  upon  the  populace  with 
a  look  where  madness  and  a  certain  native 
heroism  of  character  mingled,  partly  in  wrath, 
partly  in  scorn.     For  a  moment  the  undaunted 
Hf      front  and  noble  mien  of  the  accused  old  woman 
*   .'        held  them  silent  and  immoveable,  but  this  feel- 
Zing  soon  vanished. 
/       "  Seize  the  h£ig !"   cried  Deacon  Brangle, 

/     "  tie  her  hand  and  foot — see  if  she  will  beard 

\     the  vestry  again  !" 

At  this  order  two  muscular  and  fierce-looking 
men  dismounted  and  led  the  way  up  the  hill, 
followed  by  Brangle,  who  had  cautiously  thrown 
himself  under  the  protection  of  this  advanced 
body.  As  they  approached  the  house  Gatty 
Heerabout  withdrew  into  the  interior  and  they 
gained  an  entrance  without  opposition  or  diffi- 
culty. When  they  were  within  the  apartment 
they  discovered  her  standing  erect  in  its  ex- 
treme corner  holding  on  high  in  one  hand  her 
bible,^while  the  other  was  concealed  in  the 
folds  of  her  garments ;  a  fierce;^  supernatural 
fire  kindling  in  her  eyes. 

"  Execute  your  warrant  on  her  person  !"  For 
a  moment  they  paused  again  until  Deacon 
Brangle  cried  out,  "  Have  her  in  custody  forth- 
with. We  must  be  before  the  justice  ere  sun 
down  or  we  will  have  no  hearing  to  day !" 

Thus  urged  on,  the  officers  approached  the 
supposed  witch,  and  in  an  unguarded  moment, 
while  her  eyes  were  turned  thoughtfully  on  the 


setting  sun,  they  sprang  upon  her  and  held  her 
in  a  firm  and  apparently  invincible  gripe. 

*"  Once  more  vouchsafe  thy  strength,"  she 
exclaimed,  after  she  had  recovered  from  the 
sudden  shock,  casting  her  eyes  toward  heaven. 
"  Once  more  only ! — Away,  ye  devils  !"  she    • 
shouted,  exerting  a  giant's  strength,  casting  the 
stout  men  "from  her  like  children — "  I  will  ren-  '^ 
der  my  account  to  God!"    And  before  they 
could  recover  their  hold  she  liad   plucked  a 
dagger  from  her  giidle,  plunged   it  hilt-deep 
into  her  bosom — so  that  its  point  pierced  her^^^ 
heart — and  she  fell  heavy  and  lifeless  to  the 
floor ! 

Balked  of  this  victim,  thus  unexpectedly,  . 
Deacon  Brangle,  now  gave  orders  for  the  ap- 
prehension of  her  accomplice,  Richard  Heer- 
about ;  but  he,  who  had  disappeared  during  the 
confusion,  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  nor  was 
he  ever  after  seen  or  heard  of  in  those  bewitched 
and  bloody  regions ! 


DINNER  TO  THE 
HON.  ABIMELECH  BLOWER. 

It  is  a  fact,  I  suspect  by  this  time,  pretty  gen- 
erally circulated  throughout  Christendom,  that 
when  an  American  politician  gets  to  be  a  great 
statesman  ;  when  he  has  achieved  fame  for  him- 
self and  everlasting  glory  for  his  country,  and 
when  nothing  more  can  be  done  to  complete 

his  renown,  he  takes  his dinner !     When 

his  constituents  have  heaped  upon  him  every 
honor — elected  him  to  the  common  council — 
the  state  legislature — and,  finally,  expanded 
him  into  that  full-blown  flower  of  human  great- 
ness, a  member  of  Confess — they  express  their 
incapacity  for  any  further  bestowal  of  dignities 
— their  sense  of  the  utter  hopelessness  of  any 
higher  elevation  of  the  man  in  the  esteem  and 
admiration  of  the  world,  by  furnishing  him  with 
as  much  roast-beef  and  salad  as  he  can  eat. 
Adroit  rogues  !  they  manage  to  be  present  with 
the  great  man  at  this  his  public  ordinary  and 
masticating  exhibition — though  absent. 

His  heavy  constituent  is  served  up  by  proxy, 
in  a  surloin ;  his  loquacious  one  in  a  calf's  head ; 
and  his  busy,  little,  young  admirer,  the  clerk 
or  the  jeweller's  apprentice,  in  a  dish  of  eels. 
His  mechanical  friend  comes  there  in  the  guise 
of  a  stuffed,  brown  duck,  with  its  back  to  the 
plate,  sticking  up  its  rough,  hard  web-feet,  as 
if  it  would  take  him  stoutly  by  the  hand.  Thus 
do  his  countrymen  incorporate  themselves  with 
the  mighty  statesman,  and  enjoy  the  proximate 
delight  of  forming  the  future  substance  and 
bulk  of  their  idol. 

The  dinner  to  a  great  man  is  generally  got 
up  by  two  newspaper  editors  one  lean  man,  with , 
a  long,  sagacious  nose,  and  a  small  boy.     The  i 
editors  announce  that  "  It  is  the  intention  of  a 
large  number  of  the  constituents  of  the  Honor- 
able Mr.  to  give  a  public  dinner  to  that 


THE  BLOWER  DINNER. 


cicman,  at  the  earliest  opportunity."  The  long- 
nosed,  lean  man  hires  the  room,  and  the  small 
boy  distributes  circulars. 

A  long-nosed  lean  man — two  editors — and  a 
small  boy  had  performed  their  part  of  the  busi- 
ness, and  the  Honorable  Abilemech  Blower 
was  expected  hourly  by  the  afternoon  boat,  to 
partake  of  a  public  dinner. 

The  newspapers  were  in  an  agony  of  an- 
nouncement and  expectation ;  the  sun  was  on 
fire  with  impatience  ;  the  streets  were  literally 
parched  and  thirsty  with  suspense.  The  ticket- 
holders  assumed  clean  collars  and  handker- 
chiefs, and  a  crowd  of  anxious  expectants  was 
on  the  wharf  straining  their  optic  nerves  and 
exhausting  their  nautical  knowledge  in  deci- 
phering the  craft  that  came  up  the  bay,  and 
distinguishing  butter-sloops  from  steamboats. 
The  study  of  river  navigation  seemed  to  have 
become  an  epidemic. 

Several  times  the  crowd  thought  fit  to  throw 
itself  into  a  state  of  intense  and  unnecessary 
excitement. 

"There  she  is — there's  the  Aurora  High- 
flyer," said  a  large  vagabond,  who  was  burst- 
ing from  every  part  of  his  dress,  like  an  enor- 
mous monthly  rose. 

"  It  is  the  Highflyer — Blower's  in  the  High- 
flyer— I  know  the  Highflyer  by  her  pipe  and 
the  way  she  cuts  the  water — the  committee 
engaged  the  Aurora  Highflyer  to  bring  on  Blower 
and  twelve  baskets  of  Amboy  oysters  for  the 
dinner !" 

The  great  vagabond  had  concluded  his  ex- 
planatory comments ;  the  mob  stood  with  its 
nose  in  the  air  and  its  mouth  agape,  stretching 
forward  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  the  dis- 
tinguished member  :  the  Aurora  Highflyer  was 
hidden  from  view  by  a  brig  which  was  sailing 
in  the  same  direction  and  which  kept  such 
equal  progress  as  to  conceal  it  for  more  than 
ten  minutes. 

When  the  brig  had  arrived  nearly  opposite 
the  wharf;  the  supposed  steamboat  dropped 
behind  her  stern  and  a  fellow  in  a  hat-rim 
standing  in  her  bows,  bawled  out,  "  Dash  my 
vitals !  them  chaps  has  come  down  to  see  the 
race !  Mos  es  and  Melchizedec,  who'd  ha' 
thought  it.  Bill  ?"  This  facetious  personage,  in 
the  ardor  of  a  very  lively  and  agreeable  fancy, 
supposed  the  crowd  had  collected  to  witness  a 
match  between  his  mud-scow  and  the  brig  Car- 
oline, which  had  been  advertised  in  one  of  the 
penny  papers  ! 

At  length  the  Aurora  Highflyer  did  make 
herself  apparent :  the  mob  caught  sight  of  a 
small  man  with  a  mysterious  head,  who  very 
obligingly  stood  on  the  upper  deck  with  his  hat 
off"  making  the  most  singular  and  condescending 
faces  at  a  huge,  wooden  spile,  and  bowing 
obliquely  toward  the  mob. 

The  mob  were,  of  course,  excessively  delight- 
ed and  expressed  their  feelings  as  every  well- 
trained  mob  does,  by  an  extraordinary  shout 
and  a  still  more  extraordinary  exhibition  of  hats 
and  caps.  The  great  man  landed. 
4 


The  crowd  grew  more  aff(ectionate  and  ad- 
miring ;  they  pressed  closer  and  closer. 

The  committee  were  obliged  every  minute 
to  exclaim,  "  for  Heaven's  sake,  gentlemen ! 
don't — you'll  crush  Mr.  Blower  !"  The  great 
man  was  finally  thrust  into  a  hack — by  a  broad- 
handed  member  of  the  committee  in  so  forcible 
a  manner  that  he  came  very  near  going  through 
the  coach-window  at  the  other  side. 

A  portion  of  the  mob,  apparently  anticipating 
this  movement,  had  planted  itself  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  hack,  and  obtaining  a  view  of 
the  countenance  of  the  honorable  M.  C.  as  it 
bobbed  that  way,  successfully  executed  three 
cheers  in  a  masterly  style ;  the  committee 
mounted  in — the  door  closed,  and  the  hack 
dashed  up  the  street.  When  they  arrived  at 
the  saloon,  where  the  dinner  was  in  waiting, 
they  found  the  doors  surrounded  by  a  dense 
throng  who  had  assembled  to  take  measure  of 
Mr.  Blower's  person  with  their  eye  and  greet 
him  with  their  most  sweet  voices.  His  foot 
had  no  sooner  struck  the  pavement  than  a  gen- 
eral "Hurrah  for  Blower!"  split  the  air,  and 
gave  an  old  woman  who  was  sitting  in  a 
window  across  the  way,  a  very  vivid  idea  of  a 
small  earthquake.  "  Nine  cheers  and  an  onion, 
for  Blower  !"  shouted  a  discordant  gentleman 
of  the  opposite  politics. 

"  Give  him  a  smellin'-bottle — the  little  gen- 
tleman's a-fainting  !"  bawled  a  second,  as  Mr, 
Blower  turned  pale  at  the  thought  of  forcing 
his  way  to  the  door  through  the  well-packed 
mass  of  people. 

"  Fan  him  with  a  chip  !"  cried  a  third. 

"  Loosen  his  corsets  !"  shouted  a  forth. 

By  dint  of  the  active  exertions  of  twelve  po- 
lice-officers with  heavy  sticks,  and  four  private 
friends  of  Mr.  Blower,  who  marched  before 
him  kicking  the  mob  on  the  shins,  the  Honora- 
ble Abimelech  Blower  was  at  length  safely 
landed  in  the  room  provided  for  his  reception, 
with  the  loss  of  only  one  gold  key  out  of  the 
bunch  at  the  end  of  his  watch-chain,  and  one 
committee-man,  who  swooned  at  the  presenta- 
tion of  a  butcher-boy's  fist  directly  under  his 
nose,  and  was  obliged  to  be  carried  home. 

Meantime  the  ticket-holders  had  rushed  into 
the  saloon,  and  organized  themselves  by  calling 
a  man  with  a  small  voice  to  the  chair,  and  ap- 
pointing fourteen  vice-presidents,  each  one  of 
the  fourteen  having  a  pair  of  bushy  whiskers, 
and  a  gold  chain  slung  like  a  bandit's  carbine- 
belt  over  his  breast.  Only  a  single  difficulty 
arose  in  arranging  the  meeting  to  the  entire 
satisfaction  of  every  one  in  it,  and  that  was 
simply  that  the  room  was  intended  to  hold  one 
hundred  and  fifty,  and  exactly  three  hundred 
purchasers  of  tickets  were  present.  If  they 
should  attempt  to  foist  off"  upon  them  the  amount 
of  dinner  they  were  accustomed  to  serve  up  to 
the  number  which  tlie  room  held  alone,  it  was 
quite  clear  that  some  one  hundred  and  fifty 
good  manly  voices  would  be  raised  to  the  tune 
of  "Give  me  back  my  dollar!"  These  three 
hundred  gentlemen  being  concentrated  in  so 


*^ 


54 


THE  MOTLEY  EOOK. 


moderate  a  space,  it  was  rather  difficult  to  de-  | 
cide  by  what  process  the  Honorable  Abimelech 
Blower  was  to  be  established  in  the  chair  left 
vacant  for  him  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Presi- 
dent. In  fact,  this  very  question  came  up  for 
discussion  in  the  reception-room. 

A  significant  stamping,  like  that  given  at  the 
theatre  for  the  performers  to  come  on,  was 
heard  from  the  saloon  and  considerably  accel- 
erated the  deliberations  of  the  committee. 
Time  was  pressing.  The  dinner  was  spoiling. 
The  Hon.  A.  Blower  began  to  grow  black  in 
the  face.  A  messenger  was  sent  round  to  learn 
whether  a  passage  could  be  made  or  obtained 
through  the  main  entrance.  He  returned,  and 
almost  breathless  with  haste  and  horror,  re- 
ported that  the  fat  twins  (two  celebrated  and 
eminent  feeders)  were  at  the  door,  clamoring 
to  be  admitted  with  their  tickets.  The  com- 
mittee now  began  to  despair,  when  a  little 
man  timidly  suggested  that  Mr.  Blower  might 
be  got  in,  if  he  would  consent,  under  the  stage 
by  the  way  which  the  waiters  adopted  to  hand 
up  their  wine  to  those  on  the  platform.  Two 
of  the  most  influential  members  of  the  commit- 
tee ventured  to  break  it  to  Mr.  Blower. 

At  first  he  was  staggered,  but  recovering 
from  the  shock,  and  after  a  brief  consultation 
with  his  appetite,  he  agreed  to  practise  the 
device. 

A  rumor  now  reached  the  saloon  that  Mr. 
Blower  was  approaching.  The  three  hundred 
hungry  gentlemen  were  awed  into  silence, 
and  every  eye  was  turned  eagerly  toward  the 
door  of  the  committee-room,  when — unexpected 
vision — a  head — a  good  sized  Sphinx-like  ora- 
cular head,  was  put  out  of  a  trap-door  im- 
mediately behind  the  president's  chair.  As- 
tonishment seized  the  three  hundred  ticket- 
holders.  The  head  smiled.  It  was  conjectured, 
by  some  half  dozen  among  the  meeting,  to  be 
the  head  of  the  Honorable  Abimelech  Blower. 
The  meeting  shouted :  the  head  smiled  again. 
The  meeting  cheered ;  the  head  was  followed 
by  a  pair  of  spare  withered  legs,  and  the  Honor- 
able Abimelech  Blower  stood  before  them. 

The  committee  under  the  platform  hurraed 
and  thumped  the  boards  with  their  canes,  as  if 
they  were  overjoyed  at  its  successful  delivery 
of  so  great  a  birth.  The  rumbling  noise  under 
the  stage  and  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  dis- 
tinguished M.  C.  made  it  seem  as  if  the  earth 
had  gaped  like  another  whale,  and  cast  up  from 
its  bowels  a  second  Jonah :  a  very  prophet. 

Now  that  Mr.  Blower  was  duly  installed  in 
his  place  of  honor,  the  dinner  commenced  after 
a  vigorous  fashion.  Sundry  gentlemen  in  the 
body  of  the  saloon,  appeared  to  adopt  Mr. 
Blower's  countenance  as  a  sort  of  seasoning  for 
their  dishes  ;  for  they  stole  a  glance  at  his  ex- 
pressive features  and  then  took  a  mouthful ;  a 
second  glance,  a  second  mouthful,  and  so  on  to 
the  end  of  the  course.  It  gave  a  relish  to  their 
viands.  Mr.  Blower,  himself,  fed  in  gallant 
style.  About  him  in  a  semi-ciicle — a  kind  of 
reverential,  Druid's    stone-arrangement — the 


choicest  dishes  were  assembled.  A  private  letter 
had  been  addressed  to  him  at  Washington  by  a 
confidential  friend  to  learn  whether  he  pre- 
ferred fresh  shad  or  trout :  oysters  pickled  or 
in  the  stew,  red  pepper  or  black  ;  and  also  con- 
veying a  general  inquiry  as  to  the  game,  wines, 
&c.,  which  would  be  most  agreeable.  In  reply 
he  returned  a  double  epistle  written  twice 
across  giving  full  and  explicit  information. 
With  that  important  state  document  in  their 
hands,  a  committee  of  three  had  made  a  circuit 
of  the  markets,  and  been  guided  by  it  as  strictly 
and  peremptorily  as  its  author  professed  to  be 
by  the  sacred  charter  of  the  constitution. 

The  tour  of  all  these  edibles  Mr.  Blower  made 
with  the  solemnity  and  thorough  self-devotion 
which  befitted  the  occasion.  In  his  victorious 
progress  he  spared  no  dish ;  he  entered  into  no 
truce  or  compromise  with  fish,  flesh,  or  fowl ; 
he  refused,  with  a  sturdy  love  of  self-enjoyment, 
to  negotiate  with  anything  that  stood  before 
him  whatever  winning  shape  it  might  assume. 

It  was  a  glorious  spectacle  to  behold  Abime- 
lech Blower  at  his  dinner.  No  wonder,  three 
hundred  human  beings  were  willing  to  be  pack- 
ed, like  damaged  dry  goods,  into  a  small  saloon. 
No  wonder  they  volunteered  a  dollar  a  piece  to 
get  in.  No  wonder  they  patiently  endured  the 
heat  and  suflfocation — in  truth,  almost  purgato- 
rial, of  a  close,  narrow  room !  Abimelech 
Blower  at  his  dinner  was  a  sight  Jupiter  might 
have  left  his  thunder,  and  Bacchus  his  cups,  to 
look  upon.  ,  4| 

Extravagant  and  improbable  as  it  may  seem, 
the  Honorable  Abimelech  Blower  did  at  length 
finish  his  dinner — he  absolutely  brought  it  to  a  * 
close  !  The  wine  was  then  introduced.  The 
President  thereupon  arose,  and,  in  his  peculiar-  _* 
ly  small  voice,  said  that  "  he  felt  himself  highly  '^ 
honored" — "Louder!"  shouted  an  impudent  Jt 
fellow  who  had  stolen  an  advance  upon  the^ 
meeting,  of  three  glasses,  "  he  felt  himself 
highly  honored  in  being  the  instrument  to  con- 
vey to  that  respectable  and  intelligent  audience, 
a  sentiment  which  he  knew  would  meet  a 
cordial  response  in  the  bosom  of  every  gentle- 
man present.  In  presenting  it,  he  should  say 
no  more  than  to  simply  add  that  the  subject  of 
it  was  a  patriot,  a  scholar,  an  orator,  and  a  citi- 
zen, unrivalled  in  the  four  quarters  of  the 
globe  (cheers).  As  a  patriot  he  had  given 
his  time  to  his  country  for  the  last  twenty-five 
years,  at  the  very  moderate  rate  of  eight  dol- 
lars per  day  (enormous  applause)  ;  as  a  scholar, 
his  pamphlet  on  the  Tonawonda  system  of  cul- 
tivating the  prairies  had  gained  him  immortal 
honor  throughout  the  whole  state  of  New  York 
(ecstatic  vociferations) ;  as  an  orator,  his  great 
speeches  on  the  Panama  mission  and  on  the 
question  of  conducting  the  debates  in  both 
houses  of  Congress  in  the  Iroquois,  have  placed 
him  in  an  enviable  position  before  the  world, 
beside  Demosthenes  and  Cicero  (hysterical  hur- 
rahs) ;  as  a  citizen,  you  all  know  him,  and 
love  to  know  that  his  manly  form  is  the  growth — 
a  true  native  plants—of  your  own  soil !"    At 


THE  BLOWER  DINNER. 


0S 


the  close  of  this  catalogue  of  Mr.  Blower's  ex- 
cellences irrepressible  cheers  broke  out,  like 
an  erysipelas,  all  over  the  meeting.  The  na- 
tive plant,  however,  sat  rooted  to  its  chair, 
very  quiet  and  self-composed  under  this  pleasant 
irrigation ;  or  rather  his  face  seemed  to  bud 
forth  certain  complacent  smiles  and  twinklings 
which  shot  about  his  eyes  and  the  corners  of 
his  mouth,  like  garden  fire-works. 

*'  Gentlemen,"  continued  the  President  in 
his  small,  small  voice,  "  I  have  the  honor  to 
offer  you,  the  Honorable  Abimelech  Blower. 
The  phoenix  of  his  party,  he  springs,"  "louder !" 
shouted  the  impudent  fellow  again, — "  The 
phoenix  of  his  party  he  springs," — "louder!" 
cried  the  inexorable,  impudent  man,  "  I  can't," 
exclaimed  the  President,  pale  with  smothered 
rage  :  nevertheless  he  proceeded,  "  he  springs 
from  the  ashes  of  corruption  which  surround 
him,  and,  like  Hercules  tears  his"  (sh-i-r-t 
suggested  the  impudent,  drunken  man  as  the 
president  paused  in  doubt  over  his  paper)  "  his 
De-janeiras  garment  from  him  and  springs  into 
the  flame  to  save  his  country." 

This  admirable  and  explicit  toast  was  re- 
ceived with  unbounded  demonstrations  of  ap- 
plause, and  in  about  two  minutes  after  they 
had  subsided,  the  meeting  took  to  their  bottles 
and  Mr.  Blower  to  his  legs. 

"  Fellow-citizens,"  said  he,  calmly  with- 
drawing a  large  bandanna  from  his  left  coat- 
pocket,  "  no  event  of  my  life  is  more  gratifying 
to  me  than  this  reception  :  it  is  the  proudest — 
the  very  proudest  moment  of  my  existence. 
The  sentiment  which  you  have  had  the  kind- 
ness to  receive  so  warmly — is  only  too  compli- 
mentary, too  flattering.  To  be  a  phoenix  under 
any  circumstances,  gentlemen,  must  be  highly 
gratifying  to  any  man's  feelings,  but  to  be  the 
phoenix  of  the  party  of  which  I  am  an  humble 
advocate,  is  an  honor  too  great — too  over- 
whelming— for  any  human  being.  I  thank  you, 
Mr.  President  and  fellow-citizens,  for  the  kind 
compliment,  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart, 
and  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart — but  I  feel — 
I  fear — I  am  not  sure  but  that  I  am  unworthy 
of  the  eulogy."  He  then  proceeded  to  handle 
the  allusion  to  Hercules  in  a  similar  manner, 
and  in  due  time  came  to  his  system — the  great 
system  of  which  he  was  the  father  and  promul- 
gator. "  As  to  the  system  which  I  have  had  the 
honor  to  advocate,  for  the  last  three  years — and 
which  I  have  at  length  succeeded  in  carrying 
through  both  Houses  of  Congress  by  a  triumphant 
majority  (cheers) — I  allude  to  the  system  of  Short 
Commons  (continued  cheering) — the  system 
which  has  routed  beershops  from  the  capitol  and 
banished  gingerbread  establishments  from  the 
halls  of  legislation  (vociferous  applause)  ;  as  to 
this  system,  gentlemen,  which  I  victoriously 
brought  to  a  third  reading,  and  pushed  to  a  suc- 
cessful decision  after  a  hard-fought  and  exciting 
debate  of  two  days  and  two  nights — I  shall  not 
enter  into  its  amazing  results  and  consequences 
at  the  present  time  !  Its  moral  bearing  upon  the 
destiny  of  the  world— its  influence  upon  the 


business  of  Congress — and  the  support  which  it 
indirectly  and  collaterally  lends  to  the  consti- 
tution of  the  United  States — are  too  obvious  to 
require  explanation." 

Here  the  fourteen  vice-presidents  sprang  upon 
their  legs  in  a  body  and  cheered  in  magnificent 
style — a  fat  reporter  in  a  small  gallery  behind 
the  speaker  grinned — the  meeting  clamorously 
hurraed — and  an  elderly  gentleman  who  couldn't 
get  a  seat  and  wanted  exercise,  put  his  hat 
upon  his  cane  and  whirled  it  around  in  the  air, 
in  a  most  fascinating  manner. 

"  Mr.  President,  in  urging  this  great  measure 
upon  Congress,  I  invoked  the  spirit  of  liberty 
to  come  to  my  aid — I  felt  it  my  duty  to  invoke 
that  spirit ;  I  called  upon  the  fathers  of  the 
Revolution  to  appear  before  me,  to  stalk  forth 
in  their  grave-clothes  upon  the  floor  of  the 
House  and  animate  me  in  the  glorious  cause." 
At  this  moment  a  noise  of  cracked  bells  and 
harsh  voices  from  without  volunteered  to  mingle 
itself  with  the  sound  of  the  speaker's  eloquence. 
"  '  Appear  before  me,'  I  exclaimed,"  continued 
Mr.  Blower,  " '  ye  heroes  and  sages,  in  your 
funeral  shrouds  and  ghastly  visages,  and  infuse 
the  vigor  of  your  presence  into  my  bosom !' " 
A  tumult  was  heard  at  the  door — a  slight  crash, 
as  if  a  panel  or  two  were  resigning  their  places 
in  the  door-frame — an  officer's  voice  was  raised 
in  the  uproar — and  a  dozen  or  two  hard-featured 
fellows  rushed  in — followed  by  a  miscellaneous 
throng.  They  distributed  themselves  quietly 
through  the  gallery,  and  the  speaker,  somewhat 
astonished  at  this  rough  parenthesis  in  the  pro- 
ceedings— continued,  suddenly  abandoning  the 
track  of  apostrophe,  which  he  perhaps  thought 
had  been  full  speedily  and  promptly  answered. 

"  My  learned  friend,"  said  he,  smiling  upon 
the  small-voiced  President,  "has  spoken  of  me, 
in  terms  of  kind  commendation,  as  a  patriot,  a 
statesman,  and  an  orator.  But,  gentlemen, 
whatever  gratification  it  may  afford  me  to  know 
that  I  have  been  able  in  my  time  and  in  the 
course  of  my  life  to  render  some  service  to  my 
country  in  these  capacities  ("  Cut  that  man's 
head  off!"  shouted  the  impudent  man,  who 
was  in  his  fifth  bottle) ;  I  feel — I  know  that 
my  deepest  source  of  satisfaction — that  which 
gives  me  most  consolation  and  solace,  is  that, 
amid  all  the  corruptions  and  debaucheries  of 
party,  I  have  been  enabled  to  sustain  my  purity 
and  remain  an  honest  man  !"  An  uproar  of  ap- 
plause now  burst  from  every  quarter  of  the 
room,  slightly  seasoned  and  qualified  however 
by  the  voice  of  a  big,  pale  man  in  the  gallery. 
"Pay  me  for  them  Wellingtons  you've  got 
on,  Blower,"  shouted  the  big,  pale  man,  who  ap- 
peared to  be  a  cobbler,  from  his  complexion  and 
the  earnestness  with  which  he  demanded  an 
equivalent  for  the  nether  integuments  of  Mr. 
Blower's  person. 

"  The  character  of  our  country,  fellow-citi- 
zens," continued  Blower  again  rapidly  abandon- 
ing his  train  of  remark  to  get  on  less  perilous 
ground— "The  character  of  our  country  has 
been  to  me  a  source  of  anxious  attention," 


56 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


"  I'd  like  to  have  you  settle  for  those  plushes 
and  silk  vesting  !"  modestly  suggested  a  little 
tailor  who  was  leaning  over  the  railing. 

"This  principle  I  brought  from  my  cradle 
and  shall  carry  to  my  grave — sustaining  it  here 
and  everywhere  while  life  is  granted  roe." 

"  Couldn't  you  arrange  our  small  bill  for 
groceries,  Mr.  Blower,"  shouted  the  impudent 
man,  who  proved  to  be  the  out-door  partner  of 
the  firm  of  Firkin  &  Muzzy,  retail  grocers — 
<*it's  been  running  more  than  four  years." 

This  was  too  much  for  the  admirers  of  the 
Hon.  Abimelech  Blower — "  Turn  him  out — 
hustle  him  !"  shouted  fifty  voices  all  at  once. 

"  Pass  him  down  !" 

Now  when  it  is  considered  that  the  doomed 
man  had  established  himself  in  the  remote  up- 
per corner  of  the  room,  and  that  the  door 
through  which  he  was  destined  to  make  his  exit 
was  at  the  opposite  extremity,  it  will  be  readily 
perceived  how  pleasant  a  prospect  of  travel  Mr. 
Muzzy  might  reasonably  indulge  in. 

An  assemblage  of  human  beings  is  often  com- 
pared to  a  sea. 

Boisterous  and  dreadful,  indeed,  was  the 
ocean  on  which  the  ill-fated  Muzzy  was  now 
embarking.  God  assoil  thee,  poor  man  !  if 
thou  passest  safe  through  yonder  narrow  straits, 
ycleped  the  outer  door. 

"  Pass  him  down  !"  shouted  a  dozen  voices 
at  the  lower  end  of  the  room. 

In  a  trice,  the  call  was  answered  by  the  sud- 
den elevation  of  Mr.  Muzzy  some  six  feet  in 
the  air.  Being  let  down  by  this  billow  he  fell 
into  a  horrible  vortex  of  stout-handed  men,  who 
whirled  him  round  and  round,  and  then  yielded 
him  to  the  current  which  set  toward  the  door. 
He  next  struck  in  a  gulf-stream  of  muscular  fel- 
lows, who  hurried  him  forward  at  something 
like  fifteen  knots  an  hour.  Thus  he  pitched 
from  one  raging  wave  to  another,  sometimes 
being  borne  toward  the  right  wall  and  some- 
times toward  the  left,  as  the  fanciful  humor  of 
the  channel  varied.  Sometimes  he  landed 
among  a  party  of  quiet,  elderly  gentlemen  over 
their  wine,  where  he  rested  a  moment,  as  it 
were,  between  two  breakers,  and  looking  around 
him  with  pallid  visage,  thought  the  tempest  was 
past.  In  a  second,  the  gale  would  spring  afresh, 
and  he  would  be  clutched  up,  and  vexed  dread- 
fully between  two  tides  which  both  set  against 
him  with  rapacious  fury.  At  length  he  was 
caught  up  by  a  mighty  billow,  in  the  shape  of 
two  master  bakers  and  a  brewer,  and  dashed 
through  the  dangerous  gut  toward  which  he 
had  been  making  such  perilous  progress.  On 
taking  an  observation,  he  discovered  that  he 
was  stranded  on  the  curbstone,  with  his  tim- 
bers considerably  loosened  and  his  rigging 
damaged.  In  fact,  he  found  himself  in  a  round 
jacket  (instead  of  a  long  tail  dress  coat,  in 
which  he  had  entered)  and  frightened  half  out 
of  his  wits.  Without  stopping  to  fabricate  any 
moral  reflections  on  the  event  or  to  calculate 
the  extent  of  his  loss,  he  made  a  very  rapid 
pair  of  legs  down  the  street. 


The  Honorable  Mr.  Blower  resumed,  and  con- 
tinued, without  further  interruption,  to  entertain 
the  assemblage  with  an  able  and  eloquent  address 
in  which  the  words — my  country — patriotism — 
our  free  institutions — (three  cheers) — down  to 
our  posterity — received  from  our  ancestors — 
(applause) — humble  advocate — public  career— 
the  constitution — the  glorious  constitution — (six 
cheers) — enemies  of  human  freedom  trampled 
I  under  foot — (nine  cheers) — occurred  at  regular 
i  intervals,  variegated  with  allusions  to  the  per- 
sonal determination  of  the  speaker  to  stand  by 
his  principles,  and  all  that.  The  honorable 
gentleman  s^jstained  an  even  flight  of  this  kind 
for  about  two  hours,  during  which  the  fat  re- 
porter in  the  small  gallery  took  the  liberty  to 
cultivate  his  somnolent  powers,  with  no  despic- 
able degree  of  vigor  and  enthusiasm. 

Mr.  Blower  was  proceeding  to  introduce  his 
peroration,  with  nine  apostrophes  to  liberty, 
and  four  distinct  and  astounding  interrogato- 
ries to  the  crowned  heads  of  Europe,  when  sud- 
denly, and  without  notice,  the  gas-lights  extin- 
guished themselves  in  a  body.  Upon  this,  sev- 
eral clear  and  musical  yells  were  raised  by  the 
hard-featured  gentlemen  in  the  gallery,  and  in- 
numerable missiles  began  to  be  distributed  pret- 
ty freely  through  the  saloon.  From  the  num- 
ber that  reached  the  Honorable  Abimelech 
Blower,  that  gentleman  formed  a  sudden  con- 
ception that  he  was  becoming  the  general  cen- 
tre of  attack,  and  that  the  whole  meeting  had 
risen  to  a  man  and  was  bestowing  its  favors  up- 
on his  person. 

The  committee  having  likewise  arrived  at 
a  somewhat  similar  conclusion,  they  thought  it 
came  within  their  powers  to  smuggle  the  per- 
son of  Mr.  Blower  through  the  door  in  the  plat- 
form, and  they  accordingly  did  so,  with  such  a 
degree  of  precipitancy  as  to  draw  the  port -wine- 
colored  coat  which  he  had  on,  entirely  over  his 
majestic  features.  The  small-voiced  president 
they  threw  in  to  make  sure  that  all  was  packed 
snug  below.  The  rioters  not  having  learned 
the  abduction  of  the  Honorable  gentleman,  con- 
tinued to  play  their  missiles  toward  the  spot 
which  he  was  supposed  to  be  occupying,  until, 
at  length,  a  misdirected  bottle  struck  the  fat  re- 
porter directly  upon  the  nape  of  the  neck,  and 
sent  him  home  to  write  out  the  speech  he  had 
and  had  not  heard — to  say  that,  "  everything 
went  ofi"  in  capital  style" — that  "  the  address 
of  the  Hon.  Mr.  Blower  was  brilliant  and  thril- 
ling, and  surpassed  all  his  previous  masterly  ef- 
forts"— and  to  have  a  mustard  plaster  applied 
to  his  occiput !  Champaigne-bottles,  wine-glas- 
ses, and  broken  noses,  were  meantime  dealt 
about  with  the  most  astonishing  prodigality,  in 
the  body  of  the  saloon,  till  daylight  looked  in  at 
the  windows — when  the  survivors  adjourned. 

Two  of  the  committee  of  reception,  who  had 
become  personally  responsible  for  the  bills,  on 
looking  over  the  account  which  was  handed  in 
the  next  morning,  and  in  which  "  to  breakage" 
doz.  champaigne-glasses ; doz.  wine- 
bottles  (best  green  glass)  j  fifty  window-lights ; 


THE  DRUGGIST'S  WIFE. 


67 


gas-fixtures  ;  one  large  chandelier  (entirely  de- 
stroyed figured  conspicuously — and  on  receiv- 
ing a  note  from  the  fat  reporter,  stating  that  he 
should  immediately  conunence  an  action  of  dam- 
ages for  the  "  disablement  of  two  arteries  and 
one  spinal  marrow,"  unless  some  satisfactory 
arrangement  was  made — absconded. 

When  it  is  suggested  that  they  left  behind 
them  two  tailor's  bills — a  running  account  with 
a  butcher  and  baker  a-piece — and  no  chattels, 
real  or  personal,  save  two  or  three  walking- 
sticks  and  seven  small  children,  it  will  be  at 
once  conjectured  how  enchanting  a  prospect 
there  was  of  these  new  demands  being  met  by 
cash  payments  ! 


THE  DRUGGIST'S  WIFE. 

Harvey  Lamb  was  a  poor  druggist  in  the 
city.  He  was  very  poor — his  life  ebbed  on  in  a 
meager  channel,  with  a  scanty  tide  that  barely 
kept  him  from  sinking.  He  was  not  born  poor, 
nor  had  he  become  poor  through  unthrift  or  im- 
providence, but  by  one  mischance  and  another 
— a  misfortune — a  loss  at  sea — an  unexpected 
turn  of  events,  he  had  been  gradually  brought 
down  the  fair  mountain-side,  into  the  low  vale 
of  sorrowful  and  barren  poverty  where  he  now 
dwelt.  Whatever  of  flickering  splendor — of 
past  pomp  or  glory  of  condition  had  been  left  to 
him  after  all  this,  sickness,  like  a  hard  creditor, 
had  stepped  in,  and  with  her  pale,  slow,  but 
inevitable  hand,  swept  from  the  stage.  The 
lights  were  extinguished — the  curtain  was  torn 
down — the  scenery  (which,  in  truth,  had  been 
to  him  scarcely  more  than  imaginary) — the  fairy 
coloring  and  decoration  of  his  boyhood,  were 
vanished  from  his  view.  He  was  very  poor, 
but  not  without  consolation.  His  treasury  of 
mere  money,  it  is  true,  was  exhausted — but 
there  was  one  that  presided  over  the  exchequer 
whose  resources  scarce  ever  ran  low.  Fancy, 
a  true  poet's  fancy,  made  a  noble  mistress  of 
the  mint.  She  was  ever  ready  to  meet  his  de- 
mands— smilingly  to  give  him  bills  and  drafts 
(such  as  they  were)  upon  the  future.  It  was 
sufiicient  luxury  for  Harvey  Lamb  to  live  un- 
der the  bounty  of  this  generous  dispenser.  Grant 
him  but  life — life  in  its  poorest,  frailest  form — 
and  the  free  indulgence  of  his  fanciful  humor, 
and  he  was  content.  In  the  dungeon  or  the 
prison  he  would  have  slept  at  ease — give  but 
fancy,  sweet,  radiant  creature,  for  his  jailer !  j 
He  would  ask  no  wider  limits  than  she  could 
grant. 

He  was  very  poor — but  he  had  a  faithful, 
fond  wife.  Mary  Lamb  was  all  that  the  wife 
of  such  a  man  should  be.  She  was  not  a  copy 
of  her  husband  in  every  quality  ;  her  faculties 
were  not  necessarily  matched,  head  and  head 
with  his.  On  the  contrary,  Mary  Lamb,  was, 
as  it  were,  a  continuation  of  Harvey  Lamb — 


a  pleasant  supplement,  almost  equalling  in 
value  the  original  volume  itself — in  which, 
whatever  was  dark  in  the  first,  was  cleared  up — 
whatever  obscure,  expounded — whatever  weak, 
strengthened  and  sustained.  She  was  just  what 
a  wife  sliould  be — not  a  rival  to  her  husband — 
for  that  would  be  harsh  and  unmeet — a  source 
of  jarring  discords  and  unfriendly  sounds — but 
a  sweet  possessor  of  other  powers — some  light- 
er, some  deeper — by  which  the  double  joy — the 
twin  being  of  wedded  life,  was  made  complete. 
Oh !  what  a  blessing  is  poverty,  to  spirits  like 
these !  It  wrought  upon  them  its  triumphant 
miracles.  It  revealed  to  them  the  great  secret 
how  all-in-all  two  beings  may  be  to  each  other, 
when  they  become  nothing  to  the  world,  and 
the  world  is  nought  to  them ;  ipr  poverty,  like 
fame,  holds  a  trumpet  in  her  hand,  and  with  it  y 
summons  from  the  breast  the  noblest  strength  *" 
and  kindliest  feeling  of  our  nature.  From 
the  deep  places  of  the  heart,  great  emotions — 
heaven-like  attachments,  come  flocking  to  the 
call  of  its  sad  music,  like  sea-nymphs  from  the 
vast  ocean,  at  the  sound  of  "  Triton's  wreathed 
horn." 

Harvey  Lamb,  with  his  wife,  lived  in  an  ob- 
scure street,  in  a  single,  small  room,  in  the 
front  of  which  he  kept  his  little  shop — a  scanty 
assortment  of  drugs  and  vials.  This  was  their 
only  source  of  revenue.  The  business  which 
was  there  carried  on  was  of  the  most  trifling 
sort ;  a  fanciful  old  neighbor  would  now  and 
then  send  over  for  a  pennyworth  of  saffron  for 
her  canary-bird;  or  a  dry,  shrug-shouldered 
Frenchman,  up  the  street,  would  send  down  for 
a  little  brimstone  for  his  dog — or,  heaviest  of 
his  professional  undertakings,  he  would  be 
called  upon  to  bleed  an  apoplectic  alderman, 
who  lived  round  the  corner,  fronting  the  square. 
Thus  year  after  year  passed  away.  Harvey 
Lamb  heard  the  din  and  tumult  of  the  money- 
making  world,  but  remained  unmoved.  Strange 
man  !  he  saw  the  rich  merchant  crash  by  in  his 
equipage,  his  face  all  wrinkled  with  care,  and 
erect  with  importance — and  yet  felt  no  ambi- 
tion to  take  the  road  for  wealth,  to  pant  upon  the 
course  for  the  prize  of  plate  ! 

Poor  fool !  he  sat  behind  his  counter  scrib- 
bling poetry  or  dreaming  it. 

At  length  Harvey  Lamb  was  taken  sick.  At 
first  it  was  mere  weakness ;  but  in  a  short  time 
it  assumed  the  pale-red  guise  of  a  decline.  He 
was  brought  to  his  bed  and  bound  there  by  the 
disease ;  and  yet  it  was  wonderful  how  fancy 
still  held  her  sway — wearing  her  crown  of  flow- 
ers, and  waving  her  ivied  sceptre  with  the  same 
galliard  and  daring  air  as  in  his  hour  of  perfect 
health.  His  thoughts  ran  more  sparkling  than 
ever ;  his  dreams  were  more  populous  with  gold- 
en creatures  ;  his  visions  came  to  him  freight- 
ed more  and  more  with  the  perfume  of  the  pleas- 
ant world  of  faery. 

"  Mary,"  said  he,  one  morning  to  his  wife, 
who  stood  by  his  bedside,  ministering  to  his  ill- 
ness— "  Mary,  I  shall  leave  you  no  child  as  a 
legacy  by  which  to  remember  me  !  When  I  de- 


58 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


part,  you  will  be  alone  in  the  world — alone, 
without  friend  or  comforter !" 

"  Oh  !  talk  not  so,  my  dear  husband !  talk 
not  so ;  you  are  chOd  and  father  to  me  now, 
and  I  trust  wiU  remain  so,  ever  and  ever  while 
we  are  on  earth.  Tinge  not  your  thoughts,  my 
dear  Harvey,  with  these  sad  colors  of  death  \" 
She  sank  upon  his  face,  and,  bestowing  on  his 
lips  a  fervent  kiss,  she  sat  down  in  a  chair  and 
wept. 

"This  is  foUy,  Marj-,"  answered  her  hus- 
band, "utmost  folly.  I  fear  not  death,  why 
should  you  ?  Nothing  can  be  pleasanter  and 
sweeter  than  death.  To  lie  down  in  a  retired, 
country  grave-yard,  in  a  cheerful  sleep,  like 
that  which  the  violets  enjoy  before  they  show 
their  glad,  fragrant  faces  upon  the  earth ;  to  lis- 
ten with  a  calm  ear — if  the  dead  may  listen — 
to  the  thousand  busy  sounds  that  nature  makes 
along  the  round  surface  of  the  globe ;  to  heark- 
en to  these — the  faint,  gentle  whisper  of  the 
spring  grass,  as  it  first  shoots  from  the  mould 
(noise  heard  only  by  dead  and  immortal  beings) 
— the  rustling  of  the  lark's  wings  as  he  takes 
his  morning  fareweU  of  the  earth — the  snake's 
gliding  noise, — the  crickets  chirp — the  foun- 
tain's bubbling  harmony — these  are  the  enter- 
tainments provided  for  us  in  our  last  home ! 
Blessed — thrice-blessed  tenement !" 

*'  Long,  long  may  it  be  ere  you  remove  from 
this  home  to  that — dingy  though  it  be  !"  sobbed 
his  wife,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  and  gazing 
earnestly  and  kindly  in  his  face. 

"  Oh,  Mary,  fear  not,"  he  replied,  "  I  shall 
visit  you  again.  When  I  have  left  the  flesh, 
nothing  wUl  please  me  more,  as  a  disembodied 
spirit,  than  to  revisit  my  old  haunts  and  my 
old  friends.  I  shall  come  back,  you  may  be 
sure,  to  see  how  you  bear  your  widowhood.  I 
shall  look  into  the  money-drawer,  and  learn  if 
it  has  grown  heavier  or  lighter  since  I  left.  You 
inu§t  leave  the  old,  dark  sign,  with  my  name  on 
the  door,  Mary,  so  that  I  can  find  the  shop  !" 

"  You  are  talking  wildly,  I  fear,  my  dear  hus- 
band !"  said  his  wife,  who,  in  spite  of  her  rea- 
son, was  carried  along  on  the  stream  of  his  fast 
flowing  fancies. 

"  It  will  be  so,  it  will  be  so,"  he  continued 
"  I  shall  come  back  to  see  whether  you  grow 
old  and  sorrowful  when  I  am  away — to  learn 
how  time  passes  with  yo\i.  I  shall  visit  you  in 
spring,  for  that  is  your  cheeifullest  season  of 
the  year.  You  must  be  in  a  joyous  mood,  so 
that  I  can  tell  how  near  like  heaven  a  pleasant 
face  may  make  a  little  comer  of  the  earth  like 
this — look  ! — I  shall  return  to  find  how  our  lit- 
tle neighbor  improves  with  his  violin ;  whether 
Mrs.  Pegg's  canary  has  got  well  of  his  new, 
everlasting  cold — and  to  learn  whether  the  moss, 
in  the  eaves  of  the  house,  preserves  its  green 
old  youth  as  fresh  as  ever  !" 

Thus,  the  sick  man  kept  climbing  an  endless 
Jacob's-ladder,  building  pUe  of  fancies  upon 
pile,  and  descending  each  time,  as  it  were,  with 
a  face  glowing  with  the  hues  of  one  who  had 
for  a  while  breathed  a  heavenlier  climate,  and 


enjoyed  a  nearer  access  to  the  mysteries  of  the 
life  that  is  to  come. 

The  next  day  after  this,  it  was  evident  that 
the  disease  was  beginning  to  triumph  over  his  ^ 
frame.  He  refused  to  allow  a  physician  to  be 
summoned.  He  wished  to  die  in  peace,  with 
none  to  look  upon  his  face  but  his  fond  wife, 
and  no  face  to  mar  the  quiet  scene  of  departure 
but  hers.  When  the  discovery  of  the  fatal 
character  of  his  illness  first  broke  upon  her 
mind,  she  was  overwhelmed.  For  a  time  she 
was  stunned — and  then,  almost  frantic  with 
sorrow.  But  she  was  unwilling  that  one  so 
near  and  dear  to  her  should  leave  the  world  be- 
holding her  agony  and  distress.  She  would  not 
disquiet  his  last  moment  (if  she  could)  with  a  sin- 
gle uneasy  or  repining  thought. 

She  restrained  her  grief  and  listened  in  si- 
lence, as  her  dying  husband  spoke  of  the  part- 
ing which  he  felt  to  be  near  at  hand. 

"  Mary,"  said  he,  looking  fondly,  and  with  a 
melancholy  smile  upon  his  wife — "Mary,  I  hear 
the  bell  tolling  for  the  departure  of  a  poor  man. 
For  a  day  there  will  be  a  black  thought  upon 
the  memories  of  a  few  kindly  neighbors — my 
gravestone,  as  the  newest  in  the  yard,  will  be 
read  for  a  week  or  so — and  I  shall  have  closed 
all  my  account  with  the  world  !"  * 

As  he  spoke,  a  long,  lean,  spectral  cat  glided 
in  at  the  door,  and  the  sound  of  children  at  play 
upon  the  walk,  came  in  through  the  opening — 
and  the  beat  of  a  drum,  rumbling  in  a  far-off 
street,  was  faintly  heard. 

*'  I  will  close  the  door,"  said  Mary,  rising  to 
accomplish  her  purpose. 

*'  No,  no,"  said  he,  "  let  me  hear  the  sound 
of  human  voices.  Let  me  have  all  the  stir  of 
life  without,  in  its  most  joyous  noises,  as  I 
leave;  for  where  I  go  I  shall  find  them  all,  on- 
ly in  purer  and  gayer  shapes.  Throw  open  the 
door,  and  the  casement  too,  my  dear,  I  wish  to 
look  upon  the  flowers  in  the  window  across  the 
way." 

She  stepped  to  the  casement  to  gratify  the 
dying  man's  wish — she  lifted  the  window  half- 
way up — heard  a  faint  sigh — and  turning,  found 
herself  a  lone  widow  in  the  desolate  chamber  ! 

That  same  day,  toward  the  evening,  Mrs. 
Lamb  had  been  seen  leaving  the  shop,  with  her 
bonnet  and  shawl.  That  night  passed,  and  she 
returned  not.  A  poor  boy,  living  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, had  closed  the  doors,  and  put  up  the 
shutters  of  the  shop  windows.  The  next  day 
passed  away,  and  the  next,  and  no  tidings  were  .  "^ 
heard  of  the  absent  woman.  On  the  third  day  '^Jv 
it  chanced  that  an  uncle  of  Harvey  Lamb  had 
come  into  town  from  the  country,  and  calling 
at  his  drug  store  was  astonished  to  find  it  closed, 
and  an  air  of  gloom  hanging  about  it  and  the 
whole  street.  When  he  learned  that  Harvey 
Lamb  was  indeed  dead,  he  was  still  more  aston- 
ished, no  word  of  his  illness  having  ever  reach- 
ed his  ears  before. 

And  now  that  the  sad  story  was  told,  in  all 
its  completeness,  his  duty  was  clear.  He  had 
the  body  properly  prepared  and  provided  with 


THE  DRUGGIST'S  WIFE. 


a  coffin,  and,  departing,  took  it  with  him  into 
the  country  to  lay  it  in  his  old,  ancestral  grave- 
yard, beside  his  mother,  his  sister,  and  his  little 
brother,  that  had  died  many,  many  years  ago. 

On  the  Sunday  of  the  next  week,  Mary  Lamb 
returned,  her  hair  dishevelled,  her  dress  soiled, 
and  her  face  haggard  with  fatigue,  hunger,  and 
exposure.  To  many  questions  she  answered 
not  a  word ;  but  entering  the  house,  and  finding 
the  corpse  removed,  she  gave  one  loud,  piercing 
shriek,  and  with  a  small  bundle  of  clothes  in 
her  hand,  again  departed.  Choosing  a  street 
which  led  directly  into  the  suburbs  of  the  town, 
she  hurried  forward  as  if  some  matter  of  life 
and  death  hung  upon  her  steps. 

Crowds  of  people  were  ontheir  way  to  church, 
and  as  she  mingled  with  the  stream  and  passed 
on,  every  eye  was  turned  upon  her  in  pity  and 
wonder.  Some  of  the  more  thoughtful  and  com- 
passionate would  have  stopped  her,  and  inquired 
into  her  trouble  and  suffering ;  but  there  was 
that  of  wildness  and  mad  resolve  about  her 
look,  which  too  plainly  told  that  she  would 
not  be  questioned,  or  that  questioning  would 
be  fruitless. 

The  next  morning  she  was  seen  crossing  the 
fields  beyond  the  skirts  of  the  city,  having  passed 
the  night  God  only  knows  where  !  Alas  !  how 
many  poor  wretches  are  there  who  appear  in  the 
morning  and  disappear  at  night -fall,  whose  hours 
of  rest  and  slumber  go  by  in  unknown  and  piti- 
less places  !  How  many  to  whom  the  sun  seems 
to  be  their  only  friend,  and  who  skulk  away 
when  he  has  set — care-worn,  heart-broken — 
and  hide  themselves  in  haunts  which  the  wild 
beast  itself  would  shun ! 

Early  spring  was  beginning  to  gladden  the 
earth,  but  the  poor,  desolate  woman  walked  on, 
taking  no  heed  of  the  sweet-scented  buds  that 
smiled  forth  along  the  road,  upon  which  she 
was  now  travelling. 

She  had  left  the  beaten  turnpike  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  taken  the  high  bank  which  skirted 
close  to  the  fence,  and  was  strolling  along  the 
foot-path  when  she  saw  two  or  three  boys  in  a 
tree  over  the  stone  wall,  fixing  a  bird-cage  among 
its  branches.  Getting  over,  she  came  under  the 
tree,  and  exclaimed,  looking  into  the  face  of  a 
smiling  little  boy — the  youngest  of  the  three — 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  child,  where  Harvey 
Lamb  was  buried  ?" 

The  little  boy  instantly  came  down,  and  going 
up  to  the  questioner,  took  her  hand  and  said, 
"  No,  ma'am,  but  grandfather  is  buried  over  in 
that  orchard ;"  and  the  child  turned  and  point- 
ed to  a  gravestone  in  the  far  part  of  the  orchard, 
a  tear  starting  meanwliile  into  his  sad  little 
blue  eyes. 

"  But  Harvey  Lamb's  grave, — child,  I  must 
find  that !" 

"  Grandfather's  grave  is  the  only  one  near 
here,"  replied  the  boy.  "  He  died  before  mother 
and  sister  and  my  two  aunts — so  he  lies  all 
alone  over  in  the  field." 

The  little  boy's  genuine  kindliness  had  won 
the  poor  widow's  heart  and  drawing  him  to  her 


bosom,  she  gave  him  a  fond  embrace,  and  wept 
warm  tears  to  think  that  no  such  blessed  pledge 
had  been  ever  granted  to  her. 

"  There's  a  graveyard  by  the  church,  good 
woman,"  said  the  boy,  in  answer  to  a  second 
question  of  Mary  Lamb,  "  come,  I'll  show  you, 
ma'am,  it's  only  up  the  road  a  little  ways." 

Saying  this,  the  child  took  her  again  by  the 
hand — led  her  through  the  bars  (which  he  let 
down)  into  the  road,  and  up  the  road  they 
journeyed  about  half  a  mile,  when  they  turned 
down  a  lane,  and  in  a  moment  more  were  in 
sight  of  the  tombstones  of  a  country  church- 
yard. It  stood  upon  a  point  of  land  around 
which  a  calm  current  flowed,  lending  to  the 
neighboring  graves  a  type  of  that  rest  which 
none  but  the  dead  can  know. 

The  little  boy  threw  open  the  graveyard 
gate,  and  exclaiming,  "  The  sexton's  in  there 
now,  digging  a  grave  for  old  Billy !"  scampered 
oflf  back  to  his  companions. 

As  Mary  Lamb  entered  the  burial-place,  she 
heard  a  voice,  apparently  issuing  directly  from 
the  bosom  of  the  earth,  singing — 


"  Care  not  I 
How  deep  they  lie — 

Five  feet  or  five  feet  ten. 
They've  served  their  time  upon  the  earth : 
They've  had  their  wedding  and  their  birth ; 
Their  frolic,  hohday  and  mirth  : 
They'll  serve  their  time  below. 
Care  not  I 
How  deep  they  lie." 

On  approaching  the  particular  spot  from 
which  it  seemed  to  bubble  up,  and  looking  down 
into  a  pit  some  four  feet  deep,  she  beheld  a 
little,  bald-headed  man,  witli  his  jacket  off, 
toiling  away,  like  a  mole,  in  the  earth. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  Harvey  Lamb  is 
buried  ?"  said  the  widow,  asking  her  perpetual 
question. 

"  Not  in  my  yard  !"  answered  the  little  sex- 
ton gruffly,  not  deigning  to  look  up. 

"  Pray,  sir,  can't  you  tell  me  where  Harvey 
Lamb's  grave  is  ?"  persevered  the  poor  woman, 
something  betraying  itself  in  her  tone  which 
touched  the  little  sexton's  feelings. 

"  There's  no  Lambs  buried  in  my  yard,"  an- 
swered he ;  "  nor  there  hasn't  been  a  Lamb 
laid  in,  since  old  Billy  Hubbard's  father's  grave 
was  dug,  and  that  was  the  first  grave  that  was 
ever  made  here.  And  now  I  am  making  a  house 
for  old  Billy  No.  2 — old  Billy's  son.  They  was 
very  quarrelsome  in  their  lives,  but  now  they're 
a-going  to  lay  next  to  each  other,  as  quiet  as 
young  sparrows.  Death's  a  mighty  leveller, 
madam,"  said  the  little  sexton  sententiously, 
now,  for  the  first  time,  looking  up. 

"  Gracious,  my  dear,"  exclaimed  the  grave- 
digger,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  the  trouble-worn 
and  mournful  features  of  the  poor  widow,  "  you 
look  very  pale.  Have  you  lost  any  dear  friend  ? 
Old  Billy's  no  kin,  I  hope  :  if  so,  I  beg  your 
pardon."  By  this  time  he  had  lifted  himself 
out  of  the  unfinished  grave.     "  Come  along 


60 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


with  me,  whose  grave  was  it  you  wanted  to 
find  V 

«  Harvey  Lamb's.'* 

"  Harvey  Lamb's — some  old  uncle  or  ances- 
tor's, I  suppose,"  continued  the  garrulous  and 
really  good-humored  little  sexton.  "  Come 
along — my  wife  may  be  can  help  you — she's 
kep\,  a  book  of  all  the  deaths  and  burials  in 
these  parts  for  twenty-years,  beginning  with 
old  Daniel  Hubbard  (Billy's  father),  and  run- 
ning down  to  an  unweaned  babe  that  died  this 
morning  of  a  small  brain  fever.     Come  along.'-* 

Across  the  disordered  mind  of  Mary  Lamb  a 
hope  now  gleamed,  that  she  might  be  able  to 
find  the  object  of  her  painful  search — the  grave 
of  her  husband.  She  was  received  very  kindly 
by  the  sexton's  wife,  who,  when  she  learned 
the  melancholy  nature  of  the  poor  woman's 
visit,  immediately  produced  a  soiled  old  blank- 
book,  which  she  handed  to  her  visiter. 

Eagerly  was  it  seized  by  the  anxious  woman, 
and  hastily  was  it  examined.  "  There's  no 
such  name  there  !"  said  she,  giving  it  back  to 
the  sexton's  wife,  with  a  tone  and  look  as  if 
her  very  heart  was  breaking.  "  It's  not  there — 
I  must  begone  on  my  business."  She  would 
have  immediately  gone  forth  and  perilled  the 
exposures  and  the  damp  and  the  darkness  of 
another  night  spent  in  the  cold  air,  had  not 
the  good  old  couple  entreated  her,  with  almost 
tears  in  their  eyes,  to  stay  with  them  until  the 
morning  at  least.  She  did  at  length — taking 
her  evening  meal  with  them — and  enjoying  a 
slumber  (broken  indeed  with  strange  images 
and  phantasies  of  the  brain)  under  their  roof — 
but  when  the  morning  came  she  was  up  and 
had  stolen  away  before  any  one  was  stirring  of 
the  sexton's  household. 

Day  after  day  did  Maiy  Lamb  ramble  over 
the  country,  putting  to  every  one  her  constant 
question.  The  death's  bolt  which  had  stricken 
down  her  husband,  had  pierced  her  heart  be- 
yond all  remedy.  From  the  moment  when  she 
had  found  herself  a  widow  in  the  silent  cham- 
ber, thought,  reason,  and  restraint,  seemed  to 
have  abandoned  her — desolate  as  she  was  be- 
fore. The  husband  that  she  loved  appeared  to 
be  ever  gliding  before  her,  beckoning  her  for- 
ward with  a  shadowy  hand,  and  with  that  pale, 
sad  look  which  was  upon  him  when  he  died — 
upon  the  pilgrimage  she  had  begun.  Onward 
she  rambled  with  hasty  steps — making  herself 
familiar  with  the  names  of  the  dead  in  every 
village  and  country  church-yard,  and  perusing 
the  silent  pages  on  which  their  departure  was 
recorded  with  a  mournful  eagerness. 

Sometimes,  in  the  different  parts  of  the  coun- 
try she  had  visited,  a  rumor  prevailed  that  a 
mad  woman  had  broken  into  a  church  and  car- 
ried off  the  sexton's  register.  At  others,  that  a 
wild  female  had  been  seen  strolling  about  the 
fields,  or  sitting  under  the  trees,  earnestly  pe- 
rusing papers  which  she  held  in  her  hand,  or 
tearing  them  piecemeal  and  scattering  them 
along  the  lanes  and  highways. 

One  day  she  came  to  a  quaker  place  of  burial, 


and  entering  it  through  the  gate,  began  her 
customary  examination  of  the  head-stones,  sit- 
ting upon  the  green  graves  and  reading  the  in- 
scriptions, while  her  face  was  pale  and  flushed 
by  turns  as  hope  or  fear  predominated. 

She  had  at  length  grown  weary  and,  for  a 
moment  pausing  from  her  task,  sat  down  under 
the  fence  and  commenced  chanting, 

"  In  the  cold  earth  my  love  lies  cold : 

Oh  tell  me  gently  where  he  lies  ? 
Is  it  beneath  a  flowerless  turf— 

Or  do  the  blue-bells'  smiling  eyes 

Spread  o'er  his  grave  their  cheerful  dyes  ? 
Where  buttercups  in  golden  colors  glow 

There  hes  my  love  asleep. 
Lie  still,  my  love  !  and  till  I  come, 

A  calm,  unbroken  slumber  keep ! " 

It  chanced,  while  she  was  singing,  that  there 
was  another  person  in  the  farther  part  of  the 
graveyard — a  venerable  old  quaker,  who  had 
come  there  to  visit  the  grave  of  an  only  daugh- 
ter, that  had  been  buried  the  day  before.  The 
plaintive  voice  of  Mary  Lamb  reached  his  ear. 
"  Daughter,  why  dost  thou  weep  ?"  said  the 
old  man,  approaching  her.  "  I  have  cause  to 
mourn,  for  I  have  lost  my  only  child — my  dear, 
sweet  Anna,  the  stay  and  comfort  of  my  old 
age — but  wherefore  dost  thou,  so  young  and  so 
lovely,  weep  ?" 

Mary  lifted  her  eyes,  and  answered  him  with 
her  customary  old  question,  "  Can  you  tell  me 
where  Harvey  Lamb  is  buried  ?" 

"It  was  of  him,  then,  daughter,  that  thy 
verses  spake  !  Lamb — Harvey  Lamb — there  are 
none  of  that  name  buried  here ;  but,  let  me 
consider — there  was  a  Lamb  buried  somewhere 
lately.  Oh  !  it  was  over  at  Mount  Pleasant !  a 
young  man,  I  think,  brought  from  the  city — 
there  was  a  strange  story  told  of  him." 

"  It  was  my  husband — my  dear,  dear  hus- 
band !"  cried  the  widow.  "It  was  Harvey — 
he  came  from  Mount  Pleasant — strange  that  I 
never  thought  of  it  before,  was  it  not  ?" 

This  was  the  first  time  that  the  idea  of  her 
husband's  being  buried  among  his  fathers  had 
crossed  her  bewildered  mind,  and  she  would 
have  set  out  for  the  spot  at  once,  had  not  the 
old  quaker  delayed  her  almost  by  force,  and  in- 
sisted upon  her  going  home  with  him,  and  ta- 
king rest  and  food. 

It  was  in  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  and  the 
sky  began  to  be  overcast.  In  a  few  moments, 
Mary  Lamb  and  her  companion  were  within 
his  dwelling,  just  as  the  first  drops  of  the  show- 
er pattered  upon  the  door-steps.  The  benevo- 
olent  old  quaker  introduced  her  to  his  wife,  and 
they  sat  down  to  the  evening  meal.  The  meal 
was  finished,  and  Mary  said  that  she  felt  wea- 
ried, and  wished  to  lie  down.  The  old  quaker'a 
wife  thereupon  conducted  her  up  stairs,  and  led 
her  into  a  neat,  clean  room,  furnished  with  a 
bed,  every  appointment  of  which  was  as  fresh 
as  April  snow.  Bidding  her  a  kind  good-night, 
the  quakeress  withdrew.  She  had  no  sooner 
lefl  the  apartment,  than  Mary  Lamb  slipped  on 
her  bonnet — cautiously  opened  the  door — and, 


N.  A.  SOCIETY  FOR  IMPOSTURE. 


gliding  gently  down  stairs,  stole  out  of  a  side- 
door  which  led  into  the  garden,  and  hastily  sur- 
mounting the  garden  fence,  found  her  way  into 
the  open  fields. 

The  rain  was  falling  in  torrents— and  a  cold, 
damp,  dreary  night  was  before  the  wander- 
er. Broad  flashes  of  lightning  glared  over  the 
whole  western  horizon,  and  the  thunder  boomed 
and  bellowed  fearfully  along  the  sky.  Now  and 
then  a  peal  would  begin  far  oft;  and  rolling 
nearer  and  nearer  with  a  heavy  sound,  as  if  a 
great  chariot  were  driven  across  the  heavens, 
burst  with  awful  distinctness  directly  over  the 
head  of  the  lonely  woman.  A  deluge  of  rain 
followed  every  discharge,  and  beat  upon  her 
person  with  pitiless  strength. 

Nevertheless,  she  steadily  pursued  her  course. 
She  had,  at  length,  rambled  into  a  portion  of  the 
country  with  which  her  childhood  had  been  fa- 
miliar. She  knew  every  road,  and  turnpike,  and 
bypath,  as  well  as  if  she  had  travelled  them 
but  yesterday,  and  thus  was  enabled  to  make 
rapid  progress  on  her  perilous  adventure.  Thus 
for  many  hours  she  kept  on,  despite  the  rain, 
the  lightning,  and  the  horrid  thunder.  Nothing 
was  before  and  around  her  but  the  darkness, 
and  yet  a  great,  an  animating,  and  liberal  hope 
lured  her  on.  Friendless  and  storm-beaten, 
she  pursued  her  dangerous  path,  without  fear, 
without  misgiving  or  doubt.  She  was  not  alone 
— though  she  seemed  to  be — for  that  shadowy 
form,  which  had  been  the  guide  of  her  pilgrim- 
age, was  with  lier  still,  and  with  its  sweet,  sad 
face,  invited  her  forward  and  encouraged  every 
step.  God  bless  thee,  noble  woman !  for  there 
will  be  an  end  to  the  weary  journey — strange 
— mournful — but  lovely  and  touching. 

Morning  at  last  broke  upon  her  path.  The 
storm  had  passed  away,  and  the  cheerful  face 
of  nature  was  before  her.  The  sky  sparkled 
above  her  head  with  a  clear  brilliancy,  as  if  it 
had  been  purified  by  the  flood  that  had  descend- 
ed. Tree  and  verdure,  bird  and  blossom,  bathed 
in  the  shower,  assumed  a  new  color  of  vigor- 
ous and  pleasant  spring-time  youth. 

The  genial  rays  of  the  sun  shot  through  the 
air,  and  made  the  atmosphere  soft  and  balmy, 
operating  like  a  well-tempered  bath  upon  the 
limbs,  and  bracing  the  traveller  for  her  journey. 
With  the  new  aspect  of  the  morning,  a  bright- 
ness had  come  over  the  spirit  of  the  poor  widow, 
and  she  hastened  on  her  way  with  a  speed  that 
seemed  every  moment  to  increase.  She  reached 
a  road  along  which  she  had  often  trodden  to 
school  in  her  girlish  prime  of  life ;  she  saw  the 
old  school-house,  and  her  heart  beat  with  many 
fond  remembrances.  She  came  in  sight  of  her 
own  mother's  house,  where  she  had  been  wooed 
and  won  by  the  lover  of  her  youth ;  her  emo- 
tions were  almost  too  great  to  bear. 

She  flew  past  it !  She  reached  the  old  grave- 
yard— hastily  and  tremblingly  she  entered  its 
sacred  domain.  Her  eye  fell  upon  a  newly 
erected  gravestone  bearing  the  name  of  Harvey 
Lamb.  It  was  his — her  own  dear  husband's  ! 
She  fell  down  upon  the  earth  and  wept. 


There,  for  a  long  time,  she  lay  senseless. 
At  length  a  passer-by  entered  the  graveyard, 
and  looking  into  her  face — for  she  had  raised 
herself,  by  a  convulsive  effort,  upon  her  knees, 
and  tui-ned  it  toward  the  inscription — with  her 
hands  firmly  clasped— he  found  that  she  was, 
in  truth,  dead  !  Her  heart  had  broken  in  de- 
lirious joy  at  the  fulfilment  of  her  hope ;  and 
she  knelt  before  the  plain,  homely  gravestone, 
like  a  devotee  at  the  shrine  of  his  saint.  With 
many  tears  for  her  sorrow  and  her  beauty,  they 
laid  her  beside  the  husband  of  her  youth ! 


THE  FIRST  ANNIVERSARY  OF 
THE  N.  A.  SOCIETY  FOR  THE 
ENCOURAGEMENT  OF  IMPOS- 
TURE. 

The  friends  of  the  N.  A.  Society  for  the  En- 
couragement of  Imposture  mustered  in  strong 
force  at  the  Chapel  gates  at  ten,  on  a  fine  Mon- 
day morning,  in  the  month  of  April.  It  was  de- 
Jightful  to  see  the  number  of  sharp,  shi-ewd 
faces  that  pressed  for  the  doors  the  moment 
they  were  opened.  There  was  a  stamp  on  al- 
most every  countenance  that  proclaimed  its 
owner  a  stanch,  true  friend  of  the  cause  whose 
first  anniversary  was  about  to  be  celebrated 
within. 

The  chair  was  taken  by  "  our  esteemed  and 
respected  fellow-citizen"  Mr.  Solomon  Chalker, 
whose  long,  saint-like  visage  is  pretty  general- 
ly familiar  to  the  community,  and,  in  fact,  im- 
pressed upon  the  memories  of  many  of  them,  so 
thoroughly  blended  and  associated  with  keen 
bargains  and  certain  sly  tricks  of  trade,  that  it 
might  fairly  be  considered  a  stereotype.  When 
Mr.  Chalker  deposited  his  person  in  a  chair 
upon  the  platform,  a  murmur  of  applause  arose 
from  the  assembly.  In  a  few  brief  words  he 
expressed  his  thanks  for  the  distinguished  honor 
the  board  of  managers  of  the  N.  A.  E.  I.  So- 
ciety had  conferred  upon  him,  in  calling  him  to 
preside  over  their  deliberations. 

Still  deeper  was  his  pleasure,  still  higher  his 
gratification,  in  occupying  the  chair  in  the  pres- 
ence of  an  audience  so  remarkable  for  their 
intelligence,  their  integrity,  and  their  respecta- 
bility, as  he  had  no  doubt  was  the  one  before  him  J 

He  should  endeavor  to  conduct  the  proceed- 
ings of  the  day  temperately,  firmly,  and  in  such 
a  manner  as  he  hoped  would  meet  the  approval 
of  the  audience,  the  members  of  the  society,  and 
the  board  of  managers. 

During  the  delivery  of  this  address  (which 
was  received  with  flattering  demonstrations), 
the  chairman  kept  his  two  hands  sturdily  thrust 
into  his  side-pockets — apparently  to  be  assured 
that  his  finances  were  in  due  order  and  safety — 
and  a  very  judicious  disposition  of  his  hands 
it  was,  considering  the  company  he  was  in. 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


He  was  surrounded  by  the  board  of  managers 
themselves.  At  times,  too,  a  soft  sound  was 
heard  issuing  from  the  mouth  of  his  pocket,  like 
the  noise  of  metals  clashing  and  jingling  togeth- 
er, as  if  to  keep  the  audience  advised  that  the 
speaker  was  a  respectable  man,  and  well-to-do 
in  the  world  !  Mr.  Clialker  arose  a  second  time 
and  stated  that  the  first  annual  report  would 
be  immediately  read  by  the  corresponding  sec- 
retary, Mr.  Boerum.  Mr.  Boerum  accordingly 
dislodged  himself  from  a  high-backed  chair,  and 
exhibited  to  the  meeting  a  short  man,  with  a 
heavy,  solemn  countenance,  and  unrolling  a 
bundle  of  papers,  satisfactorily  established,  the 
moment  he  opened  his  lips  that  he  had  a  voice, 
whose  tones  could  roll  like  low,  distant  thun- 
der— growling  and  muttering  over  the  heads  of 
the  audience.  The  board  of  managers  instant- 
ly cast  themselves  into  attitudes  of  profound  at- 
tention, both  hands  griping  their  knees,  and 
their  ears  turned  obliquely  toward  the  corre- 
sponding secretary — as  if  they  had  not  heard  the 
report  read  over  by  that  identical  pair  of  lips 
twelve  distinct  times ! 

REPORT. 

The  Board  of  Managers  of  the  North  Ameri- ' 
can  Society  for  the  Encouragement  of  Imposture, 
in  presenting  to  you  this,  their  first  Annual  Re- 
port, can  not  but  be  devoutly  thankful  for  the 
degree  of  success  which  has  attended  their  la- 
bors during  the  past  year.  The  board  of  man-  I 
agers  at  a  recent  meeting  resolved  "  That  the  j 
prosperity  which,  notwithstanding  contending  I 
difiiculties,  has  characterized  the  society,  affords 
encouragement  to  prosecute  its  objects  with  in- 
creasing energy."  Before  we  proceed  to  speak 
of  the  various  efforts  which  have  been  made  to 
promote  the  cause,  your  board  can  not  but  ad- 
vert with  pleasure  to  the  spirit  of  harmony  that 
has  pervaded  the  different  friends  of  imposture 
in  every  quarter.  The  conduct  of  the  retail 
dry-goods  dealers  during  the  past  twelve  months 
^,  has  been  highly  cheering  and  refreshing.  They 
have  sold,  as  appears  by  statistics  in  the  hands 
of  your  recording  secretary,  during  that  compar- 
atively brief  space  of  time,  no  less  than  twelve 
thousand  common  ten-dollar  red  shawls  at  twen- 
ty-five dollars  a-piece,  as  actual  merinoes !  In  ad- 
dition to  this,  they  have  disposed  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  pieces  of  sky-blue  homespun  as  sea- 
green  broadcloth,  by  the  proper  arrangement  of 
the  light  in  the  back  part  of  their  stores  ! 

Furthermore,  so  thoroughly  have  they  been 
animated  by  the  great  principles  of  this  society, 
they  have  within  the  last  three  months,  by  unan- 
•  imous  consent,  reduced  the  yard  measure  anoth- 
er inch,  so  that  their  customers  are  now  fur- 
nished with  thirty-four  inches  for  a  yard  instead 
of  thirty-five,  as  had  been  the  practice  for 
some  years  past !  The  consequences  of  this 
measure,  in  the  opinion  of  your  board,  can  not 
be  too  eagerly  and  enthusiastically  anticipated. 
It  is  destined  to  create  an  entire  revolution  in 
the  manners  of  the  community !  The  male  mem- 


bers of  it,  instead  of  walking  about  our  streets 
in  those  extravagant,  long-tailed  coats  and  flow- 
ing pantaloons,  will  now,  by  this  dexterous 
change  of  measurement,  be  reduced  to  small- 
clothes !  And  the  female  portion,  who  have 
been  so  long  habituated  to  fifteen  yards  per 
dress,  will  now  be  forced  to  exhibit  their  well- 
turned  ankles  and  snow-white  bosoms  to  the 
gaze  of  the  world  in  fourteen  yards  and  a  quar- 
ter, short  measure  !  Your  board  are  very  hap- 
py to  be  able  to  state,  that  this  movement  of  the 
retail  dry-goods  dealers  has  been  cordially  met 
and  responded  to  by  the  merchant-tailors  and 
mantuamakers.  No  resistance  to  this  whole- 
some innovation  has  been  made  from  that  quar- 
ter ;  on  the  contrary,  they  have  given  it  their 
hearty  and  emphatic  co-operation.  The  former, 
as  soon  as  they  learned  this  important  move- 
ment on  the  part  of  their  brethren,  immediately 
enlarged  their  cabbage-holes ;  and  the  latter, 
the  lady  mantuamakers,  such  of  them  as  were 
single,  were  instantly  married,  and  made  prepa- 
ration for  two  girls  a-piece,  to  be  dressed  in 
such  fashionable  silks  as  their  customers  may 
furnish  during  the  next  eighteen  months  ! 

The  shoemakers  throughout  the  city,  and,  as 
far  as  has  been  heard  from,  throughout  the 
State,  your  board  have  been  gratified  to  learn, 
adhere  with  praiseworthy  tenacity  to  their  old 
and  established  habit  of  delivering  their  fabrics 
(such  as  boots  and  shoes)  precisely  two  weeks 
after  the  time  promised  !  While  these  particu- 
lar cases  have  afforded  to  your  board  subjects 
of  the  most  lively  contemplation,  they  have  been 
pleased  to  observe  that  the  cause  of  imposture 
is  going  forward  with  rapid  strides  in  every 
part  of  our  dearly-beloved  country.  Its  stand- 
ard is  planted  in  every  road  and  thoroughfare, 
and  flies  from  every  house-top.  Its  drum-beat 
is  heard  all  over  the  land,  summoning  recruits, 
and  rallying  together  the  friends  of  sharp  trade 
and  large  profit.  Your  board  are  deeply  penetra- 
ted with  heart-felt  pleasure  in  being  able  to  state 
that  several  interesting  cases,  illustrating  the 
principles  of  this  society,  have  occurred  in  the  in- 
tercourse of  the  United  States'  government  and 
the  red  men,  and  in  which  the  latter  have  been  so 
signally  overreached  and  outwitted,  that  it  is  sin- 
cerely feared  by  your  board  that  they  will  never 
again  furnish  an  example  of  the  superiority  of 
the  white  man  over  the  Indian  in  natural  cun- 
ning and  profound  roguery.  The  board  have 
had  it  under  serious  consideration  for  the  past 
six  months,  to  establish  agencies  and  branches 
of  this  society  among  the  Indian  tribes  for  the 
purpose  of  promoting  the  cause  of  imposture, 
and  supplying  the  aborigines  with  the  elegant 
amusements  of  trade  and  trickery  which  are  of 
so  much  more  elevated  a  character  than  their 
untutored  pursuits  in  the  forest.  It  is  the  opin- 
ion of  your  board  that  the  Indians  would  make 
very  good  milliners,  deputy-sheriffs,  and  auc- 
tioneers. Their  taste  in  feathers — their  keen- 
ness of  scent,  and  their  exquisite  voices,  would 
amply  qualify  them  for  these  employments. 

From  reports  which  have  already  reached 


N.  A.  SOCIETY  FOR  IMPOSTURE. 


63 


your  board  they  have  reason  to  believe  that  the 
great  cause  in  which  we  are  engaged  is  making 
rapid  progress  among  the  native  tribes.  "  The 
Choctaws,"  writes  a  firm  friend  of  the  cause,  in 
April  last,  "  The  Choctaws  have  established  a 
fashionable  boarding-scho'ol  among  them  for 
Choctaw  young  gentlemen.  In  this  school  I 
saw  five  Choctaw  youths  engaged  in  learning 
the  Greek  language — and  going  into  a  con- 
sumption. The  cause  is  prospering  ;  all  that 
is  wanted  is  more  brandy,  more  benevolence." 

With  these  flattering  prospects  before  them 
your  board  can  not  but  feel  renewed  zeal  in  the 
great  cause  in  which  they  have  embarked.  On 
every  side  cheering  and  delightful  evidences  of 
the  rapid  spread  and  success  of  our  principles 
present  themselves  to  the  eyes  of  ,your  board. 
One  source  of  unmingled  gratification  your 
board  can  not  with  justice  omit  to  notice — the 
vast  increase  of  physicians  and  attorneys.  From 
this  increase  they  augur  the  most  favorable  re- 
sults to  the  cause.  Whatever  can  be  done  to 
promote  its  advancement  by  administering 
wrong  medicines  and  improper  advice,  by  pur- 
ging, as  it  were,  the  system  and  the  pocket,  and 
by  fabricating  respectable  and  not  too  moderate 
bills  of  costs  and  charges,  will,  they  are  assured,^ 
be  done  by  the  efficient  and  important  auxilia- 
ries to  whom  they  have  alluded.  The  number 
of  mortgages  galloped  into  foreclosure,  of  con- 
sumptive patients  to  whom  stiflF  cathartics  have 
been  administered  and  of  children  who  have 
been  physicked  indiscriminately  without  refer- 
ence to  the  disease,  is  truly  cheering  and  en- 
couraging to  your  board. 

The  efficiency  and  activity  with  which  the 
master-builders  have  come  up  to  the  support  of  i 
the  cause   also   requires  some   notice   at   our  j 
hands.     From  an  extensive  and  thorough  in- 1 
quiry  set  on  foot  by  one  of  your  board  we  have  I 
learned  that  a  method  of  building  is  now  in  i 
practice    throughout   this   city   by   which  one  | 
whole   side  of  the  house  is  contrived  to  fall : 
down  some  morning  about  two  months  after  its  | 
erection,  leaving  the  family  pleasantly  taking  | 
their  tea  on  the  remnant  of  the  ruins.     This  ' 
system  furnishes  a  very  agreeable  diversity  in 
the  monotonous  course  of  married  life,  and  meets  | 
the   cordial  and  sincere    approbation  of  your  j 
board.     The  master-builders  have  humbly  in- 
quired of  your  board,  whether  the  objects  of  i 
the  N.  A.  Society  for  the  Encouragement  of  Im- 1 
posture  would  be  best  accomplished  by  having  j 
the  defect  in  the  timber  or  the  brick-work.    To  | 
enlighten  your  board  they  suggested  that  when 
the  timber  shrinks,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  a 
mere  collapse  takes  place,  a  wall  here  and  there 
sundering  and  a  floor  giving  way,  but  that  when 
the  brick-work  is  laid  with  sufficient  haste  and 
feebleness,  there  is  a  very  good  likelihood  of  the 
roof  falling  in,  as  the  foundations  are  pretty  sure 
of  yielding.     Your  board,  with  due  deference 
to  the  objects  of  the  Society  and  the  wishes  of 
its  members,  after  mature  deliberation,  decided 
in  favor  of  the  latter  plan,  as  it  furnishes  the  oc- 


cupants of  the   building  with   a  ready  made 
coffin  and  saves  the  expenses  of  a  funeral. 

Your  board  regret  to  state  that,  in  the  midst 
of  all  this  prosperity,  a  cloud  has  obtruded ; 
two  of  the  members  of  your  board  having  been 
unfortunately  hanged  during  the  past  year,  in 
consequence  of  miscarriage  in  two  or  three  in- 
nocent schemes  ;  one,  a  resident  member,  hav- 
ing been  detected  in  an  arson  of  a  building  con- 
taining a  deed  of  a  valuable  piece  of  property, 
given  by  him,  but  not  on  record.  The  other, 
who  was  a  respected  corresponding  member  ol' 
your  board,  in  the  great  valley  of  the  West,  had 
the  misfortune  to  be  lynched  one  morning  be- 
fore breakfast,  having  been  detected  with  a 
large  bundle  of  the  '•  Impostor's  Primer"  upon 
his  person,  which  he  was  preparing  to  distrib- 
ute. Brother  Snufflight  fell  a  martyr  to  the 
cause,  with  the  certificates  of  his  zeal  and  his 
character  in  his  hands  !  Thus  have  two  of  our 
associates  been  snatched  from  our  midst,  in  the 
ver}-^  prime  of  their  usefulness.  Brother  SnuflT- 
light  was  twenty-seven  the  very  morning  he 
was  subjected  to  martyrdom,  as  appears  by  an 
entry  in  his  journal :  "  Twenty-seven  this  day  ; 
Heaven  willing,  I  shall  consummate  it  by  circu- 
lating the  primer  in  large  numbers — and  dis- 
training on  the  widow  for  the  rent  of  the  small 
brick-front  in  Scrabble  street."  Your  board 
have  now  brought  their  first  annual  report  to  a 
conclusion.  They  think  they  see  enough  in  the 
results  of  the  past  year  to  animate  you  to  re- 
newed effort.  The  work  truly  is  great ;  it  is  a 
mighty  and  gigantic  one.  Contemplate  it  in  all 
its  length  and  breadth,  its  depth  and  height — its 
majesty  and  beauty.  And  now  that  we  have 
arrived  at  the  commencement  of  another  official 
year,  will  we  not  resolve  that  our  course  shall 
be  marked  by  activity — zeal — fury — madness ! 
— 3'es,  we  repeat,  madness  and  insanity  in  the 
great  cause  of  imposture  !  "  Will  we  not,"  in 
the  words  of  the  lamented  Snufflight, "  will  we  not 
live,  eat,  drink,  sleep,  with  the  mighty  cause  of 
imposture  ever  present  to  our  minds  ?  Will  we 
not  give  ourselves  up,  body,  soul,  and  spirit, 
nerves,  marrow,  and  fingers,  to  the  giant  busi- 
ness in  which  we  have  embarked  ?  Will  we 
not  give  our  right  hands  to  the  altar  whose  sun- 
light has  poured  its  torrents  upon  our  benighted 
minds — that  others  may  also  see  and  be  bles- 
sed ?"  Your  board  can  not  do  better  than  com- 
mend these  remarkable  words  of  the  dying 
Snufflight  to  your  uriderstandings,  and  request 
yon  to  contribute  liberally  to  the  cause  of  which 
he  was  so  distinguished  an  ornament,  as  there 
is  a  deficiency  in  last  year's  account  (as  ap- 
pears by  the  treasurer's  report)  of  one  thousand 
one  hundred  and  eleven  dollars  and  twenty-three 
cents. 

In  behalf  of  the  Board  of  Managers, 

T.  BoERUM,  Cor.  Sec. 

The  reading  of  the  report  was  frequently  in- 
terrupted by  intense  and  enthusiastic  applause, 
and  at  its  close  the  audience  gave  a  fresh  round 


64 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


more  vigorous  and  enthusiastic  than  ever.  The 
chairman  now  rose  and  stated  that  the  treasur- 
er's annual  report  would  be  read  by  Brother 
Pawket,  treasurer  of  the  society,  and,  adjusting 
his  spectacles  he  looked  about  the  platform  for 
the  countenance  of  that  excellent  and  skilful 
financier.  To  his  astonishment,  the  face  of 
Brother  Pawket  did  not  at  once  present  itself  to 
his  view.  Several  members  of  the  board  of  man- 
agers now  joined  Mr.  Chalker  in  the  search, 
and  the  eyes  of  the  whole  audience  were  direct- 
ed, with  fearful  anxiety,  toward  the  spot  from 
which  they  expected  the  treasurer  to  emerge. 
Brother  Pawket  was  not  in  the  house ;  a  lad 
was  instantly  despatched  to  his  residence  to  tell 
him  that  the  audience  were  waiting  for  him 
and  his  report.  In  the  meantime,  to  occupy  the 
attention  of  the  meeting,  about  fifty  females  in 
bonnets,  and  half  as  many  males  in  red,  brown, 
white,  and  auburn  hair,  stood  up  behind  the 
president's  chair  and  began  bellowing  in  con- 
cert the  touching  and  effective  melody  "All 
round  my  hat,"  or  something  that  sounded  very 
much  like  it.  Just  as  they  concluded,  the  boy 
came  running  back,  and  rushing,  breathless,  up 
to  the  meek  Mr.  Chalker,  cried  o\it,  "Mrs. 
Pawket  says  as  Mr.  Pawket's  gone  to  Halifax 
— and  sends  her  compliments  and  hopes  the 
S'ciety'll  make  provision  for  'er,  as  she's  left  a 
destitute  wider  !"  Mr.  Chalker  was  thunder- 
struck at  this  figurative  announcement  of  the 
fact  that  the  treasurer  had  absconded — the 
board  of  managers  turned  pale  with  horror — 
and  gloom  pervaded  the  whole  audience.  The 
meek  and  solemn  chairman,  however,  soon  re- 
covered the  tone  of  his  mind,  and,  rising  again, 
notified  the  audience  that  Brother  Bibby  was 
present  and  prepared  to  give  them  an  interest- 
ing account  of  the  state  of  imposture  in  foreign 
lands.  With  this,  a  middle-sized  gentleman, 
with  sable  hair  hanging  over  his  back,  like  a 
hank  of  black  yarn  on  a  spinning-wheel  head, 
and  brushed  back  smartly  from  his  forehead — 
stepped  forward  and  smiled  agreeably  to  the 
meeting.  He  forthwith  threw  himself  into  the 
proper  attitude  in  front  of  the  desk.  "  Within 
the  past  year  he  (Mr.  Bibby)  had  visited  Kams- 
chatka — the  northern  part  of  Russia — Hindos- 
tan,  and  several  of  the  Pelew  islands.  From 
what  he  had  seen,  he  was  well  satisfied  the 
cause  was  triumphing  in  those  regions  of  the 
earth.  Dogs  was  horses,  he  was  very  happy 
to  state,  in  Kamschatka  still ;  and  in  Hindostan 
widows  was  firewood.  As  to  Russia  he  (Mr. 
Bibby)  thought  that  Siberia  was  a  delightful 
place,  and  continued  to  have  an  uncommon  num- 
ber of  visiters ;  Siberia  was  so  solitary  and  re- 
tired like,  that  it  was  just  the  spot  for  philos- 
ophers and  gentlemen  who  loved  meditation  and 
spare  diet.  The  Pelew  islands  continued  to 
maintain  their  well-established  character  for 
native  tact  and  a  certain  adroit  style  of  enter- 
ing ship's  cabins  and  coat-pockets,  which  was 
still  epidemical  in  that  quarter  of  the  world. 
But  in  Siam  (continued  Bibby,  with  great  en- 
thusiasm), in  Siam,  it  was  that  he  had  been 


most  profoundly  astonished,  gratified,  and  over- 
whelmed at  the  success  of  the  great  principles 
of  imposture.  He  (Mr  Bibby)  had  seen,  in  that 
favored  country,  elephants  wliich  would  have 
done  honor  to  this  «§ciety,  to  any  society  !  He 
had  seen  them  apply  their  trunks  in  sucli  a  man- 
ner to  the  pilfering  and  purloining  of  fruit  and 
other  articles,  as  to  give  him  the  highest  de- 
light, and  which  he  should  remember  to  his  dy- 
ing day.  He  (Mr.  B.)  thought  this  interesting 
animal  might  be  introduced  into  different  hu- 
man employments  with  great  advantage.  They 
were  possessed  of  natural  powers  which  would 
fit  them  for  many  stations  of  trust  and  impor- 
tance. Why  (Mr.  Bibby  would  ask),  why 
could  not  several  grown  elephants  be  imported 
and  dressed  in  leather  hats  and  petershams,  and 
substituted  in  the  place  of  our  city  watchmen  ? 
This  was  an  age  of  improvement  and  he  thought 
they  would  be  very  eflective.  Two  or  three 
large  ones,  placed  on  wheels  and  intoxicated 
with  cold  water,  might  be  carried  to  fires  instead 
of  the  corporation  engines.  He  would  not  sug- 
gest, at  present,  that  any  of  them  should  be  con- 
verted into  hackney-coachmen,  although  he" 
thought  they  had  a  bullying  air,  which  would 
enable  them  to  extort  liberal  fare  from  their  cus- 
tomers, and  they  were  also  furnished  with  large 
ears  to  keep  off  the  rain.  He  however,  (Mr. 
B.),  before  he  took  his  seat,  had  one  favor  to  ask, 
which  he  trusted  the  board  of  managers  would 
grant.  He  hoped  he  would  not  be  trespassing 
upon  their  kindness  in  making  this  request.  He 
was  sure  that  in  making  it  he  was  actuated  by 
the  best  of  feelings  and  the  noblest  of  motives. 
(Intense  anxiety  now  manifested  itself  among  the 
audience.)  He  was  confident  that  he  had  the 
good  of  the  society  at  heart  in  so  doing.  While 
in  the  lower  part  of  Siam  he  had  seen  a  white 
elephant,  with  a  grave  face,  throw  his  trunk  ^ 
gracefully  over  the  shoulder  of  a  missionary  and  ^ 
pick  his  pocket  of  two  bibles,  three  small  testa- 
ments, a  bundle  of  tracts,  and  a  gin-flask  !  He 
wished  to  have  that  elephant  elected  an  honor- 
ary member."  (Thunders  of  applause,  for  more  ^m 
than  ten  minutes,  in  the  midst  of  wliich  Bibby 
sat  down.) 

The  chairman  next  introduced  to  the  notice 
of  the  meeting,  Gustavus  Cobb,  Esq.,  one  of 
those  tall,  slim,  high-shouldered  young  gentle- 
men in  whose  formation  the  necessity  of  a  body 
has  been  entirely  overlooked,  and  who  are,  con- 
sequently, described  as  being — all  legs.  Gus- 
tavus Cobb  was  all  legs,  and  looked  like  a  lean 
ninepin  in  reduced  circumstances.  Judging 
from  the  slow,  drawling  manner  in  which  he 
delivered  himself,  one  might  have  sworn  that 
Mr.  Cobb  had  been  brought  up  in  the  postof- 
fice.  "He  (Gustavus  Cobb,  Esq.)  appeared 
there  as  the  representative  of  the  postmaster- 
general.  He  was  the  nephew  of  the  postmas- 
ter-general. He  knew  that  his  uncle  was  a 
friend  of  this  society.  He  himself  was  a  super- 
intendent of  mail-routes.  In  the  performance 
of  his  duty  he  had  often  ridden  with  the  drivers, 
and,  from  what  he  had  observed,  he  was  mor 


N.  A.  SOCIETY  FOR  IMPOSTURE. 


65 


ally  certain  that  his  uncle,  the  postmaster-gen-  i 
eral,  was  not  hostile  to  the  society.  Attempts 
had  been  made  to  turn  the  postmaster-general 
from  his  track  ;  they  had  proved  fruitless.  The 
P.  M.  general,  firmly  convinced  that  a  certain 
calmness  and  solemnity  should  be  observed  in 
transporting  the  mails,  had  not  allowed  himself 
on  any  occasion  to  pass  any  o"ne  else  on  the 
public  roads.  He  (the  speaker)  had,  however, 
seen  one  alarming  case  where  an  attempt  had 
been  made  to  fall  behind  the  mail-stage  in  com- 
ing into  a  post  town,  and  which  proved  success- 
ful. It  was  a  decrepid  old  woman,  with  a  bag 
on  her  shoulder,  travelling  at  a  snail's  pace  on 
the  Maysville  turnpike. 

"  '  What  are  you  carrying  there,  old  lady  V 
shouted  our  driver. 

"  '  The  mail !'  answered  the  old  woman. 

"  '  I  carry  the  mail !'  answered  the  driver, 
firmly,  endeavoring  to  drop  behind  the  old  crea- 
ture. 

** '  Yes !'  screeched  the  awful  hag,  *  your's 
the  regular,  mine's  the  express  !'  And,  do  all 
we  could,  the  driver  was  forced  to  get  into  the 
town  some  ten  minutes  before  the  old  female 
opposition. 

"  From  a  very  extensive  series  of  experiments, 
the  P.  M.  General  is  satisfied  that  spavined  old 
horses,  between  fourteen  and  fifteen  years  of 
age,  make  the  best  kind  of  mails.  The  liberal 
introduction  of  the  use  of  this  animal  has  had 
a  charming  effect  on  the  mail  arangements 
throughout  the  country.  The  only  objection 
that  has  arisen  to  them  is,  that  they  are  some- 
times too  expeditious,  and  evince  a  disposition 
to  get  through  within  the  hour.  I  have  heard 
it  hinted,  I  will  not  say  by  my  uncle  exactly, 
that  to  obviate  this  objection,  the  P.  M.  G. 
contemplates  introducing  donkeys  throughout 
the  department — superannuated  donkeys.  He 
thinks  a  superannuated  donkey  mail  (judging 
from  the  comparative  success  of  his  old  horse 
mail)  world  become  extremely  popular. 

"The  deliberation,  the  safety  and  circum- 
spection with  which  letters  might  be  carried  by 
a  donkey  mail,  would  recommend  it  to  mer- 
chants and  men  of  business  ;  and  the  regular 
tardiness  of  its  arrival  and  the  slow  moderation 
with  which  it  would  travel,  would  make  a  su- 
perannuated donkey  mail  an  object  of  special 
favor  among  young  gentlemen  and  young  ladies, 
who  are  so  fortunate  as  to  be  in  love,  and  cor- 
responding. 

"  His  voice  (Gustavus  Cobb's  voice)  was  de- 
cidedly and  peremptorily  in  favor  of  a  donkey 
mail !  He  was  convinced  that  the  whole  coun- 
try would  rise  to  a  man,  in  favor  of  a  donkey 
mail,  in  preference  to  the  present  post  ofiice 
system !" 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  address  of  Mr.  Cobb, 
a  lively  gentleman  in  a  green  silk  vest  and 
nankeens,  was  brought  forward  by  the  chair- 
man and  announced  as  Brother  Windbolt — the 
distinguished  professor  of  all  the  arts  and 
sciences,  and  proprietor  of  the  Universal  Insti- 
tute of  Knowledge. 

E 


"  Sir,"  said  the  accomplished  Windbolt,  throw- 
ing  back  the  right  breast  of  his  coat  and  delicately 
inserting  his  thumb  in  the  armhole  of  his  green 
silk  vest,  "  Sir,  I  challenge  the  world  to  ques- 
tion my  attachment  to  the  North  American  So- 
ciety for  the  Encouragement  of  Imposture !  My 
fidelity  to  its  great  objects  has,  throughout  my 
life,  been  kept  in  view  with  a  steadiness  which 
would  make  a  bet  of  one  thousand  dollars  (which 
I  hereby  offer)  a  very  unsafe  one  for  him  wlio 
should  doubt  my  devotion  to  its  interests.  Sir, 
it  is  well  known  to  you,  and  I  presume  to  this 
community,  with  what  assiduity  I  have  laborcvi 
for  the  last  ten  years,  to  lighten  the  pockets — 
to  simplify  the  financial  concerns  of  the  inhabit- 
ants of  this  city.  Heaven  be  thanked !  the 
startling  announcements  which  I  have  made  in 
the  public  prints  and  by  placards,  of  sciences  to 
be  taught  by  me  in  an  incredibly  brief  space  of 
time,  have  not  been  unattended  with  success. 
The  incredibility  of  those  announcements  has 
been  my  salvation.  The  very  impossibility  of 
communicating  knowledge  as  expeditiously  as 
my  advertisements  promised,  brought  crowds  to 
my  door. 

"  Ringing  the  changes  along  the  whole  gamut 
of  imposture — from  the  doubtful — the  absurd — 
the  improbable — up  to  the  impossible  and  the 
hideously  monstrous  and  incredible,  I  have 
found  the  number  of  my  patrons  to  swell  steadily 
at  each  advance  !  Or  rather,  I  should  say,  that 
in  running  the  higher  keys  of  the  scale,  I 
found  my  patronage  to  increase  at  an  enor- 
mously accelerated  ratio ! 

"  On  looking  over  my  accounts,  sir,  in  July 
last,  I  discovered  that  my  profits  during  the  pre- 
ceding nine  years  had  been  so  great,  as  to  jus- 
tify my  signalizing  the  event  by  some  public 
celebration.  Accordingly,  on  the  tenth  of  Au- 
gust, having  provided  ample  and  liberal  ac- 
commodations, I  threw  open  the  doors  of  my 
house,  and  gave  (I  hope  I  am  not  exaggerating 
in  saying)  the  celebrated  Windbolt  Writing 
Festival !"  Here  the  speaker  was  interrupted 
by  thunders  of  applause,  which  pealed  from 
every  quarter  of  the  building,  and  which  con- 
clusively testified  that  the  audience  there  pres- 
ent, considered  the  said  W.  W.  Festival  the 
most  triumphant  imposture  of  the  day. 

"  Of  that  festival,  sir,  I  feel  it  my  duty  on 
this  occasion  to  render  some  account.  We  all 
have  a  common  interest  in  it.  It  was  given  for 
the  benefit  of  our  common  principles.  On  the 
evening  of  the  tenth  of  August  last,  then,  at 
half-past  seven,  sir,  four  large  rooms — in  the 
Universal  Institute — two  square  and  two  ob- 
long, were  thrown  open  for  the  Festival.  In 
one  oblong  room  were  stationed  on  stools  at  a 
large  counting-house  desk,  twenty  elderly  gen- 
tlemen, in  white  inexpressibles  and  swallow- 
tails, prepared  to  exhibit  in  double  entry,  day- 
book, and  ledger  practice  :  and  an  equal  num- 
ber of  young  gentlemen,  in  blue  roundabouts, 
actively  engaged  in  algebra.  In  the  square 
room  adjoining  this,  five-and-twenty  elderly 
ladies  were  seated  at  pianos,  harps,  and  harp- 


66 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


sichords.  The  second  oblong  room  was  occu- 
pied by  the  three  Miss  Windbolts,  in  cottage 
hats  and  yellow  frocks,  representing  the  tluee 
graces,  with  their  hair  in  curl :  with  a  full  bevy 
of  young  ladies  prepared  to  perform  various 
elaborate  steps  and  figures  which  had  been 
communicated  in  two  lessons  of  an  hour  each. 
But  the  third  room,  sir,  held  the  wonder  of 
wonders — nineteen  select  youth  who  were  to 
play  one  hundred  tunes,  square  the  circle,  solve 
the  longitude,  and  lunch  twice  in  the  singularly 
brief  space  of  twelve  minutes,  by  the  watch. 
I  will  not  conceal  the  fact,  that  there  was  an- 
other smaller  room,  sir,  and,  in  that  room  that 
Master  Robert  Windbolt  (my  youngest  son) 
was  elevated  on  a  music  stool,  prepared  to  eat 
gingerbread  held  in  his  right  hand  and  scribble 
away  with  his  left  at  a  prodigious  rate  for  any 
given  length  of  time  ! 

"  The  festivities  of  the  evening  commenced. 
Twingle,  twangle,  thrum  went  the  instruments  : 
away  flew  the  twelve  couple  of  young  ladies 
in  a  new  highland  reel — dash — like  so  many 
mad  knight-errants  scampered  the  goose-quills 
of  the  twenty  elderly  gentlemen  over  their 
ledgers — furiously  the  young  gentlemen  in  azure 
jackets  flourished  their  pencils — square  the  cir- 
cle— lunch — solve  the  longitude — lunch,  went 
the  nineteen  select  youth  to  the  sound  of  their 
own  flutes  and  French  bugles.  Round  and 
round,  like  a  crazy  planet,  whirled  Master 
Windbolt,  despatching  small  text  by  the  sheet 
and  gingerbread  by  the  square  yard.  Hilarity 
and  animation  pervaded  the  rooms  :  everybody 
was  delighted.  The  great  festival  bid  fair  to 
go  off  in  glorious  style,  when  suddenly  sounds 
of  merriment,  mingled  with  cries  for  mercy, 
reached  my  ear.  They  proceeded  from  one  of 
the  oblong  apartments.  I  hastened  to  the  spot 
and  there,  sir,  I  discovered  a  spectacle  at  which 
I  was  literally  horrified.  Solitary  imprisonment 
is  nothing,  sir — is  a  mere  luxuiy — compared  to 
the  awful  vision — oh,  that  it  had  been  a  mere 
creation  of  the  brain  ! — which  met  my  eyes. 
Sir — I  discovered  the  twenty  elderly  gentlemen, 
on  their  hands  and  knees — running  the  gauntlet 
in  their  white  pantaloons,  between  the  wide- 
spread legs  of  the  twenty  algebraic  youth  who 
were  bestowing  inky  ferules  upon  their  verte- 
bral extremities.  Through  the  dreadful  strait 
they  navigated  and  wriggled  like  so  many  eels 
with  their  tails  cut  oft';  with  my  astronomical 
eye  I  discovered  dusky  orbs  floating  through 
clear  skies  of  white  jean,  which  skirted  those 
middle-aged  flanks  !  Sir,  there  was  something 
captivating  though  still  dreadful,  in  watching 
those  venerable  serpents — those  respectable 
milk-snakes,  creeping  in  at  one  end  of  their 
fated  maze,  and  twinkling  through,  with  nim- 
ble expedition,  mapped  all  over  with  pitch- 
black  rivers,  torrents,  and  ink-falls!  I  had 
scarcely  recovered  from  the  shock  of  this  fear- 
ful spectacle,  when  I  heard  shrieks  and  shrill 
voices  pitched  in  a  high  key,  and  a  confused 
pother  and  tumult  emanating  from  the  remotest 
square  room.    Rushing  breathlessly  to    that 


quarter,  I  found  all  the  two-and-twenty  of  the 
elderly  ladies  engaged  in  a  promiscuous  conflict 
with  each  other,  aided  and  abetted  on  both  sides  • 
by  large  numbers  of  the  elaborate  dancing 
misses.  I  was  completely  stunned,  Mr.  Presi- 
dent, I  will  candidly  confess,  by  this  horrible 
uproar  on  all  sides.  I  stood  stock  still  between  « 
the  two  apartments,  where  I  could  look  upon 
the  progress  of  events  in  both,  and  dialogue  and 
observations  like  the  following,  fell  upon  my 
ear. 

" '  Goit  Jehosaphat ! — Jehosaphat  against  the 
course!  There's  a  flank,  there's  bottom  for 
you,  my  boys  !'  from  the  oblong  room. 

"  'This  is  my  third  quarter,  Kate  Slocum,  deny 
it  if  you  dare  !  Pa  paid  Windbolt  thirty  dollars, 
in  advance,  in  timber  lands  at  Neversink  !' 

" '  My  husband  had  some  schooling,  I  guess, 
afore  he  was  forty !  I  didn't  teach  my  man  his 
abs  and  babs,  Mrs.  Duncecombe !  no  I  didn't 
— tho'  some  people — you  know  !' 

" '  'Sicore  Windbolt  says  you  thought  the  harp- 
sicord  was  a  patent  oven,  when  you  first  came 
here ;  and  told  her  what  a  big  box  of  dominoes 
she  had  there,  when  she  opened  the  piano  !' 

Tliese  elegant  specimens  of  objurgatory  elo- 
quence issued  from  the  square  room,  followed 
in  each  case  by  a  manual  attack  on  the  fair 
physiognomy  of  the  speaker,  and  the  involun- 
tary discharge  of  certain  facial  ducts  and 
arteries. 

" '  Easy,  easy — striped  bass  !  hard  on,  Darby 
— lay  on  the  tiller  Jack — so,  now  we're  through 
the  Narrows  !'  cried  a  nautical  voice  in  the  ob- 
long room;  and  the  separate  directions  were 
accompanied  with  sharp,  clicking  sounds,  as  of 
some  thin,  solid  parallelogram  of  wood  lighting ' 
on  a  certain  quarter  of  the  human  body  encased 
in  tight  smalls.  H 

" '  Ten  to  one  on  the  Leopard  !  Golly,  Joe,  he 
goes  it  like  a  tiger  through  a  jungle  of  lightnin' 
rods  !'  shouted  a  second  voice,  which  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  scrambling  noise  like  that  of  a  body 
in  excessively  rapid  motion. 

In  this  way  the  confusion  and  clamor  wa« 
every  minute  increased.  The  great  Windbolt 
Writing  Festival  assumed  the  exhilarating  as- 
pect of  being  metamorphosed  into  a  Salurnalian 
battle  of  elderlies  and  youngsters.  It  is  but 
fair  to  add,  that  three  elderly  ladies,  who  had 
been  taking  music  lessons  at  tlie  Institute  for 
thirty-nine  quarters,  were  serenely  seated  in  a 
corner  of  the  square  room  during  the  aflray, 
assiduously  strumming  on  a  broken  harpsichord 
and  two  single-string  harps,  with  the  benevolent 
purpose  of  calming  the  agitation  of  the  parties 
engaged.  I  was  also  highly  gratified,  sir,  on 
strolling  into  the  small  room  where  Master 
Windbolt  occupied  a  stool,  to  find  his  three 
sisters,  the  Misses  Windbolts,  laboriously  en- 
gaged in  assuaging  his  grief;  for,  as  he  himself  ^ 
informed  me,  his  gingerbread  was  all  out, — he'd 
got  the  cramp  in  his  right  hand,  and  the  screw 
had  worked  through  the  top  of  the  stool,  and 
bored  his  hide  and  breeches  ever  so  much  ! 

After  a  while  the  tumult  subsided  j  the  young 


N.  A.  SOCIETY  FOR  IMPOSTURE. 


67 


gentlemen  in  azure  jackets  had  tired  of  their  | 
sport ;  two  of  the  elderly  gentlemen  in  ink-  \ 
striped  white  jean  had  rushed  headlong  out  of 
the  house  ("  stop  that  span  of  zebras  !"  I  heard  , 
shouted  in  the  street  shortly  after  their  disap-  j 
pearance)  ;  the  old  and  j'oung  ladies  had  grad-  ' 
ually  subsided  into  that  dead  calm,  into  which 
the  high  winds  of  female  passion  are  accustomed 
to  fall  after  tempest.  Thus  concluded  the  Wind- 
bolt  Writing  Festival.  I  shall  leave  it  with 
you  and  with  this  intelligent  auditory,  to  decide 
my  claims  of  fidelity  and  devotion  to  the  in- 
terests of  the  N.  A.  Society  for  the  Encourage- 
ment of  Imposture,  when  I  have  stated,  that  of 
these  numerous  performers,  the  elderly  gentle- 
men had  taken  four  quarters'  instructions,  one 
hour  and  a  half  constituting  a  Windbolt  quar- 
ter— in  book-keeping  ;  the  select  youth  twelve 
lessons  a-piece  (twenty  minutes  making  a  full 
Windbolt  lesson)  in  bugle-playing,  lunching, 
&c. ;  the  young  ladies  as  many  in  the  reel,  fling, 
and  gallopade  ;  and  the  algebraic  young  gentle- 
men seven  quarters  a-piece  in  equations,  flux- 
ions, and  trigonometrical  science — all  at  the  un- 
precedented rate,  sir,  of  ten  dollars  the  hundred 
lessons,  and  five  dollars  for  twenty  quarters — 
payable  in  advance  !  I  close,  sir,  by  thaTiking 
this  audience  for  their  kind  attention,  and  defy- 
ing any  person  present  to  produce  man,  woman, 
or  child,  that  has  ever  profited  a  single  quaver 
or  fraction  by  attendance  at  the  Windbolt  Uni- 
versal Institute  of  Knowledge  !" 

The  speaker  that  followed  Mr.  Windbolt  was 
a  dark,  heavy-browed,  serious-looking  individual 
who  had  spent  the  last  half-dozen  years  of  his  life 
in  the  elegant  amusement  of  passing  people  to 
their  graves  through  an  agreeable  process  of 
steam.  "He  (Mr.  Bludgett)  had  certificates 
and  afiidavits  by  which  he  could  show,  to  the 
entire  satisfaction  of  the  board  of  Managers  of 
the  N.  A.  Imposture  Society,  that  he  had  been 
in  the  habit,  for  a  good  number  of  years  past,  of 
steaming  to  death,  at  the  rate  of  one  old  woman 
and  two  small  children  every  week.  It  might 
not  always,"  remarked  Mr.  Bludgett,  with  an 
amiable  contortion  of  countenance  that  might 
have  been  borrowed  from  the  devil's  scrap- 
book,  "  It  might  not  always  be  a  literal  old 
woman  and  two  literal  small  children  ;  but  then 
the  vitality  extinguished  by  him,  each  week, 
would  amount  to  about  that.  Sometimes  it 
would  be  two  consumptive  young  men,  with  j 
tolerably  good  constitutions  :  sometimes  three ; 
sickly  married  females;  and  sometimes  his! 
week's  work  would  consist  in  disposing  of  a  j 
stout,  healthy-looking  man  laboring  under  the  j 
delusion  that  he  was  deadly  sick.  He  was  I 
quite  sure — he  was  morally  certain  that,  with  a 
sufficient  share  of  public  patronage,  he  (Blud- 
gett) could  despatch  three  grown  men  and  an  in- 
fant, or  perhaps  he  might  venture,  to  say,  three 
grown  men  and  a  tailor — per  week.  His  baths 
were  now  in  such  admirable  order — the  steam 
was  let  off,  and  the  fresh  air  let  on — and  the  steam 
was  let  on  and  the  fresh  air  let  off",  with  such  de- 
lightful precision  and  promptness  that  the  busi- 


ness could  be  done  in  no  time !  He  would  veature 
to  turn  any  nimiber  of  patients  the  Society  for 
the  Encouragement  of  Imposture  might  see  fit 
to  place  under  his  charge,  out  of  this  world  into 
the  next,  at  the  rate  he  had  mentioned.  If 
there  should  happen  to  be  a  surplus  in  the  board 
of  Managers  itself,  he  would  be  very  happy 
to  convince  any  gentlemen  that  chose  to  tender 
themselves,  of  the  efficacy  of  his  system  of 
practice  !"  Here  Mr.  Bludgett  cast  an  awful 
leer  upon  Mr.  Solomon  Chalker  as  if  nothing 
could  be  more  perfectly  captivating  to  his  mind, 
than  the  idea  of  submitting  his  person  to  the 
steam  process ;  the  audience  laughed ;  and  Mr. 
Bludgett  sat  down  with  applause. 

The  chairman  now  arose,  and  thanked  the 
audience  for  their  attendance  and  attention  to 
the  exercises  of  the  occasion,  and  named  the 
day  and  place  at  which  and  on  which  the  next 
anniversary  would  be  celebrated. 

Then  followed  "  Anthem  by  the  choir,  and 
collection  in  aid  of  the  funds  of  the  Society  !" 
and  the  crowded  audience  dispersed.  It  is  but 
justice  to  the  Society  for  the  Encouragement 
of  Imposture  to  mention  that  a  number  of  tin 
sixpences  and  sanded  half-dollars  were  found  in 
the  plate,  which  were  supposed  to  have  been 
put  there  by  the  honorary  members  and  friends 
of  the  cause,  who  were  distributed  through  the 
house. 


THE  MERRY-MAKERS. 
PLOIT  No.  II. 


-EX- 


CONTAINING  A  CRITICAL  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE 
OF  MR.  BOBBYLINK,  AND  A  DELIGHTFUL 
AQUATIC  EXCURSION  WHICH  THAT  GENTLEMAN 
TOOK  IN  COMPANY  WITH  MISS  HETTY  STEDDLE. 

Nature  furnishes,  now  and  then,  a  genuine 
comedy  as  full  of  love,  bustle,  and  intrigue,  as 
one  of  Farquhar's  or  Congreve's.  Seated  by 
the  side  of  a  babbling  brook  that  pays  tribute 
to  a  delightful  lake  of  sparkling  water,  with  a 
varied  woodland  sloping  up  from  its  banks,  on 
a  fragrant  morning  in  June,  you  may  see  enact- 
ed a  gay  drama,  pregnant  with  lively  scenes  and 
noisy  dialogue.  Near  by,  on  some  neighbor- 
ing rail,  two  amorous  catbirds  chatter  away  in 
animated  discourse,  hopping  along  the  fence  in 
flight  and  pursuit — a  precious  pairof  iU-dressed, 
vagrant  lovers  :  while,  far  off  on  the  edge  of 
the  lake,  so  that  their  puny  heads  are  just  visi- 
ble, bobbing  up  and  down,  two  friendly  little 
snipes  are  paying  their  respects  to  each  other 
over  a  dead  water-fly.  In  a  thorn-bush  a  sweet- 
tempered  brown  thrasher  hurries  through  his 
joyous  and  flute-like  song,  as  if  he  were  afraid 
the  day  would  be  over  ere  he  could  disburden 
half  his  music .  The  love-lorn  king-fisher  hangs 
on  a  dry  bough  over  the  stream,  and  brawls  in 
his  harsh,  startling  voice,  determined  to  outroar 
the  current,  and  keeping  an  eye  fixed  sharply 


68 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


on  its  surface  :  the  moment  an  unhappy  fish  j 
becomes  visible  this  aqiiatic  bailiff  springs  upon 
him,  fastens  a  talon  on  his  shoulder,  and  hieing 
to  a  required  quarter  consoles  himself  for  the 
absence  of  his  mistress.     Meantime,  far  up  in 
the  depths  of  a  wood  in  a  green  glade,  a  tall 
crow,  gloomy  and  self-absorbed,  stalks  about — 
the  artful  villain  of  the  pastoral  scene ;  and 
midway,  in  the  crumbling  body  of  a  dead  ash 
tree  sits  an  old  owl,  with  his  broad,  goggling 
eyes,  and  the  dry,  white  moss  gathered  about 
his  politic   pate  like  a  full-boftomed  tie-wig,  I 
looking  as  wise  and  grave  as  a  judge — appa-  ' 
rently  deliberating  in  his  own  fusty  mind  what 
penalties  to  inflict  on  the  cheerful  creatures  that  j 
are  flitting  and  chatting  and  making  themselves  } 
happy  about  him.     If  from  his  position,  the  ob-  ' 
server  could  cast  a  glance  towards  a  low  fence  \ 
that  runs  along  a  flat  meadow  to  his  left,  he 
might  discover  a  sleepy  night-hawk  dosing  on 
a  rail,  blinking  out  of  one  eye  and  striving,  like 
a  conceited  politician,  to  make  it  appear  that  | 
he  sees  more  with  his  single  optic  than  most 
people  with  two.     Over  this  profound  thinker  j 
a  troop  of  piratical  blackbirds  are  on  the  wing —  ' 
hovering   a  little   in   their   flight,  perhaps   to 
watch  the  erudite  Sir  Hawk  knocked  in  the 
head  by  the  first  country  boy  that  passes  with  a 
gad — with  a  mill-pond  hard  by  in  view,  scream- ' 
ing  and  babbling  and  uttering  all  kinds  of  dis- : 
cordant  noises,  for  all  the  world  like  a  band  of  j 
roving  musicians  twangling  and  sounding  their 
way  to  a  fashionable  watering-place.     To  com- . 
plete  this  little  rural  entertainment,  in  a  buck- 
wheat field  beyond  the  lake,  a  single  stout-  j 
hearted   quail   sits   calling   (as   if  giving   the  I 
prompter's  cue  for  a  favorite  performer  to  come 
on)    loudly    and    enthusiastically     for    "  Bob  '< 
White  !"     Of  course  Bob  White,  although  thus  | 
earnestly  invoked,  disdains  to  appear ;  but  Bob  \ 
Bobbylink  is  reclining  in  the  midst  of  the  many- 
colored  scene  I  have  described,  with  Mistress 
Hetty  Steddle,  the  pretty  serving-girl,  at  his  side. 

They  were  seated  on  the  bank  of  an  impetu- 
ous little  torrent,  with  a  light  fishing-boat  near 
at  hand,  fastened  with  a  cord  to  the  stump  of  a 
tree  in  a  cluster  of  bushes,  and  straining  on  its 
cable,  with  the  heady  current  that  rushed  into 
the  lake,  like  a  violent  horse  dragging  at  his 
bridle.    A  pair  of  oars  were  lying  on  the  bank. 

"Come  now,  Hetty,"  said  the  fascinating 
Bobbylink  seizing  the  young  lady's  hand,  and 
giving  it  a  fervent  pressure,  while  he  arranged 
his  face  in  a  melancholy,  half-smiling  oblong, 
«  Come  now,  Hetty,  don't  refuse,— say  next 
Thursday  and  make  me  as  happy  as  a  robin  in 
a  cherry-tree." 

"  But  why  not  wait,  Robert,  till  your  grand- 
mother is  dead  ?"  responded  the  young  lady 
with  an  arch  look,  "  You  know  you'll  have  a 
nice  little  property  then,  and  that  will  make  us 
comfortable.  What  odds  are  a  few  days  or  a 
few  weeks  ?" 

"  Good  heavens !   how  you  talk,  girl ! — my 

dmother's  only  seventy,  and  her  mother, 

eat-grandmother — lived  till  she   was   a 


hundred  and  one,  within  a  day.     Why  they're 
a  regular  brood  of  she  Methusalahs  !" 

"  Old  women  can't  live  for  ever,"  retorted 
Hetty,  "  and  when  you  heard  from  her  the  other 
day  they  thought  an  east  wind  wo  aid  carry  her 
off." 

"You  can't  depend  on  that  race  of  old 
ladies  a  minute :  to  day  they'll  be  looking  thin 
and  ghastly,  with  a  '  good-by  to  you  all,'  writ- 
ten as  plain  as  large  text  on  their  features — and 
a  whole  mob  of  cousins  and  grand-nevys  and 
nieces  swarm  round  the  old  woman,  peering  into 
her  face  like  a  parcel  of  farmers  in  harvest, 
staring  at  a  wet  moon  :  ever)'  one  thinking  the 
old  lady's  passport  for  the  next  world  is  made 
out  and  filled  up.  The  pretty  nieces  run  over 
in  their  mind  how  many  yards — she  being  a 
long-limbed  body — it  will  take  for  her  shroud, 
and  the  charming  grand-nevj^s  and  cousins  are 
busy  putting  out  their  legacies  on  compound  in- 
terest." 

"  Dreadful,  inhuman  wretches  !"  interposed 
Mistress  Steddle,  with  a  look  or  horror. 

"  The  next  day,"  concluded  Bobbylink,  "  she 
gets  up  from  her  dying  bed  and  says,  with  a 
smile,  that  she  can't  leave  this  world  until  she 
has  seen  some  of  her  great  great  grand-children 
(that  are  now  infants)  grown  up  and  married : 
and  'gad  I  believe  the  old  creature  will  keep 
her  word  ! — so,  Hetty,  you  inust  say  next  week, 
or  postpone  it  till  we're  both  gray  I" 

"  Now,  Robert,"  said  Hetty,  "  I  am  going  to 
ask  a  great  favor  of  you.  Do  you  think  you 
can  be  liberal  enough  to  grant  it,  mind — it's  a 
very  great  favor,  I  give  you  warning  !" 

"Anything,  my  dear  Hetty — you  can  have 
anything  of  mine  you  ask — even  my  life." 

"  No,  I  don't  want  that — I  shouldn't  know 
what  to  do  with  it — my  own  little  wicked  life  is 
as  much  as  I  can  manage." 

"  What  is  it — ask  quick,  and  I  grant  at  once  f 
What's  the  mighty  favor  you  desire  of  Bob  Bob- 
bylink ?" 

"  To  tell  the  perfect  truth  without  a  joke," 
answered  Hetty  smiling,  "  isn't  this  entire  story 
about  your  Jersey  grandmother  made  out  of  whole 
cloth — spun  on  your  own  wheel,  with  your 
head  for  the  distatf  and  your  tongue  for  the 
spindle  ?  And  didn't  you  contrive  it  from  fear 
that  young  Jolton  would  carry  off  Hetty  Sted- 
dle from  you  on  the  back  of  his  property — and 
as  you  were  pennyless,  you  matched  him  by 
throwing  in  a  snug  piece  of  a  farm  in  the  Jer- 
sies  ? — Out  with  it,  Robert — don't  let  the  truth 
choke  you,  although  it  isn't  used  to  trav'ling 
the  Bobbylink  turnpike." 

"  Hetty,  you're  a  shrewd  girl,  and  you've 
guessed  right,"  answered  Bob  Bobbylink  laugh- 
ing. "  If  I  have  any  grandmother  in  Jersey 
she  ha'n't  much  love  for  her  kin,  for  she's  never 
notified  me  of  her-  existence  and  I've  had  two  * 
grandmothers  buried  already.  That's  as  many 
as  I'm  entitled  to  by  law — 'specially  as  my 
parents  never  married  but  once  a-piece  !"  ^ 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  honest  confes^A)n 
the  young  gentleman  and  young  lady  burst  into 


THE  MERRY-MAKERS.— EXPLOIT  No.  U. 


<i  hearty  fit  of  laughter,  which  having  lasted 
the  proper  time,  Hetty  Steddle  exclaimed,  with 
an  air  of  great  seriousness,  "  Bobbylink  ! — 
now  what  do  you  think  you  deserve  for  deceiv- 
ing a  poor  girl  in  this  way  ?  Do  you  suppose 
I'll  have  you  without  your  property  ?  in  this 
part  of  the  country  cows  aren't  bought  for  the 
sake  of  their  horns,  but  we're  willing  to  take 
the  horns  because  we  can't  get  the  cows  with- 
out 'em." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr,  Bobbylink  with  a  rue- 
ful aspect ;  "  if  you  can  desert  me  now,  Hetty — 
there's  Polly  Todd  will  take  me  without  a 
copper  and  bring  me  hard  cash  besides  !"  Rob- 
bert  Bobbylink,  Esq.,  chief  of  the  clan  of  mer- 
r>'-makers  was,  by  reason  of  a  tolerably  good- 
looking  person  and  a  sprightly  wit,  a  great 
favorite  among  the  rural  young  ladies,  and  the 
one  in  question,  Miss  Polly  Todd,  had  conceived 
a  desperate  attachment  to  our  worthy.  She 
was  a  professed  rival  of  Hetty  Steddle,  and  the 
mention  of  her  name  produced  a  fluttering  sen- 
sation in  the  bosom  of  the  latter. 

"  What  if  Pol.  Todd  can  bring  you  a  few  dol- 
lars," she  said,  "  perhaps  others  has  got  money 
as  well  as  her.  There's  old  Hetty  Pease  is 
worth  twice  Polly  Todd  and  her  whole  genera- 
tion." 

«  What  of  that  ?"  asked  Bobbylink. 

"  Perhaps  Hetty  Pease  didn't  die  last  night — 
and  didn't  leave  all  her  earnings,  by  will,  to 
her  poor  good-for-nothing  name-sake  and  fos- 
ter-child, Het.  Steddle  !" 

"  You  don't  say  so,  Hetty  ? — it  can't  be — it's 
too  good  to  be  true !"  exclaimed  Bob  Bobbylink 
rapidly. 

"But  it  is  so,"  answered  the  young  lady 
bursting  into  tears,  throwing  herself  into  the 
arms  of  Bobbylink,  "  the  poor  kind  old  woman 
is  gone  !  and  it's  all  yours,  Robert — take  it  all 
and  me  with  it !" 

Robert  Bobbylink  was  not  a  little  affected 
by  these  marks  of  affectionate  tenderness  both 
towards  himself  and  the  dead,  on  the  part  of 
Hetty  Steddle,  and  pressing  her  to  his  breast, 
and  imprinting  several  eager  kisses  on  her  fair 
face,  he  said,  "  Cheer  up,  my  dear  girl — all  will 
be  right,  pennyless  or  rich — in  health  or  in  sick- 
ness— I'll  take  you,  Hetty — as  to  Mrs.  Pease, 
you  needn't  grieve  about  that — '  old  women' 
you  know,  according  to  a  high  authority  '  can't 
live  for  ever !' "  At  this  unexpected  quotation 
of  her  own  sagacious  apothegm,  Hetty  could 
not  refrain  from  laughter,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
her  pretty  countenance  entirely  cleajed  up  and 
wreathed  itself  in  its  wonted  smiles.  After  this 
they  conversed  a  long  time  earnestly  together. 
Hetty,  at  first,  urged  that  respect  to  her  deceased 
friend  demanded  the  solemnization  of  their  nup- 
tials should  be  postponed  at  least  a  twelvemonth. 
To  this  Bob  Bobbylink  responded,  that  in  her 
present  situation,  immediate  marriage  would 
be  perfectly  proper  ;  she  had  come  into  the  pos- 
.  session  of  considerable  property,  and  could  not, 
he  insisted,  with  any  degree  of  self-respect,  re- 


main longer  at  service.  If  she  abandoned  her 
present  home,  where  in  the  wide  world  could 
she  find  another — now  that  her  last  relation liad 
gone  the  way  of  death. 

By  arguments  like  these,  Hetty's  repugnance 
was  finally  overruled. 

"Now,  if  you'll  grant  me  a  single  favor, 
Robert,"  said  she,  "I'll  consent  that  the — "  here 
Hetty  blushed  like  the  goddess  of  Liberty  on  a 
village  sign-board,  painted  by  an  artist,  whose 
palette  lacks  all  the  other  colors  of  the  rainbow 
but  red,  "  that  the — the — it  shall  be  next  Thurs- 
day week." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Bob  smiling  and  highly  de- 
lighted ;  "  I'll  grant  anything  Mrs.  Bobbylink 
asks.     What  is  it,  my  pretty  yellow-bird  ?" 

"  Your  pretty  yellow-bird,  Robert,  how  is 
that  ?  I  hope  I  haven't  the  jaundice  this  morn- 
ing !"  said  Hetty,  laughing.  "  But,  here's  the 
point — you  must  discard  that  clumsy  fellow, 
Sam.  Chisel !" 

"  What  that  great  dunce  !  why  it's  done  be- 
fore it's  asked ;  a  heavy,  woodcock-pated  lout, 
that  has  attempted  my  life  any  time  these  past 
three  years  by  his  infernal  long  stories  and  stu- 
pid jokes.  Sam.  Chisel !  I'll  make  a  horse- 
block of  him,  Hetty,  if  you  want  me  to,  and 
cut  his  long  ears  into  patterns  for  saddle-covers 
if  you  ask  it." 

"  And  Habakkuk  Viol."  • 

"  Let  him  go,  too." 

«  And  Harvest." 

"  Off  with  his  head — they're  a  pair  of  barren 
knaves,  that  for  some  mysterious  purpose  have 
been  born  with  mouths,  without  the  wit  to  get 
anything  to  put  into  'em ;  and  backs  that  would 
go  bare,  begging  your  pardon,  as  a  new-laid 
egg,  if  they  hadn't  had  a  friend  in  Bob  Bobby- 
link. Let  them  shirk  from  this  time  forth,  for 
themselves !" 

"  Well,"  continued  the  inexorable  and  victo- 
rious Hetty  Steddle,  "  There's  Tom  Snipe.  He 
goes  of  course — the  poor  wretch  that  he  is." 

"  Tommy,  why  Tommy's  a  harmless  critter, 
and  might  be  useful  in  doing  chores  about  the 
house." 

"  Don't  mention  him  !"  exclaimed  Hetty,  "  I 
can't  bear  the  sight  of  him ;  he  reminds  me  so 
much,  with  his  warped  visage,  of  a  lean  kitten 
in  a  fit.  The  scamp  absolutely  attempted  to 
kiss  me  once !" 

"  Away  with  him  then !  away  with  him !" 
cried  Bobbylink  with  animation. 

"  Discharge  Smally,  now,  and  you've  done  a    ^ 
good  morning's  work." 

"  Poor  John  !  never — never,"  said  Bob  Bob- 
bylink with  sudden  enthusiasm,  "  he  has  been 
always  true  to  me,  and  it's  but  fair  that  I  should 
be  always  true  to  him.  You  may  strip  every 
branch  and  limb  off  of  the  old  tree — and  wel- 
come, but  that  leaf  hangs,  and  all  the  tempests 
in  the  sky  may  blow,  and  the  old  tree  may  rock 
and  quiver  to  its  very  roots,  but  I  tell  you  that 
leaf  shaU  cling  to  the  last.  John  Smally— my 
own  right  hand  man— it's  impossiMe,  Hetty  !" 


70 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


"He  is  always  flinging  his  jokes  at  one ;  and 
he  has  even  snickered  at  you,  before  now,"  con- 
tinned  Hetty,  hoping  to  touch  Bob's  personal 
feeling. 

"  I  don't  care  for  that,"  he  answered  firmly ; 
*'  he  has  a  right — for  many's  the  crack  I've  had 
at  his  expense.  Come,  Hetty,  spare  me  one  ! 
You  had  better  try  to  drive  Burdock's  brown 
mare  in  single  harness,  or  knit  stockings  out 
of  bulrushes,  than  get  me  to  forego  my  old 
friend,  John  !" 

Hetty  had  by  this  time  discovered,  from  his 
tone  and  manner,  that  Bob  would  not  relinquish 
this  last  of  his  merry  comrades,  and  desisted 
from  the  attempt,  for  the  present,  but  not  with- 
out a  further  request. 

"Now  to  finish  the  weeding  and  make  a 
clean  garden  of  it,  there's  another  promise  to  be 
made  :  you  must  leave  off  Shekkels,  the  man  in 
the  mask,  the  bull's  horns,  and  all  your  other 
mad  capers  and  carryings-on.  D'ye  under- 
stand— if  you  don't  I  shall  have  you  a'vertised 
as  a  «  stray,'  the  first  thing."  They  both  laugh- 
ed heartily  over  the  pleasant  reminiscences 
which  Hetty's  allusions  conjured  up,  and  Bob 
Bobbylink  (with  a  liberal  mental  reservation  in 
favor  of  stone-frolics,  Christmas  shooting,  and 
black-fishing)  granted  her  reasonable  request, 
that  he  should  become  "  a  good,  sober  man 
about  the  house." 

"But  stop,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "there's  a 
favor  you  must  bestow  on  me  in  return  for  all 
this." 

"  What's  that,  Robert  ?"  said  Hetty,  blush- 
ing, and  supposing  he  hinted  at  a  kiss. 

"  You  must  let  all  these  poor  dogs  come  to 
the  wedding ;  it  wiU  be  for  the  last  time,  and 
it  would  break  their  hearts  to  shut  them  out !" 

"  Well,  well,"  answered  Hetty  complacently, 
"  I  suppose  it  must  be  so — although  I  think  it 
would  be  a  slight  waste  of  cheap  crockery  if 
all  their  hearts  were  broken  in  a  row." 

"  Now,"  said  Bobbylink,  rapturous  with  the 
unexpected  success  of  his  suit,  capering  about 
the  grass,  and  ever  and  anon  kissing  and  em- 
bracing his  fair  mistress,  "  now,  Hetty,  I  think 
we  can  take  our  sail  down  the  lake  with  some 
comfort ;  come,  jump  in !" 

Obeying  his  injunction,  she  sprang  lightly 
into  the  boat ;  at  this  moment  the  cable  was  un- 
loosed by  an  unseen  hand  from  its  fastening  and 
Bob  Bobbylink,  gasping  with  astonishment  and 
surprise,  beheld  his  ladye-love  floating,  alone, 
^■%  down  the  rapid  current.  Hurrying  along  the 
bank,  and  keeping  even  with  the  boat,  he  reach- 
ed a  rock  that  jutted  into  the  water,  and  as  the 
Yessel  glided  by,  he  succeeded  in  throwing  him- 
self on  board.  A  violent  eddy  seized  it  and 
hurried  it  out  into  the  middle  of  the  lake,  and 
bore  it  swiftly  away  towards  the  opposite  shore. 
In  his  trepidation  and  haste  Bobbylink  had 
forgotten  the  oars,  and  they  were  in  a  light  and 
feeble  craft  without  any  means  of  directing  its 
course,  or  providing  against  accidents  that  were 
likely  to  occur.  To  render  their  situation  still 
1  %      more  dismal  and  perplexing  they  heard  every 


now  and  then,  a  hoarse  laugh  sounding  in  the 
woods  and  echoed  and  re-echoed  by  the  cliffs 
along  the  shore  of  the  lake.  A  superstition 
prevailed  in  that  quarter  of  the  country,  that  a 
spectral  personage  whom  they  styled  the  Laugh- 
ing Devil,  roamed  constantly  about  these  woods, 
and  gave  token,  by  a  harsh  startling  laugh  or 
chuckle,  of  danger  impending  over  the  neigh- 
boring inhabitants.  Plough-boys  on  their  way 
home  through  the  woods,  after  nightfall,  pre- 
tended to  have  seen  a  short,  burly  creature,  with 
a  grisly  beard  and  stiff  shock  of  jet-black  hair, 
standing  in  the  shadow  of  a  stunted  ash-tree, 
or  dwarf-oak,  holding  both  his  sides,  with  his 
face  distorted  by  laughter  which  he  seemed  to 
suppress  by  main  force ;  and  which,  when  they 
reached  the  edge  of  the  forest,  would  burst  from 
him  with  great  violence  and  startle  them  like 
a  near  peal  of  thunder. 

An  idle  fellow,  who  spent  much  of  his  time 
in  wandering  about  the  swamps  and  low- 
grounds  of  this  region  with  his  gun,  asserted 
that  more  than  once,  when  he  had  raised  his 
fowling-piece  to  his  shoulder  and  was  on  the 
point  of  levelling  it  at  a  wild-pigeon  or  a  gray- 
squirrel,  he  had  been  horribly  alarmed  by  see- 
ing the  bird  or  animal  suddenly  moult  its  feath- 
ers or  hide,  which  fell  to  the  ground  like  the 
cast-off  slough  of  a  copperhead,  and,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  become  transformed  into  a 
robust  goblin,  who  leered  upon  him  from  amid 
the  leaves  with  a  countenance  distended  with 
laughter,  while  tears  of  mirth  flowed  copiously 
down  his  wrinkled  cheeks.  His  gun,  this  vag- 
abond sportsman  added,  would  inevitably  be 
out  of  order  in  a  day  or  two  after  the  vision, 
and  miss  fire  a  dozen  times  or  more  in  succes- 
sion, if  the  powder  was  in  the  least  damp !  How- 
ever this  might  be,  it  was  a  well-known  fact, 
that  just  after  a  thunder-storm  this  mysterious 
sound  was  sure  to  be  heard  loudest,  and  they 
often  found  immense  trees  riven  to  the  very 
roots,  and  lying  maimed  and  prostrate  upon  the 
earth,  in  the  quarter  of  the  woodland  whence  it 
had  issued.  If  the  grain  was  blighted,  or  a  foal 
cast  before  its  time,  or  a  sheep  missing,  that 
long,  fiendish  peal  of  laughter  was  heard  echo- 
ing and  ringing  through  the  woods,  and  the 
birds  took  to  flight  as  if  from  some  dreadful  ob-" 
ject  of  terror  and  alarm.  ■ 

The  sounds  which  reached  the  ears  of  Bob 
Bobbylink  and  his  companion  at  the  present 
time  seemed,  therefore,  peculiarly  awful  and 
ominous.  To  increase  their  anxiety,  they 
thought  they  saw  faces,  ever  and  anon,  thrust 
from  among  the  bushes  and  grape-vines  which 
overhung  the  banks,  grinning  and  moping  with 
aspects  more  like  those  of  malicious  spirits  than 
of  men.  This  might  have  been  phantasy,  but  they 
swept  straight  onward,  and  were  in  the  utmost 
peril  of  being  dashed  h  eadlong  against  a  rock  that 
projected  into  the  lake,  when  suddenly  a  boat 
shot  from  within  its  shadow,  and,  making  for 
that  in  which  Bobbylink  was  seated  and  run- 
ning close  by  their  side,  one  of  the  persons  that 
occupied  it  gave  Bobbylink's  boat  a  forcible 


THE  MERRY-MAKERS.— EXPLOIT  No.  H. 


71 


turn  by  the  bows,  and  pushed  her  out  into 
mid-channel.  Bobbylink  now  observed  that  the 
strange  boat  was  held  by  four  men.  On  closer 
inspection  he  discovered  that  they  were  persons 
with  whom  he  was  acquainted,  and  with  re- 
gard to  whom  he  had  been  making  sundry  very 
liberal  promises  during  the  morning,  to  Miss 
Hetty  Steddle. 

The  boat  of  the  four  new-comers  now  began 
to  play  about  Bobbylink's;  and  its  occupants 
threw  out,  as  they  flashed  athwart  her  bows  or 
alongside,   observations   like   the   following — 
much  in  the  same  way  as  a  frigate  skirmishes 
about  a  crippled  seventy-four,  firing  a  broadside 
at  each  evolution — reloading,  and  coming  up  ^ 
on  the  other  quarter  with  a  fresh  discharge,  j 
"Ha  !  ha!"   cried  one  of  them,  exhibiting  a! 
broad   countenance,   distorted   with   laughter,  | 
"  that   stupid   dunce,  Sam.    Chisel,   sends   his  j 
compliments  to  you,  Mr.  Bobbylink,  and  hopes  i 
it's  a  fine   morning  for  sailing.     He  presents  ' 
you  a  brace  of  heavy  woodcocks,"  giving  Bob- 
bylink a  blow  on  either  side  of  the  head  with 
his  open  hand  as  they  crossed  the  stern,  "  and 
sends  you  a  tumbler  of  the  fresh  fluid  to  wash 
'em  down  !"     He  followed  his  last  observation 
with  the  discharge  of  a  boat-horn  full  of  water 
from  the  lake  ;  each  one  of  the  four  being  sup- 
plied with  a  short  weapon  of  that  kind,  which, 
as  every  one  knows,  consists  of  the  horn  of  an 
ox  attached  to  the  extremity  of  a  wooden  han- 
dle, and  is  used  in  sloops  and  other  river-craft, 
to  wet  the  sails. 

"  Any  word  to  send  to  your  friend  'Bak  Vi-  j 
ol  ?"  said  another  of  them,  "he's  in  a  famishing  j 
and  dreadful   state,  having  a  mouth,  without  j 
the  wit  to  get  anj-thing  to  put  in  it.     Do  send 
him  a  drop  of  water   and  a  kind  word,  if  no  | 
more."    And  this  gentleman  playfully  repeated 
the  baptismal  ceremony  performed  by  his  friend 
Chisel. 

"  Take  that,"  exclaimed  a  third,  a  little  man 
with  a  dry  visage,  punching  Bobbylink  with  the 
butt-end  of  his  boat-horn  in  the  back  and  ribs, 
"  take  that  from  that  harmless  critter.  Tommy 
Snipe !  and  this,  mistress,"  dashing  a  hornful 
of  water  into  the  face  of  Miss  Steddle,  "  there's 
something  to  cool  your  kitten  with,  when  she's 
in  a  fit !  ha !  ha  !" 

"  As  for  Harvest,  let  him  shirk  for  himself," 
said  a  fourth,  "  he's  a  poor,  barebacked  ani- 
mal, and  is  of  no  more  value  than  an  old  rain- 
spout,"  accompanying  his  words  with  a  copious 
commentary  of  an  aquatic  nature. 

Wheeling  the  boat  about,  and  discharging 
small-shot  like  this,  they  at  length  seemed  to 
have  wrought  the  sport  to  a  climax,  and  at  a 
signal  given  by  Habakkuk  Viol,  they  prepared 
for  its  consummation  by  each  filling  his  boat- 
horn  to  the  brim. 

"  There,  Bobby,"  cried  Habakkuk,  dis- 
charging his  piece, "  put  that  in  your  pocket,  and 
keep  it  to  sprinkle  your  firstborn  with  !" 

"  Young  lady,"  shouted  Sam.  Chisel,  "  them 
nice,  buddin'  roses  on  your  cheeks,  wants  wa- 


terin'  a  little,"  and  he  supplied  the  deficiency 
forthwith. 

"  Linkem  !"  exclaimed  Harvest,  "  I  don't  be- 
lieve your  coat's  ever  been  sponged,  that," 
throwing  the  contents  of  a  boat -horn  on  the 
collar  and  skirts  of  his  upper-garment,  "  that 
does  the  business  for  you  ! — and  there's  a  little 
of  the  rock-cr}^stal  to  di'ink  your  tailor's  health 
in!" 

"  Miss,  how's  them  colors  on  your  govrn — 
will  they  stand  the  water  ?"  said  Tommy  Snipe, 
instantaneously  applying  the  test  to  which  he 
alluded. 

"May-be  your  pockets  is  drj-,"  suggested 
Sam.  Chisel,  insinuating  a  couple  of  hornsful 
adroitly  into  that  quarter  of  Mr.  Bobbylink's 
dress,  "  they're  gapin'  like  ovsters  for  a  drop  o' 
drink." 

"  What  a  nice  water-proof  Robert's  got  on, 
this  morning !"  exclaimed  Viol,  testing  the  hat- 
ter's assertion  recorded  in  the  lining,  by  a  small 
artificial  shower.  "  Warranted  against  thun- 
der, lightning,  and  rain !" 

"  Why,  Bob,  you  look  like  a  pond-duck  in 
the  equinoctial !"  said  Sam.  Chisel,  "  is  that 
your  mate,  Bobby  ? — if  so  it  be,  her  feathers 
want  purifying !" 

"  Judging  by  the  crook  of  his  nose,"  contin- 
ued Hank  Harvest,  "  he  looks  more  like  a  fish- 
hawk,"  and  again  emptying  his  boat-horn,  "  he 
should  get  used  to  his  adopted  element." 

JVow,  with  a  grand  and  general  discharge  of 
their  pieces,  as  they  discovered  that  they  were 
nearing  the  opposite  shore,  and  the  idea  flashed 
across  their  minds  that  if  Bobbylink  and  his  com- 
panion were  once  landed,  they  might  annoy  them 
pretty  seriously  from  the  banks,  they  altered  their 
boat's  course,  and,  shooting  athwart  his  bows, 
plied  their  oars  for  the  other  end  of  the  lake. 

"There,  Mr.  Bobbylink,"  exclaimed  Viol, 
as  they  parted  company,  tossing  him  a  farewell 
beaker  of  the  fluid,  "  I  advise  you  to  save  that 
to  wash  your  face  with  the  first  time  it's  clawed 
by  Mrs.  Hetty  Bobbylink." 

"  And  don't  forget  to  make  me  a  pair  of  sad- 
dle-covers out  of  Sam.  Chisel's  ears — when  you 
catch  him  !"  shouted  the  proprietor  of  said  ears, 
grinning  monstrously,  and  playfully  projecting  a 
jet  of  water  into  the  mouth  of  Bob  Bobbylink, 
which  stood  agape  with  astonishment  and  terror. 

During  all  these  manoeuvres,  which  had  been 
executed  within  a  brief  space  of  time  and  with 
admirable  dexterity,  Bobbylink  had  retained  his 
seat,  half  inclined  to  kindle  into  a  horrid  pas- 
sion, and  half  determined  to  burst  into  a  hearty 
laugh,  and  take  it  all  as  a  good  joke.  To  be 
sure,  when  he  looked  upon  his  fair  mistress, 
and  saw  her  new  figured-silk  dress  drenched 
with  water,  he  was  sorely  vexed  and  discom- 
forted ;  but  he  had  brought,  he  well  knew,  the 
whole  catastrophe  upon  them  by  his  hasty 
promise  to  discard  his  old  friends  and  cast  them 
loose,  in  the  very  first  hour  of  his  prosperity 
and  success. 

He  therefore  felt  bound,  in  conscience  and 


72 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


honor,  to  bear  it  cheerfully,  and  accordingly  he  i 
had  no  sooner  handed  Hetty  from  the  boat  than  i 
his  lungs  exploded  in  a  genuine  and  honest 
cachination,  in  which  he  was  instanily  joined 
by  Miss   Steddle,  that  young  lady   enjoying  a  i 
very  pretty  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  and  feeling, 
with  her  worthy  associate,  that  she  deserved 
it  all. 

Pleasantly  laughing  over  the  whole  scene, 
they  seated  themselves  on  a  wall  in  the  sun, 
and  speedily  drying  their  garments,  started  off 
to  gather  blackberries  instead  of  tempting,  a 
second  time,  the  unlucky  element. 


DISASTERS  OF  OLD  DRUDGE. 

CONTAINING  THE  UNLAWFUL  IMPRISONMENT 
OF  AN  OLD  GENTLEMAN  ;  A  POPULAR  BAT- 
TLE BETWEEN  TWO  ATTORNEYS,  AND  A  FEW 
PRACTICAL  SUGGESTIONS  AS  TO  THE  IMPRO- 
PRIETY OF  OLD  GENTLEMEN  BEING  OUT  AF- 
TER DARK. 

The  village  of  Plumpitts  stands  at  the  head 
of  a  vile  little  creek,  which  runs  in  and  out 
from  the  Sound  with  the  tide.  Unfortunately, 
the  tide  has  a  propensity  to  be  out  oftener  than 
in,  so  that  Plumpitts,  for  the  better  part  of  the 
day,  sits  like  a  great  duck  stranded  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  mud.  The  inhabitants  of  Plumpitts 
are  of  two  classes ;  those  who  belong  to  the 
river  interest,  and  those  who  belong  to  the  in- 
land interest.  The  former,  consisting  of  two 
rival  sloop  captains,  half  a  score  of  vagabond 
boys  and  idle-looking  men,  who  assist  the  said 
captains  in  navigating  their  craft  to  the  city ; 
and  the  inland  interest,  consisting  of  half-a-doz- 
en shopkeepers,  and  as  many  pestilent  old  wo- 
men, the  former  of  whom  spend  their  time  in  re- 
tailing sugar  and  starch  to  customers  from  the 
interior,  and  the  latter  in  wholesaling  scandal 
and  small-talk  to  each  other — and  a  very  thri- 
ving trade  they  make  of  it.  The  standing  pop- 
ulation of  the  village  is  composed  of  about  twen- 
ty blue-nosed  topers,  who  hover  about  a  place 
called  the  Point,  like  so  many  noisy  gulls,  du- 
ring the  early  part  of  the  morning  and  toward 
night,  and  pass  the  rest  of  the  day  in  dirty  fish- 
ing boats  along  the  shore  of  the  Sound,  solemn- 
ly engaged  in  capturing  black-fish  and  bass  for 
their  present  wants,  and  providing  a  stock  of 
cramps  and  rheumatisms  for  their  old  age. 

About  three  miles  back  of  Plumpitts,  there 
lay,  once  upon  a  time,  an  ill-conditioned  piece 
of  land  and  a  dilapidated  old  house,  which,  al- 
togetlier,  was  entitled  the  homestead ;  and  in  a 
small  room  in  the  old  house,  a  sharp-faced, 
gray-eyed  little  woman,  and  a  red-visaged  man, 
some  two  sizes  larger,  were  seated  at  a  break- 
fast-table. The  little  woman  sat  erect  and  was 
engaged  with  toast  and  cofiee,  and  the  man  was 
bent  nearly  double  over  a  bowl  of  sour  butter- 
milk, and  a  white,  earthen  plate,  holding  a  sin- 
gle small  perch  or  sunfish,  burnt  to  a  crisp. 


"  Drudge  !"  cried  the  little  woman,  sharply. 

"  Ma'am,"  answered  the  red-visaged  man, 
timidly. 

"  You  know  I  own  this  farm  1" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  this  house  ?" 

"  Yes — and  the  span  of  horses  and  the  fam- 
ily carriage !" 

"  Very  well — and  all  the  ready  money — do 
you  know  that  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  responded  Mr  Drudge,  in  a  faint 
voice. 

"  And  that  you  brought  nothing  but  an  old 
saddle  when  I  married  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  How  dare  you,  then,  eat  fish  and  butter- 
milk together,  contrary  to  my  express  orders  ? 
Yes — how  dare  you — you  miserable  pauper  !" 
shouted  Mrs.  Drudge,  working  herself  into  a 
sublime  phrensy. 

"  Dear  Tishy,  I  thought  there  was  no  harm 
in  it" — 

"  Don't  Tishy  me — don't  dear  me — you  ob- 
ject." 

"You  know  I  caught  the  perch  myself," 
humbly  suggested  her  red-visaged  victim. 

"  I  know  you  did — you  poor  creature — when 
you  ought  to  have  been  at  home  minding  your 
business.  You  hav'n't  split  your  day's  oven- 
wood  yet,  nor  milked,  nor  brought  water,  nor 
churned — you've  done  nothing  this  morning. 
Drudge,  worse  than  nothing — oh,  you  poor,  lazy 
thing !"  and  she  gave  the  poor  man  a  glance, 
which,  if  it  had  been  half  a  degree  fiercer,  must 
have  inevitably  scorched  him  to  a  cinder.  At 
this  moment,  a  hea'V'y-headed  country  boy  thrust 
his  face  in  at  the  door,  horribly  distorted  with 
terror  and  bad  news,  and  cried  out,  "  Buzbee's 
red  bull,  missis,  has  just  busted  into  the  corn, 
and  our  sheep  has  just  busted  out  of  the  long- 
lot  into  Buzbee's  woods — and  the  devil's  to  pay 
all  over  the  farm !" 

"  There's  more  work  for  you,  Drudge  !" 

"  Oh  yes !"  rejoined  that  gentleman,  adopt- 
ing his  customary  reply  when  he  had  nothing 
better  to  say. 

"  Why  didn't  you  look  after  that  fence  ?  I  told 
you  Buzbee's  bull  would  be  over  before  a  week's 
time.  And  why  hav'n't  you  penned  the  sheep, 
as  I  ordered  you  a  month  ago  ?" 

The  heavy-headed  boy  here  returned  and  in- 
terposed. 

"  I  forgot  to  say,  missis,  that  the  storm  last 
night  'as  washed  away  the  little  barn — and  mis- 
sis' carriage  is  buried  in  Blind  brook,  half  full 
of  mud,  and  two  thirds  o'  water." 

"  My  God !"  cried  Mrs.  Drudge,  in  a  sudden 
paroxysm  of  anxiety,  "  I  thought  it  would  be  so, 
Drudge,  I  thought  it  would  be  just  so.  You 
wouldn't  move  that  barn  further  up  on  the  bank 
— no,  you  wouldn't — though  you  might  have 
done  it,  if  you'd  strained  yourself  a  little,  with 
Moe's  help.  Good  heavens !  I'm  afraid  the 
carriage  is  ruined,  and  I  wanted  to  use  it  tliis 
very  day — good  Lord  !" 

« I  think  it  might  be  got  out,  missis,"  con- 


DISASTERS  OF  OLD  DRUDGE. 


73 


tinued  the  heavy-headed  youth,  if  Mr.  Drudge 
would  be  so  good  as  to  give  me  a  lift."  The 
heavy-headed  youth  smiled  profoundly,  as  if  he 
thought  it  would  be  a  very  brilliant  stretch  of 
fancy  to  suppose  for  a  moment  that  Mr.  Drudge 
could  escape  the  necessity  of  furnishing  his  as- 
sistance, manual  and  bodily. 

"  Drudge,  do  you  hear !"  cried  his  sweet-tem- 
pered spouse,  "  go  along  with  Moses,  and  help 
him  get  the  carriage  out,  this  instant !" 
.     Moses  had  left  the  room.     "  Moses  !"  shout- 
ed Mrs.  Drudge,  "  Moses  !" 

"  Here,  ma'am,  here  I  be,"  responded  the 
youth,  pushing  a  segment  of  his  broad  face  over 
a  corner  of  the  lintel. 

"  You  may  help  Drudge  a  little  whUe,  Moses, 
only  five  minutes,  be  back  here  by  that  time.  I 
want  you  to  cut  some  'spai'agus  to  put  in  the 
front  parlor,  and  a  nosegay  for  the  fireplace — 
I  expect  aunt  and  sister  to  tea,  Moses,"  she 
concluded,  bestowing  a  bland  smile  upon  the 
heavy-headed  juvenile. 

Moses  and  Mr.  Drudge  thereupon  departed, 
the  latter  muttering,  as  he  turned  a  corner  of 
the  liouse,  a  fervent  prayer  for  the  immediate 
demise  and  interment  of  the  amiable  lady  whom 
he  had  just  left.  As  they  crossed  the  fields  on 
their  way  to  the  scene  of  labor,  Drudge  was 
the  first  to  open  a  conversation  with  his  com- 
panion. 

"  Underhill,"  said  he,  "  have  you  got  the 
money  by  you  for  those  muskrat  skins  ?" 

"  No,  I  hav'n't  just  now,"  replied  the  boy, 
"  Fields  told  me  if  I'd  come  over  to  the  tanyard 
to-morrow  he'd  settle  with  me." 

"  And  what  have  you  done  with  the  bag  of 
fresh  feathers  ?" 

"  Them — why,  put  them  aboard  the  market- 
wagon.  I  expect  you'll  have  returns  by  next 
Tuesday,  or  the  day  arter,"  responded  the  youth, 
with  a  very  intricate  and  complicated  expression 
of  countenance,  which  might  have  been  con- 
strued to  mean  half-a-dozen  things  at  once. 

"I  want  that  money  very  much,"  said 
Drudge,  partly  to  himself  and  partly  to  his 
companion.  "  There's  Quimby's  bill,  on  the 
P'int,  and  John  Merritt's  account  for  clothing, 
ought  to  be  paid  the  first  time  I  go  to  Plumpitts." 

"  I  think  they  ought,  by  all  means,"  echoed 
master  Moses  Underhill,  with  the  same  ambi- 
dexter look. 

They  had  now  reached  Blind  brook,  and  dis- 
covered the  family  carriage  up  to  its  waist  in 
the  middle  of  the  channel,  the  water  dashing 
over  its  dark  top  like  that  of  some  huge,  black 
monster  which  was  struggling  for  its  life  up  the 
stream. 

"  Moses,"  said  Drudge,  after  surveying  it  for 
a  moment,  ''■  you'll  have  to  strip  and  go  in." 

«  Catch  me  !"  exclaimed  master  Moses,  re- 
treating backward  up  the  bank,  "  if  you  say 
two  words  about  that  again.  Drudge,  I'll  go 
home  and  tell  missis,  and  then  you'll  catch  it  I 
reckon !" 

Mr.  Underhill  accompanied  this  tender  threat 
with  a  complacent  grin,  which  had  the  singular 


efiect  of  throwing  old  Drudge  into  a  violent 
fever,  which  lasted  some  three  minutes  and  a 
quarter. 

"  Well,  Moses,"  said  he  at  last,  finding  the 
youth  intractable,  "  I  suppose  I  must  do  it  my- 
self, or  else  (lowering  his  voice)  there'll  be  the 
devil  out  of  the  pit  to  pay  up  at  the  house  !" 

Diiecting  his  companion  to  bring  a  coil  of 
rope  and  a  couple  of  lengths  of  rail,  old  Drudge 
stripped  stark  naked  and  plunged  in. 

The  first  discovery  he  made  was,  that  Blind 
brook  was  some  two  feet  deeper  than  he  had 
imagined,  and,  consequently,  over  his  head. 
His  first  movement  after  making  this  pleasant 
discovery  was  to  grasp  the  limb  of  a  tree  which 
overhung  the  stream.  This  he  succeeded  in 
doing,  and  sustained  himself  by  it  some  five  min- 
utes, bawling  all  the  time  to  Moe  Underhill  for 
help  ;  and  when,  at  length,  that  charming  youth 
came  forward  to  his  assistance,  his  zeajl  and  eager- 
ness to  rescue  Mr.  Drudge  were  so  overpowering 
that  he  rushed  headlong  against  the  tree  from 
which  that  gentleman  was  suspended,  with  such 
precipitancy  as  to  shake  Mr.  Drudge  directly  in- 
to the  water  as  if  he  had  been  a  shrunken  russet- 
in-apple,  in  want  of  nothing  but  moisture.  At 
the  very  moment  when  he  fell,  a  heavy  swell 
of  the  freshet  came  tumbling  and  raging  down 
the  brook,  and,  striking  Mr.  Drudge  obliquely 
over  the  shoulder,  carried  him  under ;  he  rose 
for  a  minute  to  the  surface,  and  threw  out  his 
hands  convulsively  toward  the  outstretched 
limb,  Mr.  Moses  Underhill  ran  up  and  down 
the  bank,  shouting  to  him  to  "  dive  for  the 
coach  !" — when  a  second  billow,  heavier  than 
the  first,  rushed  upon  him  and  bore  him  from 
the  sight.  The  injunction  of  Moe  Underhil  (in 
whatever  spirit  it  was  given)  was  not  lost  upon 
the  submerged  Drudge,  for,  aiming  with  con- 
siderable skill,  he  succeeded  in  permitting  him- 
self to  be  borne  in  at  the  carriage-door,  which 
was  swung  open  by  the  tide.  Shortly  after,  a 
long,  melancholy-looking  head  was  put  out  at 
the  top  of  the  coach-door,  and  Moses  discovered 
that  old  Drudge  stood  upon  the  back  seat  of  the 
family  carriage,  and  was  safe. 

After  waiting  something  like  an  hour,  until 
the  swoUen  torrent  had  subsided.  Old  Drudge 
and  his  companion  renewed  their  attempt,  and, 
with  many  struggles,  by  the  aid  of  rope  and 
crowbar  and  bar-post,  they  succeeded  in  roll- 
ing the  carriage  upon  the  bank — the  greater 
share  of  the  labor  falling,  of  course  (out  of  def- 
erence to  his  years),  upon  the  patient  Mr. 
Drudge. 

In  the  course  of  a  couple  of  hours  more,  the 
carriage  was  cleaned  and  partially  dried,  and 
stood  before  the  door  awaiting  Mrs.  Drudge's 
orders.  The  horses  that  were  harnessed  to  it 
were  a  notable  couple,  being  sorrel  twins,  hav- 
ing long,  ghastly  necks,  short  tails,  and  punchy 
bodies,  with  small  mouths  and  mournful  eyes ; 
and,  to  complete  their  character,  lean  and  fee- 
ble, with  a  look  of  over-work  and  ill-usage. 

"  Drudge  !"  screamed  the  amiable  female 
bearing  that  name,  standing  in  the  door  and  di- 


74 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


reeling  a  withering  glance  towards  Mr.  Drudge, 
who  was  slowly  shambling  up  the  lane  com- 
pletely exhausted  and  toil-worn.  "  Drudge, — 
I  want  you  to  get  in  the  carriage  and  go  down 
to  Plumpitts  at  once  !" 

"  Oh  yes  \"  said  the  poor  man,  meaning  "  oh 
no,"  a  thousand  times  repeated  with  an  em- 
phasis. 

"  Get  in  immediately,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
want."  Drudge  mounted  in,  almost  mechani- 
cally, under  the  talismanic  influence  of  that  in- 
exorable voice.  "  And  now  turn  the  key, 
Moses  :  there — sit  still  now,  Drudge,  and  mind 
me?" 

These  words  had  been  accompanied  by  the 
closing  of  the  carriage-door,  the  insertion  of  an 
iron  key  in  a  lock  attached  lo  the  same  (which 
Mrs.  Drudge  had  placed  there,  knowing  old 
Drudge's  propensity  to  indulge  in  potations  and 
forget  his  errands  when  he  visited  the  thirsty 
and  drinking  village  of  Plumpitts)  and  Mr. 
Drudge's  assuming  a  quiet,  martyr-like  demea- 
nor, as  if  he  had  been  put  in  jail  and  expected 
every  minute  to  be  brought  out  to  instant  exe- 
cution. 

"  In  the  first  place.  Drudge,  you'll  get  me  a 
pound  of  Mr.  Slimfink's  best  tea — best  young 
hyson :  try  it  yourself.  Drudge,  you're  a  good 
judge  of  tea,  Joel,  though  you  don't  get  it  but 
once  a  week !" 

"  Oh  yes  !"  murmured  Drudge,  softly. 

"You  needn't  get  out  there;  Slimfink  will 
bring  a  sample  to  the  door,  I  gave  him  direc- 
tions when  I  was  there  last  about  that.  Next, 
Drudge,  you'll  go  over  to  Wringold's  shop,  and 
purchase  two  yards  of  his  small  spotted  calico — 
just  in.  Mind  Drudge — small  spotted  red 
calico — spots  very  small. 

**  Can't  he  get  me  a  new  jacket,  missis,  while 
he's  there  ?"  suggested  Moe  Underbill  from  the 
box  seat,  smiling  pleasantly  on  his  mistress. 

"  You  deserve  a  jacket--don't  you — you  vil- 
lain, for  minding  me  so  weU  this  morning,  and 
coming  back  in  just  five  minutes.  You  good- 
for-nothing,  you  ought  to  have  the  jacket  you've 
got  on  well-trimmed,  instead  of  a  new  one. — 
And  Drudge,  you  can  stop  at  Slimfink's  as  you 
come  back,  and  buy  me  seven  pounds  of  Havana 
sugar,  and  a  quarter  of  starch ;  and,  mark  me 
(raising  her  fist  clenched  in  warlike  fashion), 
don't  you  venture  to  leave  the  carriage  till 
you've  made  every  one  of  the  purchases  !  Pur- 
chase by  the  sample,  Drudge,  and  let  'em  un- 
derstand you  pay  in  silver  !" 

The  sorrel  twins,  now,  after  repeated  admo- 
nitions from  a  whip  in  the  hand  of  Mr.  Moses 
Underbill,  succeeded  in  getting  themselves  in 
motion.  The  carriage  wheels  had  scarcely  re- 
volved more  than  twice  or  three  times,  before 
the  voice  of  Mrs.  Drudge  was  heard,  calling 
after  them,  and  the  person  of  Mrs.  Drudge  was 
seen  in  pursuit  of  the  vehicle.  Moe  Underbill, 
ajlowed  her  to  enjoy  a  delightful  little  trot  on 
the  highway  before  he  condescended  to  arrest 
his  promising  span. 

"  Stop,  Moses,  stop,  stop,  stop !"  cried  Mrs. 


Drudge,  in  an  ascending  musical  voice.   "Here'a 
the  key  :  you've  forgotten  the  coach-door  key  !" 

At  length  she  overtook  the  fugitive  vehicle,   * 
and  handed  the  key  up  to  the  youthful  worthy 
on  the  driver's  seat,  "  Do  you  hurry  back,  Moses, 
to  cut  that  asparagus  and  make  that  nosegay." 

"  Yes,  misses,  I'll  make  you  a  very  nice  nose-       ^ 
gay  when  I  come  back — a  very  nice  one,"  an-        ^ 
swered  Mr.  Underbill.     Whether  he  ever  lived 
to  come  back  and  make  that  nosegay  is  a  matter      . 
about  which  the  reader's  mind  will  be  placed  • 
perfectly  at  rest  at  the  sequel. 

"  Drudge !"  cried  his  amiable  spouse  once 
more,  conveying  her  little  sharp  face  and  vicious 
gray  eyes  inside  of  the  carriage  window.  "  You 
may  bring  me  a  bunch  of  black-fish,  if  Tom 
Haddock  has  any  fresh  from  the  water :  and 
don't  you  get  out  till  you've  brought  the  fish  as 
you  value  your  life ; — and  as  for  the  starch — 
recollect — it's  for  my  own  personal  collars,  and 
not  for  yours — so  you'll  get  first  quality." 

Hereupon  Mrs.  Drudge  departed,  Mr.  Drudge 
fell  back  in  his  seat  from  the  awful  state  of  sus- 
pense in  which  he  had  listened  to  the  last  in- 
junction of  his  charming  lady,  and  the  carriage 
trundled  or  crawled  along  the  road. 

They  travelled  on  quietly  at  a  moderate  pace 
for  the  first  mile  and  a  half  of  the  distance  to 
Plumpitts,  when  suddenly,  as  they  were  turning 
a  corner  of  the  road  and  driving  close  by  the 
side  of  a  stone-wall,  Moe  Underbill  was  shot 
softly  from  the  carriage-box  over  the  fence  and 
landed  on  his  feet,  in  the  neighboring  field. 
Old  Drudge  was  slumbering  at  the  moment,  but 
waking  up  a  little  while  after  and  Jooking  out 
at  the  window,  he  discovered  a  heavy-headed 
apparition  bearing  a  marvellous  general  resem- 
blance in  outline  and  movement  to  Mr.  Moses 
Underbill,  scudding  rapidly  across  the  fields. 
It  was,  however,  only  the  thought  of  a  moment 
with  Drudge — and  as  the  sorrel  twins  made  no 
such  discovery,  they  journeyed  forward  at  their 
old  pace  the  same  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
At  length,  they  reached  the  brow  of  Plumpitts' 
hill,  and  feeling  no  restraining  hand  at  the  rem 
they  scampered  down  the  declivity  in  lively 
style,  like  a  span  of  runaway  spectres;  and 
rushed  into  the  village  with  the  old  family  car- 
riage clattering  at  their  back,  at  such  speed  as 
to  bring  the  best  part  of  the  population  into  the 
road,  and  the  remainder  to  their  doors  and  win- 
dows. 

The  horses  being  without  guidance  aimed  for 
a  public  horse-trough,  in  the  centre  of  the  vil- 
lage, at  which  they  had  a  chance  of  obtaining 
a  few  stray  oat-grains,  left  there  by  more  fortu- 
nate and  better-fed  quadrupeds  that  came  to 
water. 

The  eyes  of  every  adult  inhabitant  of  Plum- 
pitts were  levelled  forthwith  at  the  family  car- 
riage of  Mrs.  Drudge,  which  was  well  known  in 
the  village;  and  on  the  discovery  of  Mr.  Drudge 
in  one  corner  of  the  same,  conversation  like  the 
following  arose :  ^ 

"  Ah !  ha  ! — there's  Tishy's  private  prison 
again,  and  her  poor-travelling  jail-bird  !"    said 


^^ 


DISASTERS  OF  OLD  DRUDGE. 


75 


an  idle  tailor,  who  had  abandoned  his  shop- 
board  and  gathered  with  a  group  of  men  and 
women  in  front  of  the  post-office. 

"  How  old  Drudge  is  beginning  to  look !" 
rejoined  the  post-master's  wife,  with  her  hands 
under  her  apron.  "  Upon  my  word  he  looks 
ten  years  older  than  uncle  Si  Purdy — and  he's 
sixty  last  Christmas,  ten  o'clock  at  night !" 

"  Enough  to  make  a  man  look  old,  madam," 
said  the  tailor,  who  was  a  consequential  little 
personage  with  a  figurative  turn  of  mind  and  a 
firm  expression  of  mouth,  "  to  be  riding  about  like 
a  lobster  in  a  stew-pan  with  the  lid  on,  in  that 
horrid  box  of  Tishy  Drudge's.  If  I  was  Joel 
Drudge  I'd  kill  her — yes  !  I'd  maul  her  to  death : 
I'd  hold  her  up  to  the  sun  on  a  three-pronged 
pitchfork,  and  toast  her  to  a  cinder  and  go  into 
a  regular  state-prison  at  once  as  an  incendiary ! 
I'd  commit  some  dreadful  crime — that  would  I — 
rather  than  be  confined  in  that  close  crib.  It 
breaks  a  man's  spirits  like  pie-crust,  such  a 
thing  does  !  He  can't  work — he  can't  do  any- 
thing— he  can't  pay  his  debts  !  it  incapaci'ates 
him !" 

The  name  of  this  tailor  happened  to  be  John 
Merritt,  and  the  reader  will  at  a  thought,  dis- 
cover the  happy  pertinency  and  deep  feeling 
with  which  these  remarks  must  have  been  de- 
livered. 

"  Why,"  said  Tom  Haddock,  the  fisherman, 
who  had  paused  with  his  wagon  in  front  of  the 
post-office,  to  join  in  the  conversation,  "  he's 
just  as  silly  in  there — Old  Drudge  is — as  a  con- 
sumptive mackerel,  in  my  big  fish-car.  But 
where,  in  the  name  of  the  great  Striped  Bass 
that  Bill  Horley  caught  last  week,  where  is  Moe 
Und'rill  ?  I  saw  the  carriage  come  rattlin'  in, 
without  pilot  or  helmsman,  or  a  man  at  the 
sculls,  as  I  was  crossin'  the  P'int.  *  There 
must  be  something  the  matter,'  says  I  to  Harry 
Shaddle,  '  or,  you  may  depend  on  it,  the  boy 
would  have  hold  of  the  tiller !'  " 

"You  say  truly,  Thomas,"  said  the  tailor, 
"  something  must  be  the  matter,  or  Moses  Un- 
derbill would  be  in  his  place  on  the  carriage 
seat.  Joel  Drudge  couldn't  have  driven  the 
horses  down,  sitting  inside  the  vehicle,  unless 
his  neck  was  as  long  as  a  crane's  and  he  had 
arms  to  match  !  Underbill  is  a  wild  youth  and 
may  have  pitched  himself  headlong  from  the 
seat  out  of  despair  !" 

"  What  the  devil  would  he  do  that  for  ?"  ask- 
ed Tom  Haddock. 

"  Because  his  master  can't  pay  his  honest 
debts  ?"  answered  Mr.  Merritt. 

"  That's  more  than  likely,"  said  a  small,  thin- 
shouldered  old  man,  with  a  pair  of  smart,  spark- 
ling eyes  that  constantly  gave  the  lie  to  the  rest 
of  his  countenance,  which  was  dull,  heavy  and 
devoid  of  meaning.  "  That's  more  than  likely, 
for  didn't  Dolly  Hiedlebrook's  cat  hang  herself 
in  a  boot-jack,  because  her  mistress  got  too 
poor  to  keep  a  cow  ?" 

"  Cats  love  cream,  and  Moses  UnderhiU  loves 
money,  and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  had 


'  got  off  and  drowned  himself  out  of  mere  re- 
spectability," added  Mr.  Merritt.  "  It  isn't  re- 
spectable for  a  man  to  owe  a  tailor's  bill." 

"  It  isn't,  Mr.  Merritt — by  no  means  it  isn't, 
and  Tishy  Drudge  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  her- 
self for  not  keeping  her  husband  in  good  clothes 
and  them  paid  for — her  owning  as  she  does — the 
Hum'stead — and  ready  moneys  out  at  interest 
too !"  asserted  the  postmaster's  lady,  with  an 
air  of  virtuous  indignation. 

"  He  shall  pay  mine,  I  know !"  cried  the  lit- 
tle tailor,  in  as  towering  a  passion  as  a  little 
tailor  can  be  supposed,  by  the  liveliest  stretch 
of  imagination,  capable  of  elevating  himself  to. 
"  If  it  costs  me  all  the  thread  and  thimbles  in 
my  shop — and  a  year's  beeswax  too — I'll  bring 
him  up  to  the  mark.  John  Merritt  won't  be 
trifled  with  any  longer." 

"  You're  right,  Merritt,"  said  the  thin-shoul- 
dered man.     "  I  wouldn't  submit  to  it !" 

"  Merritt !  Merritt !  who  are  you  talking 
to  ?"  asked  the  little  tailor,  ferociously,  looking 
down  from  the  eminence  to  which  the  tempest 
of  passion  had  whirled  him.  "  My  name  is  Mr. 
Merritt — Mr.  John  Merritt !" 

While  this  dialogue  was  passing,  a  new  per- 
sonage was  approaching  the  grand  centre  of  at- 
traction— Mrs.  Drudge's  family  carriage.  This 
was  a  broad-built,  heavy  gentlemen  on  horse- 
back, with  a  marvellously  well-developed  per- 
son, presenting  about  the  same  breadth  of  sur- 
face to  the  eye,  from  whatever  point  he  might 
be  viewed :  whether  from  the  north,  the  south, 
the  east,  or  the  west.  In  a  word  it  was  Harry 
Shaddle,  the  fat  landlord  of  the  tavern  on  the 
Point.  He  rode  up  to  the  window  of  the  carriage 
and  looking  in,  exclaimed,  "  What,  Joel,  in  the 
old  squirrel  cage  again ! — Why  ar'n't  you  out,  and 
trotting  down  to  the  P'int  to  take  a  cup  with  us  ? 
eh !  solitary  confinement's  dry  work  as  the  gad-fly 
thought  when  he  was  corked  in  an  ounce  vial !" 
With  this  the  portly  landlord  gave  a  hearty 
laugh,  which  shook  not  only  his  own  wide  do- 
main of  flesh  but  even  reached  the  nag  upon 
which  he  was  riding,  and  nearly  shook  the  lit- 
tle animal  off  his  legs.  This  self-same  laugh 
had  made  his  fortune.     "  Where's  Moe  ?" 

«  Where  is  the  boy  ?"  cried  Drudge,  after 
thrusting  his  head  out  of  the  carriage,  and  now, 
for  the  first  time,  investigating  the  driver's  seat. 

"  I  heard  that  you  come  in  without  a  driver, 
Joel,  or  else  the  Old  One  was  setting  up  there 
unsight,  unseen — for  your  horses  did  come  down 
the  hill,  as  if  they  had  the  very  devil  at  their 
heels !" 

"  I'm  afraid  the  boy's  thrown  off  and  killed — 
my  God !  what  will  Tishy  say  ?"  exclaimed 
Drudge,  elevating  his  hands  and  eyebrows  and 
speaking  from  the  very  bottom  of  his  ventricle. 
"  I  thought  I  saw  him  pitched  from  the  seat, 
but  it's  like  a  dream." 

«  Oh,  don't  disturb  yourself,  my  old  boy,  I 
don't  believe  Moe's  dead — or  like  to  be  :  he 
knows  too  much  for  that.  But  have  you  heard 
the  news,  Joel  V* 


76 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


« jj-Q— what  news  ?  nothing  dreadful  I  hope." 

"Nothing  very  dreadful:  only  Quimby's 
broke  and  blown  up  on  the  P'int,  as  I  prophe- 
sied. I  knew  he  couldn't  last  long  again'  the 
Old  Stand  with  Harry  Shaddle  behind  the  coun- 
ter— though  a  few  of  his  friends  flew  off  to  the 
new  perch — and  you  among  the  rest,  Joel,  I'm 
sorry  to  say  !— Quimby's  blown  up  like  a  smack 
with  a  pound  of  gunpowder  in  the  hold,  and  a 
dropsical  vagabond  on  deck  :  a  limb  of  the  poor 
devil  is  scattered  here  and  a  limb  there.  Here 
his  rotten  liver  and  lights  ;  there,  a  decayed  leg 
— and  for  his  brains — the  harbor-master  may 
find  them  if  he  can  and  lay  a  duty  on  'em  !" 

"He  has  made  a  sad  time  of  it !" 

"Yes;  he's  exi>loded  entire,  and  made  an 
assignment  out  and  out ;  whereby  he  assigns 
and  sets  over  to  Smith  Plevin — assignee,  at- 
torney and  creditor  in  chief — five  live  topers,  a 
row  of  broken-necked  brandy  bottles,  an  uncol- 
lected account  against  Joel  Drudge,  Esq.,  a  pair 
of  musty  boots,  two  odd  slippers,  a  tap-room 
without  a  customer,  and  a  fishing  boat  without 
a  bottom !" 

"  Smith  Plevin's  the  assignee,  is  he  ?"  asked 
Drudge,  with  a  pretty  thorough  knowledge  of 
the  character  of  that  same  Smith  Plevin. 

"Yes,  Smith  is  the  assignee — and  devilish 
tight  work  he'll  make  of  some  of  you ! — You'd 
better  fight  shy  of  Plumpitts,  for  he'll  be  sure 
to  snap  you  up  the  first  time  he  catches  you  in 
the  county !" 

With  this  friendly  caution  Harry  Shaddle 
;touched  his  whip  to  his  horse — and  rode  off, 
sitting  erect  in  his  stirrups,  and  trying  to  make 
a  spectacle  of  himself,  as  every  fat  man  does, 
and — to  the  credit  of  their  efforts  be  it  spoken — 
they  generally  succeed !  Old  Drudge  threw  him- 
self back  in  the  carriage,  and  began  to  cogi- 
tate with  all  his  power  of  mind  (which  was  by 
no  means  unlimited)  over  Quimby's  unsettled 
bill — and  the  fate  of  Moses  Underhill — striving 
to  devise  some  plan  to  pay  the  one  and  imagine 
what  had  become  of  the  other,  when  he  sud- 
denly descried  a  man  and  a  boy  approaching 
by  one  of  the  cross  roads  that  led  into  the  vil- 
lage, and,  at  the  same  moment,  two  other  men 
advancing  on  the  other  side,  from  the  opposite 
extremity  of  the  same  road. 

He  soon  discovered  that  the  former  were  Mr. 
Smith  Plevin,  the  attorney,  and  Moe  Underhill ; 
and  the  latter,  John  Merritt,  in  company  with 
a  man,  whose  person  was  unknown  to  Drudge. 
Smith  Plevin,  was  a  middle-sized  man,  with  a 
hard  livid  countenance,  without  a  drop  of  blood, 
and  a  low,  bony  forehead,  made  to  look  still  more 
villanous  by  having  his  stiff  bkck  hair  combed 
down  over  it. 

"  You  are  my  prisoner  !"  said  this  personage, 
stepping  up  to  the  carriage  with  a  heavy  bun- 
dle of  papers  in  his  left  hand,  thrusting  his 
right  hand  in  at  the  coach  window  and  grasp- 
ing old  Drudge  rudely  by  the  collar. 

"  You  lie,  sir,  he's  mine !"  shouted  a  voice 
from  the  opposite  side  of  the  vehicle,  and  another 


hand  was  placed  at  the  same  instant  upon  the 
collar  of  Drudge's  coat. 

"  Haul  him  out,  law  or  no  law !"  cried  a 
second  voice  from  the  same  quarter.  "  Drag 
him  out,  Mr.  Skinnings — drag  him  out — like  a 
weasel  from  an  egg-basket ! — he  has  owed  my 
biU  long  enough,  and  I  will  have  satisfaction, 
cost  what  it  may." 

At  this  peremptory  direction,  which  proceeded 
from  Merritt  the  tailor,  his  companion  gave 
Drudge  a  violent  jerk,  and  attempted  to  pull 
his  person  through  the  window  of  the  vehicle. 

"  Hold  there,  Skinnings,  or  you'll  get  in  trou- 
ble !"  bawled  Smith  Plevin.  "  You've  been 
breaking  the  man's  close— /rawgi^  clausum. 
Stir  an  inch  further  and  I'll  bring  an  action  for 
him  myself!  He's  our  prisoner!"  and  Mr, 
Smith  Plevin  twitched  the  body  of  old  Drudgt. 
with  great  energy  towards  himself.     "  You're  a 

malefactor y  a  plagiendo,  and  d d  fool,  Smith 

Plevin !"  shouted  Skinnings,  "  and  you  may 
take  that  as  your  counsel-fee  in  this  case  !"  and 
he  passed  a  pound  weight  of  hard  knuckles  to 
the  account  of  the  small  ribs  of  Attorney  Plevin. 

"  See  that,  Moses!"  cried  Plevin,  with  quiver- 
ing lip  and  knees  that  quaked  with  apprehension. 
"  An  assault,  with  intent  to  kill !  mark  that,  Un- 
derhill !  you're  good  evidence — over  fourteen,  I 
believe,  Moses  ? — understand  the  nature  of  an 
oath?" 

"  Yes,  sir  !'*  answered  master  Moses,  readily, 
"  yes,  sir !" 

"  All  right,"  said  the  attorney,  withdrawing 
his  hold  from  Drudge's  collar,  "  that's  the  sec- 
ond case  I've  picked  up  to-day  :  now  get  your 
prisoner  out,  if  you  can,  Skinnings  !" 

In  accordance  with  Plevin's  ironical  advice, 
Skinnings  first  tried  the  carriage  door ;  finding 
that  impregnable,  he  next  attempted  to  draw 
Drudge's  body  out  at  the  carriage  window,  but, 
after  several  strenuous  trials,  he  discovered  that 
it  was  impossible  to  get  more  than  the  head  of 
the  terrified  debtor  through,  and,  as  his  writ  re- 
quired and  authorized  him  to  take  "  his  body," 
he  was  obliged  to  abandon  the  attempt. 
Meantime,  Smith  Plevin  stood  by,  indulging  a 
sarcastic  laugh,  punching  Moe  Underhill  with 
the  end  of  his  law-papers,  and  inviting  him  to 
observe  the  "  smart  practice  of  Sim  Skinnings, 
the  best  lawyer  in  the  county  !"  When  Skin- 
nings withdrew  ftom  the  carriage, muttering  "it 
wouldn't  be  safe  to  break  the  cursed  old  door  ! 
— let's  see  what  this  bright  young  attorney  has 
got  to  do."  Plevin  stepped  forward  with  a  com- 
placent smirk  on  his  countenance,  and  placing 
his  hand  upon  the  coach-door,  turned  toward 
Moe  Underhill,  and,  smiling,  said,  "  Moe,  ad- 
vance with  yoTir  iron  argument,  in  other  words, 
bring  the  key.  I  think  we'll  introduce  a  doc- 
ument here  that  will  eflectually  remove  this 
stupid  plea  in  bar." 

At  this  summons,  Mr.  Moe  Underhill  inserted 
his  right  hand  in  his  right  breeches-pocket ;  and 
it  is  singular  what  a  wonderful  effect  that  sim 
pie  insertion  produced  on  the  whole  expression 


DISASTERS  OF  OLD  DRUDGE. 


TT 


of  the  boy's  broad  face;  his  lower-jaw  fell,  his 
cheeks  were  monstrously  elongated,  and  he,  all 
at  once,  looked  strikingly  like  a  Shaker  in  a 
brown  study. 

His  hands  immediately  and  swiftly  penetrated 
into  every  conceivable  pocket  about  his  person ; 
he  cross-questioned  every  nook  and  corner  of 
his  clothing,  and  subjected  his  hat  and  boots  to 
a  series  of  most  searching  interrogatories. 

The  universal  and  stunning  return  from  ev- 
ery quarter  was  an  unmitigated  non  inventus, 
so  that  Master  Moses  Underbill  had  enjoyed 
a  beautiful  travel  on  foot,  of  some  half-doz- 
en miles  in  the  bracing  country-air,  over  to 
,  the  capita]  of  the  county,  and  noti- 
fied Smith  Plevin  that  "  Now  old  Drudge  was  to 
be  caught  out  of  his  own  county" — all  to  no  pur- 
pose. The  horrid  reflection  crossed  his  mind, 
that  he  might  have  lost  the  key  in  jumping  from 
the  carriage,  or  in  his  scamper  over  the  fields. 

That  this  enterprising  young  gentleman  might 
not  be  alone  in  his  peculiar  style  of  face,  Mr. 
Plevin  obligingly  drew  out  his  countenance  to 
the  requisite  length,  and  stood  opposite  Moe 
Underbill  with  a  responsive  extent  and  sadness 
of  feature.  At  this  moment,  to  increase  the 
joys  of  the  worthy  couple.  Drudge  suddenly 
assumed  a  scruple  of  courage,  and,  thrusting 
his  red  visage  out  of  the  coach,  familiarly 
charged  Moe  Underbill  with  being  "  a  thief 
and  a  runaway !" 

To  which  the  boy  familiarly  returned,  *'  Hush 
your  jaw,  you  old  victim  !  Fll  have  my  pay 
out  of  you  yet,  for  the  beatin'  you  guv  me  last 
Thanksgivin'-day  \" 

That  no  single  incident  might  be  wanting  to 
complete  the  overwhelming  catastrophe,  Mr.  Sim 
Skinnings,  at  this  juncture,  marched  up  to  Mr. 
Smith  Plevin,  and  with  a  determined  manner  said, 
"  Sir,  you  were  insolent,  just  now  !"  and,  with- 
out further  parley,  Mr.  Skinnings  commenced 
an  active  assault  on  the  person  of  the  aforesaid 
Mr.  Plevin.  Now,  Skinnings  was  a  taU  man, 
with  an  immoveable  face,  which  looked  as  if  it 
had  been  carved  out  of  seasoned  pine-timber,  or, 
rather,  as  if  all  his  features  had  been  tied  up, 
very  early  in  life,  in  a  hard  knot,  and  he  had 
found  it  impossible,  ever  since,  to  disentangle 
them.  He  therefore  formed  no  very  pleasant  or 
playful  belligerent,  and,  accordingly,  began  to 
drub  his  little  antagonist  horribly  at  arm's- 
length.  Plevin,  who,  although  not  framed  ex- 
actly on  the  heroic  model,  had  some  sparks  of 
manhood  in  him,  thought  the  game  altogether 
too  much  on  one  side,  and  hastily  imagining  that 
the  bargain  would  be  vastly  improved  by  intro- 
ducing a  second  party  into  it,  plunged  his  head 
directly  into  the  waistcoat  of  Mr.  Skinnings, 
and  commenced  plying  his  arms  up  and  down 
into  the  face  of  that  eminent  gentleman,  in  a 
parallel  line  like  the  pistons  of  an  engine ;  and 
Mr.  Skinnings  began  to  batter  the  dorsal  pos- 
sessions of  Mr.  Plevin,  with  a  high,  long  sweep 
of  his  arms,  after  the  manner  of  a  smith's  largest 
Bledge-hammer. 


Mr.  Skinnings  would  have  inevitably  suc- 
ceeded in  breaking  in  sundry  ribs  of  his  antag- 
onist, had  it  not  been  for  a  fortunate  bill  in 
chancery,  of  a  monstrous  solidity  and  thick- 
ness, which  was  slumbering  in  the  little  law- 
yer's hind  coat-pocket ;  and  Plevin  would  have 
undoubtedly  disfigured  the  face  of  Skinnings 
had  he  not,  in  an  early  stage  of  the  attempt 
made  his  knuckles  sore  by  knocking  against 
the  hard  bronze  thereof.  While  this  profes- 
sional battle  was  proceeding,  and  general  at- 
tention was  attracted  to  its  progress.  Drudge 
thought  it  afforded  a  good  opportunity  for  him 
to  attempt  a  release  from  his  imprisonment. 
With  this  purpose,  he  cautiously  put  his  head 
out  of  one  of  the  openings  of  the  windows,  and, 
shrinking  his  body  to  its  smallest  dimensions, 
endeavored  to  coax  it  through.  He  succeeded 
in  passing  it  as  far  as  his  third  rib,  by  forcible 
struggles,  and  there,  for  some  time,  he  hung,  nei- 
ther able  to  advance  nor  recede,  like  a  rash 
pickerel  that  has  been  caught  in  a  net,  and, 
plunging  into  one  of  the  meshes,  imagines  it 
may  glide  through — fixed  midway,  its  glassy 
eyes  looking  out  upon  a  glorious  prospect  of  es- 
cape, while  its  tail  and  the  better  part  of  its 
body  quiver  and  wriggle  with  all  the  horror  of 
confinement  and  fruitless  toil !  At  length,  by 
a  sudden  wrench.  Old  Drudge  succeeded  in  re- 
storing himself  to  his  former  position  on  the 
back  seat  of  the  carriage — and  there  he  sat, 
shaking  with  the  dampness  of  his  prison — and 
shaking  as  if  his  only  remaining  chance  of  en- 
franchisement lay  in  bursting  his  prison  to, 
pieces  by  the  violence  of  his  tremors. 

During  all  this  time  the  combatants  kept 
steadily  at  their  business — growing  more  heat- 
ed and  furious  every  minute.  Suddenly  a  cry 
of  "  fire  !  fire !"  was  heard  in  the  upper  part 
of  the  village,  and  the  village  engine  was  seen 
rattling  along  the  main  street,  and  bearing  down 
directly  upon  the  mob,  gathered  about  Plevin 
and  Skinnings,  and,  without  a  moment's  delay, 
it  began  playing,  under  the  direction  of  Tom 
Haddock,  upon  the  belligerent  attorneys.  The 
thumping  of  the  engine-arms,  the  clamors  of  the 
mob,  and  the  shouts  of  the  brawny  fishermen, 
alarmed  the  hitherto  quiet  sorrel  twins  of  Mr. 
Drudge,  and  thinking,  perhaps,  they  had  tarried 
long  enough  in  the  disagreeable  village  of  Plum- 
pitts,  they  wheeled  about,  and  clattering  past 
the  mob,  just  in  time  for  Old  Drudge  to  receive 
a  discharge  of  the  engine-pipe  upon  his  person, 
they  scampered  off"  up  Plumpitts'  hill,  on  the 
road  to  the  Homestead. 

Through  these  various  events,  the  day  had  gli- 
ded nearly  to  its  close.  Large,  heavy  shadows 
began  to  fall  from  the  trees  by  the  roadside, 
and,  crowding  nearer  together,  and  dilating 
more  and  more  every  moment  as  the  sun  rapid- 
ly declined,  they  darkened  the  track  upon  which 
the  driverless  horses  were  travelling.  Now  and 
then  the  shadow  of  a  locust  or  wild-cherry-tree, 
that  stood  solitary  in  the  centre  of  a  field  would 
blink  in,  like  some  monstrous  goblin,  at  the 


78 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


window  of  the  carriage,  and  remind  its  occu- 
pant that  night  was  swiftly  approaching.  A 
tree-toad  or  cricket  would  repeat  the  tidings  in 
a  doleful  voice,  and  Old  Drudge,  trembling  with 
the  chilliness  of  his  prison  and  apprehension  of 
some  peril  or  other,  chattered  in  reply. 

They  passed  a  swamp — and  the  wind  came 
sighing  and  roaring  through  it  like  a  mad  devil, 
and  a  swollen  stream  rushed  dismally  through 
the  tufts  of  dark  grass  and  bog-weeds.  Just  as 
he  had  fairly  passed  this  gloomy  spot,  he  heard  a 
rattling  noise  upon  the  roof  of  the  coach,  as  if  the 
branches  of  some  overhanging  tree  were  raking 
over  it.  He  put  out  his  head,  timidly,  to  discov- 
er what  it  was — and  received  a  violent  stroke 
from  some  unseen  object  obliquely  over  the  face. 
Thinking  it  might  have  been  a  straggling 
limb,  as  soon  as  he  recovered  from  the  shock, 
he  thrust  his  face  out  of  the  opposite  window. 
Again  he  received  a  stroke,  heavier  than  the 
first,  and  a  gruif  voice  exclaimed,  "  Now  out  of 
the  other !"  Poor  Drudge,  terrified  and  trem- 
bling, and  not  daring  to  disregard  the  behest  of 
the  invisible,  fearfully  exhibited  his  head  from 
the  other  window.  A  third  blow  made  his  sconce 
ring  again — and  the  voice  bawled,  "  Now  the 
other !"  He  obeyed  again — thwack ! — thwack ! 
— thwack !  and  a  shower  of  violent  blows  rained 
about  his  ears  and  face  until  they  brought  blood. 
This  game  was  kept  up  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
— when  the  voice  dismounted,  and,  thrusting 
into  the  carriage,  whispered  grimly,  "  Moe 
Und'rill's  compliments  to  Mrs.  Tishy  Drudge, 
and  tell  her  she  can  roast  you  for  Thanksgivin', 
as  you've  been  pounded  tender !"  A  smart  suc- 
cession of  sharp,  quick  strokes  lit  upon  the 
backs  and  flanks  of  the  sorrel  brethren,  and 
they  hurried  away  as  if  they  thought  Mrs. 
Drudge  herself  was  at  their  heels. 

This  unusual  speed  soon  brought  them  to  the 
door  of  the  Homestead,  and,  in  attempting  to 
turn  rapidly  into  the  large  gate  that  led  to  the 
corn-crib,  they  overturned  the  disastrous  and 
ill-fated  vehicle.  At  the  point  which  they  had 
selected  for  its  overthrow,  there  was  a  huge, 
sharp-cornered  rock,  planted  there  to  guard  the 
gate-posts,  and  the  overturn  was  accompanied 
with  a  loud  crash.  The  work  of  the  moment 
accomplished  the  grand  purpose  of  the  day ;  it 
shivered  one  of  the  carriage-doors,  and  left  Old 
Drudge  sprawling  at  the  opening,  with  one  leg 
sticking  out  of  the  opposite  window  in  mid  air. 
The  sudden  display  of  a  light  at  the  door  of  the 
house  startled  the  animals,  which  had  stopped 
and  stood  stock-still  when  the  catastrophe  oc- 
curred ;  they  moved  forward  a  few  steps,  and 
Old  Drudge  was  detected  crawling  forth. 

Bruised,  frightened,  and  hungry  as  he  was, 
he  was  glad  to  hobble  up  stairs  and  sneak  sup- 
perless  to  bed,  rather  than  encounter  one  of 
those  domestic  tempests  which  had  so  often 
rattled  about  his  head,  and  given  him,  although 
not  an  aged  man,  the  aspect  of  a  weather-beat- 
en sea-captain,  and  the  familiar  title  of  Old 
Drudge. 


THE  UNBURIED  BONES. 


"  Lost  Beauty,  I  will  die, 
But  I  will  thee  recover." 
Sir  R.  Fanshaw^s  QuERER  For  Solo  Querer. 

About  midway  between  Long  island  sound 
and  the  Hudson,  there  is  a  glooomy  ravine  called 
Dark  Hollow,  which  ploughs,  as  it  were,  a  broad 
and  deep  furrow  between  two  high  ridges  of 
land.  The  Hollow  itself  is  filled  with  sombre 
woods,  and  constitutes  a  sort  of  legendary  womb 
of  earth,  in  which  tradition  has  for  many  years 
bred  its  monsters ;  supplying  the  neighborhood 
with  a  brood  of  as  lusty  and  good-for-nothing 
fables,  as  gossip  could  wish  to  chirp  over  at  a 
winter's  fireside.  Among  others,  there  is  the 
story  of  the  spectre  of  the  stranger  that  was 
drowned  in  the  neighboring  pond  (whose  body 
was  never  discovered),  walking  in  this  dim  val- 
ley in  his  sleeves,  with  his  yellow  vest  thrown 
open,  with  one  short  boot  and  one  long  one,  and 
without  a  hat,  just  as  he  appeared  before  his 
fishing-boat  was  overturned — the  very  costume 
in  which  he  went  to  the  bottom. 

Then  there  was  the  Yankee  that  hung  him- 
self on  the  great  black  walnut-tree,  by  the  brook, 
with  an  empty  cider  flask  in  his  pocket,  and  whose 
ghost  has  so  unquenchable  a  thirst,  that  it  has 
been  heard,  any  time  the  last  twenty  years,  cry- 
ing (in  a  thick  voice,  and  apparently  half-over 
seas)  for  "  more  cider  !"  and  "  another  pull  at 
the  jug — only  one  more !"  and  to  the  thirsty 
propensities  of  which  ghost,  the  owners  of  the 
land  below  the  Hollow  attribute  the  frequent 
dryness  that  afflicts  the  channel  of  the  brook. 

Then,  on  the  side  of  the  Hollow,  and  under 
the  shelter  of  rugged  and  sturdy  oaks,  that  clam- 
ber up  in  the  dim  light,  as  if  eager  to  breathe 
a  purer  air,  lies  nestling,  away  from  the  obser- 
vation of  the  keenest  eye.  Gaby's  Hole ;  a  mys- 
terious nook,  in  which,  the  story  goes,  a  gang 
of  hardy  counterfeiters,  many  years  ago,  estab- 
lished a  mint,  and  spouted  forth  thence,  as 
from  a  fountain,  their  streams  of  impure 
coinage. 

It  is  said  that  ruffian  forms  are  even  now 
sometimes  seen  flitting  about  the  mouth  of  the 
Hole,  and  that  the  glare  of  lawless  fires  lit 
up  so  long  since,  is  in  cloudy  nights  reflected 
against  the  sky.  The  noise  of  hammeis,  too, 
often  mingles  with  the  puffing  of  a  huge  bel- 
lows, and,  combined,  they  startle  the  damp 
cricket  from  liis  low  pallet  on  the  earth,  and 
the  fire-bug  from  his  light-house  elevation  in 
the  mountain  pine. 

It  was  near  this  haunted  region,  and  reclining 
on  a  slope  of  the  opposite  ridge,  that  Francis 
Whortle  gazed  into  the  Hollow.  It  was  a  sum- 
mer's afternoon  and  he  had  lingered  on  that  par- 
ticular spot,  thus  questioning  the  depths  of  the 
mysterious  realm,  he  knew  not  why,  for  several 
hours. 

There  was  something  in  his  past  history  that 
might  explain  this  brooding  habit,  which  was 


THE  UNBURIED  BONES. 


70 


wont  to  seize  and  bind  him  as  with  a  spell  by 
the  side  of  running  streams,  in  the  twilight  of 
thoughtful  sunsets,  or  beneath  the  melancholy 
boughs  of  mighty  trees. 

Francis  Whortle  was  a  youth  in  the  very 
prime  and  spring-time  of  life,  and  yet  clouds 
came  and  passed  across  his  brow  as  if  it  had  been 
that  of  an  aged  man,  or  one  on  the  remotest 
verge  of  suffering  and  care-stricken  manhood. 
The  story  of  his  sorrow  was  simple  enough, 
though  with  a  touch  of  almost  romantic  singu- 
larity. He  had  loved  a  beautiful  girl — and,  as 
he  thought,  had  won  her  affection  in  return ; 
when,  suddenly,  and  without  any  hint  or  token 
of  such  an  event,  she  had  vanished  from  the 
neighborhood — vanished  like  a  spirit,  none 
could  tell  at  what  precise  moment,  from  what 
spot,  nor  whither.  Hope  exhausted  itself  in 
hoping,  and  dreaming  visions  of  her  return,  and 
Invention  fell  dead  at  the  anxious  feet  of  the 
bereaved  man's  friends — but  she  never  more 
came  back.  At  night  a  light  form,  beautiful 
with  the  hue  and  the  grace  of  youth,  stood  often 
at  his  bedside,  and  smiled  upon  him  with  a  deli- 
cate finger  on  its  dewy  lips — and  vanished  si- 
lent and  smoothly  as  the  air.  Spring  came,  the 
bright  season  of  expectation  and  promise,  and 
still  she  tarried.  Summer  perished  in  the  deep- 
green  woods  and  was  buried  beneath  the  Au- 
tumn leaves,  yet  the  lost  one  was  not  found. 
Thus  time  chased  hour  on  hour,  and  the  skies 
smiled  and  threatened,  and  after  long  lingering, 
the  swallow  and  the  pigeon  returned  them  their 
strange  absence  far  away,  but  the  sweet  girl 
came  not  in  their  track,  returned  not  to  haunt 
her  own  familiar  dwelling  nor  to  build  her 
bower  under  the  calm  old  eaves  of  her  child- 
hood's home.  From  the  hour  of  that  sad  disap- 
pearance, Whortle  had  yielded  himself  to  an 
unseen  influence  which  led  him  about  from 
place  to  place,  as  in  a  dream.  From  that  mo- 
ment he  had  rambled  hither  and  thither,  through 
wood  and  field,  and  placing  himself  on  some 
chosen  spot,  with  the  soft  meadow-brook's  mur- 
mur in  his  ear,  or  the  gentle  sound  of  waving 
branches,  he  would  strain  forward  with  an 
eager  gaze  and  anxious  look,  as  if  he  awaited 
the  sudden  presence  of  the  vanished  Creature 
from  earth  or  air. 

So  busy  was  his  brain  with  the  image  of  the 
lost  one,  so  nimble  and  restless  his  fancy  in 
forging  comfort  for  his  poor,  lone  heart,  that 
every  object  in  nature  at  times  assumed  the 
fairy  shape  and  seemed  to  walk  forth  from  amid 
surrounding  things,  palpable  to  the  eye,  fresh 
and  lovely  as  in  the  moment  before  she  had 
gone  for  ever.  That  young  man's  single  grief 
brought  back  for  a  time  all  the  fair  "  humanities 
of  old  religion,"  and  often  in  the  deep  Avood  he 
started  at  a  gentle  form  gliding  swiftly,  like  a 
dryad,  before  his  view ;  or  gazed  wildly  on  a 
sweet  face  smiling  responsive  to  his  own  from 
the  untroubled  fountain,  a  nymph-like  counte- 
nance, perishing  with  the  first  breath  of  the 
gazer.  It  had  become  his  sole  employment  to 
people  all  the  fields,  and  meadows,  and  mar- 


gins, and  woodland  glades,  with  the  spiritual 
likeness  of  his  vanished  mistress. 

With  this  hope  warm  at  his  heart  he  peered 
earnestly  into  the  deepening  shadows  of  the 
Hollow.  In  a  few  moments  an  airy  and  grace- 
ful shape  sprang,  as  if  from  the  covert  of  a 
wild  vine  ;  it  was  the  accustomed  gentle  form  ; 
it  turned  its  face  upon  the  lover ;  it  smiled — 
and — as  the  young  man  lives — it  beckons  him 
from  his  lofty  seat.  He  doubts — it  pauses — a 
sorrowful  look  darkens  its  fair  countenance — 
again  it  smiles  and  renews  the  token.  This 
time  he  will  not  doubt  nor  waver.  He  gains 
his  feet,  and  with  unusual  speed  hurries  after 
the  fair  apparition.  Within  a  few  paces  of 
her,  however,  he  slackens  his  steps,  and  follows 
in  awe  and  wonder.  Straight  through  the 
Counterfeiters'  dark  defile  she  takes  her  way, 
without  hindrance  from  stone,  bush,  or  tree  : 
following,  as  he  may,  he  pursues  her  till  she 
winds  through  a  clump  of  tall,  gloomy  trees, 
and  steps  out  upon  an  open  space.  He  has 
stumbled  but  once,  and  that  was  a  little  way 
back,  upon  a  rusted  spade,  standing  against  the 
remains  of  an  old  forge  or  rural  fire-place.  The 
gentle  apparition  crosses  the  glade;  she  reaches 
a  white  object  that  stands  out  boldly  against 
the  dark  earth,  and  turning  once  more  upon  him 
with  a  sad  smile,  she  melts,  like  a  dew  or  a 
snow-flake  into  the  earth.  For  a  moment  he 
pauses  like  one  who  has  seen  some  strange  ob- 
ject in  sleep ;  but  quickly  surmounting  fear  and 
wonder,  he  hastens  to  the  spot  where  the  vis- 
ionary Creature  was  lost  to  his  gaze,  with  a 
I  high  hope  beating  at  his  heart,  and  rising  up 
I  and  looking  out  at  his  gleaming  and  eager  eyes. 
I  He  discovered  a  mouldering  heap  of  bones,  and 
I  as  his  eye  wandered  about  here  and  there,  they 
;  fell  upon  something  that  glimmered  in  the  grass : 
;  a  quick,  faint  splendor,  as  of  some  lightning- 
I  bug  or  cricket  trailing  about  his  little  lantern 
\  from  one  blade  or  one  green  hillock  to  another. 
I  But  it  shone  too  steadily  for  their  transitory 
I  light,  and  as  his  thoughts  were  fixed  upon  it  as 
I  if  it  had  been  the  lurking  eye  of  a  serpent,  he 
j  stooped  and  took  it  in  his  hand.  It  was  a  plain 
I  gold  ring,  soiled  slightly  by  the  weather,  and, 
with  the  inscription  "  Ruth  Greenleaf."  Hold- 
ing the  relic  in  his  hand,  he  stood  like  one  lost 
in  revery,  gazing  by  turns  on  it  and  on  the 
mouldering  bones  at  his  feet. 

Where  he  had  found  the  ring  the  fragment 
of  an  arm-bone  lay,  but  the  hand  to  which  it 
had  belonged  was  crumbled  and  gone.  He  now 
!  felt  that  he  was  standing  by  the  mortal  remains 
j  of  the  fair  creature  who  had  disappeared  so 
I  long  ago,  and  borne  with  her  his  heart  into  the 
deep  forest.  It  too  had  mouldered  like  the 
bones  before  him ;  though  it  had  a  living  tomb, 
his  own  breast.  The  apparition  had  guided 
him  kindly  to  this  spot  to  fulfil  a  sweet  and 
sacred  duty :  the  burial  of  these  fair,  white 
relics.  How  she  had  perished  there,  in  that 
strange,  lone  place,  he  could  not  guess ;  whether 
i  by  swift  stroke  of  lightning,  by  serpent's  poison 
;  tooth,  by  the  sharp  pointed  pain  of  sudden  mal- 


80 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


ady,  or  by  a  deadly  hand.  The  last  seemed 
probable,  and  he  thought  at  once  that  she  had 
been  murdered  by  the  ruffian  counterfeiters, 
upon  whose  guilty  labor  she  may  have  come  in 
some  one  of  her  girlish  rambles  through  the 
gloomy  hollow.  They  had  slain  her  lest  she 
should  disclose  their  hiding-place,  and  had  fled. 
The  disordered  condition  in  which  he  had  ob- 
served Gaby's  Hole,  as  he  passed  rapidly 
through  it,  strengthened  and  justified  this  dim 
conjecture.  But  though  she  had  lain  long  in 
the  chill  air,  while  the  green  trees  were  looking 
down  upon  her  and  shaking  their  green  glories 
in  vain  as  a  shroud  over  her,  the  hour  of  her 
sepulture  had  come.  Kneeling  at  the  foot  of 
the  relics,  and  breathing  forth  a  brief  prayer, 
Whortle  stepped  back  a  little,  and  returned  with 
a  rusty  spade  in  his  hand.  Selecting  a  spot  on 
which  the  sunlight  fell  in  the  pleasant  hours  of 
the  day,  and  where  no  gloomy  nor  ill-boding 
tree  cast  its  shadow,  he  struck  his  spade  into 
the  mould.  As  he  delved  the  earth,  many 
thoughts  swelled  into  his  heart  and  moistened 
his  eyes. 

Here  have  you  lain  and  crumbled,  thought 
he,  while  I  have  lived  framing  idle  fables, 
dreaming  vainly  over  the  past,  and  questioning 
the  future.  The  soft  spring-shower  descends, 
and  the  wild-rose  takes  off  its  infant  mask  in 
the  meadow,  and  discloses  its  blushing  face  to 
the  sun,  and  air,  but  in  vain  have  those  gentle 
drops  fallen  on  you,  pale,  passionless  relics. 
The  Winds  and  the  Elements  have  swept  the 
earth,  and  the  air,  and  the  waters  quickening 
all  things  into  life;  but  you,  even  the  loud 
thunder  has  passed  by,  and  left  dull,  slumbrous, 
and  motionless  as  ever.  Here  the  fresh  dawn 
has  poured  its  ray,  and  kindled  voices  and  har- 
monies without  number  in  the  breast  of  this 
wild  wood ;  silent,  mournful,  and  dismantled  it 
has  found,  and  left  you,  once  the  glorious  resi- 
dence of  speech  and  music.  Shrunken  from  a 
fair  and  fruit-like  beauty,  where  all  eyes  once 
dwelt,  you  have  rested  here — visited  by  all 
things  in  nature — the  wind,  the  sunbeam,  the 
shower  and  the  evening  glory,  unknown,  hon- 
orless,  and  unadored.  With  emotions  and  fan- 
cies like  these  he  shaped  the  grave. 

Simple  as  was  the  whole  scene,  it  was  a  sub- 
ject for  the  painter's  finest  pencil — for  it  was 
tinged  with  many  colors  of  the  true  sublime. 
A  spade,  a  youth,  and  a  few  crumbling  bones. 
What  is  there  in  these  to  awaken  deep  feeling 
or  reverential  thought  ?  It  is  a  spiritual  pic- 
ture in  the  midst  of  busy  life.  On  the  high 
ridge  they  are  gathered  with  the  setting  sun 
streaming  full  upon  them,  while  on  one  side 
husbandmen,  joyous  with  the  spirit  of  plenty, 
are  turning  their  winrows  ;  on  another,  nearer 
by,  on  the  margin  of  the  pond,  a  boisterous 
group  are  dragging  their  well-laden  fish-net 
ashore,  blessing  Fortune  and  the  favoring  tide. 
Beyond  the  hollow,  up  on  the  by-road  that  pas- 
ses through  the  woods,  a  country  school  is  just 
let  loose,  and  Childhood  tumbles  with  its 
satchel  and  sportive  face  into  the  open  air,  and 


looks  up  laughingly  to  the  clear  sky.  And 
there  into  that  neat  farm-house,  with  its  newly- 
painted  front,  a  troop  of  weddeners  is  hastening. 

On  Whortle  delves,  and  the  grave  is  finished. 
Gently  he  lays  the  relics  in  its  bosom,  and  ere 
he  casts  back  the  damp  earth  on  its  kindred 
earth,  he  stands,  leaning  on  his  simple  com- 
panion in  the  labor,  and  gazes  long  and  earnest- 
ly down  into  the  hollow  mould. 

He  has  buried  the  hallowed  bones,  and  plant- 
ed an  evergreen  at  their  head,  and  as  the  mel- 
low light  of  the  dying  day  streams  through  the 
trees,  borrowing  a  new  hue,  to  add  to  its  thou- 
sand colors,  from  them,  he  turns  his  steps  mourn- 
fully away,  as  if  he  had  laid  his  own  heart  there 
with  his  mistress'  dust. 


PARSON   HUCKINS'S   FIRST 
APPEARANCE. 

At  the  close  of  a  day  in  the  early  part  of 
autumn,  a  small-built  gentleman,  in  a  black  ^ 
suit  and  snowy  neckerchief,  was  sitting  in  the 
desk  of  Chatham  chapel,  with  his  head  resting 
upon  his  folded  hands.  From  the  tall  side-win- 
dows, the  purple  shadows  of  evening  fell  upon 
his  person,  and  thronged  about  his  elevated 
place  of  repose,  as  if  they  would  bury  him  en- 
tirely from  the  gaze.  The  whole  vast  body  of 
the  building  began  to  be  filled  with  darkness 
and  gloom,  and  the  different  objects — the  pews 
— the  galleries  and  aisles,  were  blended  togeth- 
er, and  assumed  whatever  shapes  the  fancy 
chose  to  give  them.  The  black-clad  gentle- 
man, the  sole  tenant  of  this  realm  of  shadows 
and  confusion,  was  the  >!Kev.  John  Huckins,  a 
righteous  man  of  God,  who  was  born  with  the 
happiest  possession  that  one  who  intends  to  /' 
make  piety  the  business  of  his  life  can  faU  heir 
to,  and  that  was,  an  indescribably  meek  and 
evangelical  length  of  feature.  He  was,  at  the 
present  time,  the  clergyman  of  a  Christian  con- 
gregation that  worshipped  in  the  chapel,  and 
atthe  particular  moment  when  he  is  introduced 
to  the  reader,  was  reposing  after  the  fatigues 
of  the  afternoon  Wednesday  service,  and  at  the 
same  time  awaiting  the  attendance  of  a  few 
professors  on  a  prayer-meeting,  which  was  to 
be  held  there  preparatory  to  an  evening  dis- 
course. In  the  slumber  which  he  was  enjoying, 
images  of  past  scenes — of  times  long  bygone — 
vanished  away,  far  away  in  the  dim  regions  of 
youth,  mingled  with  the  events  and  things  and 
creatures  of  yesterday,  and  at  length  he  dreamed 
that  the  very  chapel,  in  which  he  was  seated, 
was  touched  by  the  strange  magic  of  sleep,  and 
was  passing  through  one  of  those  wild  and  wiz- 
ard changes  which  occur  only  in  dreams.  He. 
beheld  before  him  two  beings,  with  something 
mortal  in  their  garments  and  bearing,  mixed 
with  more  that  was  unearthly  and  spectral  in 
their  look  and  the  tones  of  their  voice. 

On€  was- short  and  round-shouldered,  with  a 


t^ 


PARSON  HUCKINS'S  FIRST  APPEARANCE. 


81 


long-waisted  roundabout  on,  and  the  other  a 
pale  meager  figure,  with  sweat  upon  his  brow, 
which  seemed  as  if  it  might  be  the  death-damp, 
which  he  had  neglected  to  wipe  away  in  his 
hurried  emergence  into  light.  They  both  busied 
themselves  in  unhinging  the  pew-doors,  and 
with  huge  piles  of  them  upon  their  shoulders — 
far  greater,  it  seemed,  than  mere  mortals  could 
stagger  under — they  tottered  down  the  aisles, 
and,  disappearing  at  the  preacher's  feet,  return- 
ed in  a  few  minutes  empty-handed,  and  bore 
away  a  second  load.  While  they  were  engaged 
in  this  singular  task,  they  now  and  then  inter- 
changed a  word  with  each  other. 

"What  do  we  have  to-night?"  asked  the 
yound-shouldered  man. 

"pie  «  Devil's  Due  JBiU,» "  answered  his 
comp^Iiimn  - 

"  What !  '  The  Devil's  Due  Bill  Honored'— 
in  which  old  Roberts  is  so  capital  in  Wiggle  ?" 

"  The  same,  the  very  same !"  returned  the 
meager  figure,  "  and  I  thank  Heaven  we've  got 
possession  again.  It  was  a  shame  to  let  these 
canting  dogs  bark  so  long  in  old  Chatham ;  and 
I  could  not  lay  easy  in  my  grave  till  I  helped 
get  up  another  good  old  piece  in  her  walls !" 

"  You're  right.  Bill — prompter  snuif  me  out 
if  you  a'n't !"  assented  the  roimd-shouldered 
personage.  "I  wonder  if  they'll  all  be  here 
to-night  ?" 

"  The  whole  company,  in  full  force,  you  may 
depend  upon  it,  and  we'U  go  through  it  in  less 
time  than  we  ever  did  before — music  and  all — 
take  my  word  for  it." 

When  they  had  completely  disposed  of  the 
doors,  they  commenced  sacking  the  pews  them- 
selves, and  carried  off  the  red  and  brown  cush- 
ions, muttering,  "  Bare  benches  is  good  enough 
for  the  half-price  bottoms  of  the  pit !"  After 
this  they  swept  the  hymn-books,  testaments, 
&c.,  which  they  found  on  the  pew-shelves,  in- 
I  to  a  green-baize,  and  hurried  them  away  with 
•  the  same  eagerness,  grumbling  forth  something 
)r  other  about  the  "  saints  in  the  playhouse  !" 

WhUe  these  two  personages  were  engaged 
in  this  way,  as  many  as  half-a-dozen  sallow- 
looking  men  were  perched  about  the  floor  of 
the  building,  on  ladders,  with  painters'  jackets 
on,  and  employed  in  swiftly  executing  miniature 
scenes  from  Shakspere  and  other  dramatists, 
on  the  naked  panel- work  of  the  galleries.  In 
the  meanwhile,  hammers  were  plying  in  every 
quarter  of  the  house ;  nails  were  drawn  and 
driven,  parts  of  the  building  taken  down  and 
parts  renewed,  with  all  the  dexterity  and  des- 
patch of  jugglery.  Presently,  all  the  artisans 
disappeared,  whither,  no  one  could  guess  ;  and 
Huckins,  astonished  at  what  he  saw,  and  every 
moment  expecting  some  greater  wonder,  now 
discovered  men  and  women  in  gay  dresses, 
laughing,  and  full  of  frolic,  entering  the  first 
gallery,  while  instead  of  the  humble  believers 
and  penitents  whom  he  had  expected  to  detect 
creeping  up  the  aisle  to  prayer-meeting,  whole 
hosts  of  robust  sinners,  and  boisterous  boys  and 
'prentices  poured  in  upon  the  floor  of  the  house, 
F 


and  took  possession  of  the  seats  directly  before 
his  face.  In  a  moment  more  he  heard  the  faint 
tinkling  of  a  bell,  and,  turning  round,  discovered 
an  immense  curtain,  with  the  picture  of  a  huge 
woman,  with  flowing  robes  and  a  yellow  crown 
on  her  head,  rolling  gradually  toward  the  ceil- 
ing ;  and  now,  for  the  fiirst  time,  as  he  took  his 
seat  among  the  spectators,  the  conviction  en- 
tered his  mind  that  he  was  in  Chatham  theatre, 
a  wild,  wicked  boy,  yet  with  some  germes  of 
childish  innocence  and  purity  blossoming  about 
his  heart,  and  not  the  hard,  hypocritical  mai^, 
seemingly  holy  and  pure  in  outward  act,  while 
all  within  was  barrenness,  guile,  and  a  dull,' 
gloomy  heathendom.  The  first  scene  that 
opened  upon  the  audience,  exhibited  what 
seemed  to  be  the  committee-room  of  a  church, 
in  which  were  assembled  some  seven  or  eight 
men,  transacting  business  connected  with  their 
of&ce  of  trustees  or  deacons.  In  dress  and  de- 
meanor they  resembled  men  with  whom  Huck- 
ins was  familiar,  although  their  size  and  linea- 
ments in  some  respects  were  diflerent.  The 
prominent  personage  of  the  group  was  a  turtle- 
shaped,  middle-sized  man,  with  a  brown  wig 
and  wrinkled  countenance,  expressive  of  a  dog- 
matic£il  temper  and  sturdy  self-will. 

"  It  shall  be  so !"  cried  this  magnate,  striding 
up  and  down  the  stage,  and  fiourishing  a  heavy 
walking-stick.  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
that  point,  gentlemen.  He  has  the  genuine 
evangelical  spirit,  I  am  confident,  and  that's 
enough  for  me." 

"And  for  me,"  added  a  second  committee- 
man. "  He's  not  a  bad  speaker,  too,  for  I  sat 
beneath  the  back  gallery,  and  heard  distinctly 
every  word  that  he  uttered." 

"  I  stationed  myself  behind  a  post,"  said  a 
third,  "  and  took  the  exact  gauge  of  his  voice. 
It  is  a  high  tenor,  and  suits  an  oblong,  low- 
roofed  building  like  ours,  exactly.  He  has  my, 
vote." 

"  The  spirit  is  all  that  is  needed,"  rejoined 
a  fourth,  "the  pious,  Bible  spirit.  This  is 
arms,  legs,  and  voice,  to  a  godly  preacher." 

"  You  are  right,  my  friends,"  resumed  the 
first  speaker,  smiling  complacently  upon  his 
supporters,  "  very  right,  and  if  he  had  a  voice 
as  rough  as  the  Rocky  mountains — " 

«  But  consider,  Mr.  Huff","  interposed  a  tall, 
lantern-faced  man,  "  we  have  learned  from  his 
confidential  servant.  Wiggle,  that  he  writes  his 
sermons  in  an  overcoat,  with  his  hat  on,  and  a 
small  bundle  always  packed  up  and  lying  on 
his  table.  He  isn't  in  the  missionary  service 
and  liable  to  be  summoned  away  to  Burampoo- 
ter  or  Burmah  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  what 
do  all  these  travelling  preparations  mean  ?  Eh  ?" 

«  Genius  !"  answered  Mr.  Huflf,  peremptori- 
ly. "Genius  and  the  Holy  Ghost!  Look 
what  a  face  he  has,  too.  Why  the  exhibition 
of  that  face  alone  at  the  gate  of  heaven  would 
"obtain  his  instant  admission.  It's  the  face  of 
a  cherub,  Higgs !" 

"  As  Higgs,  my  senior  partner,  says,"  began 
a  timid  little  man,  who  was  rather  short  of 


/ 


82 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


wind,  and,  consequently,  always  cut  short  in 
his  attempted  observation,  as  in  the  present 
case.     "  Wiggle,  his  confidential — " 

"  Vexation  take  Wiggle  !"  cried  Mr.  Huff. 

"Gentlemen,  shall  we  put  it  to  vote?    Are 

you  ready  ?"    In  a  few  minutes,  after  the  cir- 

j         culation  of  a  respectable  black  beaver   hat 

*^,         among    the  members   of  the   committee,   the 

"     »        Rev.  John  Huckins  was   announced  as  duly 

elected  pastor  of  the Church. 

The  previous  astonishment  and  wonder  of 
the  parson  was  not  a  little  increased  at  behold- 
ing his  own  election  thus  passing  before  his 
eyes,  very  much  in  the  same  manner  as  it  must 
have  passed  in  private,  when  he  was  a  candi- 
date before  these  self-same  gentlemen,  who 
were  thus  mysteriously  presented  to  him  in  the 
full  possession  of  their  official  functions. 

The  scene  now  shifted,  and  in  the  place  of 

the  deacons  in  their  committee-room,  Huckins 

[  /        beheld    the  parlor  of   a  respectable   private 

^     1    dwelling  in  which  were  assembled  about  twenty 

females,  of  all  ages,  old,  young,  and  many  in 

^the  middle  period  of  life. 

What  a  powerful  4iscourse  !"  exclaimed 
one  of  them,  a  large  woman,  with  an  ugly  ex- 
pression of  countenance. 

"So  earnest,  too!"  said  a  young  lady. 
"Brother  George  counted  the  strokes  of  his 
arm  upon  the  cushion,  and  thinks  he  rose  a 
hundred  in  the  course  of  his  sermon :  besides 
the  two  prayers.     He  is  a  divine  preacher  \" 

"  This  fiery  zeal  of  his  will  keep  us  busy  fur- 
nishing pulpit  covers  it  is  true,"  said  an  aged 
female,  "  but  the  Lord  be  blessed  !  my  eyesight 
continues  good,  and  my  right  hand  hath  not 
yet  forgot  its  cunning  :  I  can  be  serviceable  to 
the  church  even  in  my  old  age  in  this  matter. 
Smite  the  sinner  like  a  strong  man,  and  we'll 
supply  the  red  damask,  or  plush  of  good  quali- 
ty, as  long  as  the  Lord  continues  our  brother 
in  the  ministry." 

"  I  propose,"  said  the  large  lady,  "  that  we 
make  the  Reverend  John  Huckins  a  life  mem- 
ber of  the  '  Pottawatomy  Society,'  and  that  a 
committee  be  named  to  wait  upon  the  distin- 
guished gentleman  to  notify  him  of  his  election, 
and  request  him  to  deliver  a  series  of  discour- 
ses, on  the  importance  of  clothing  juvenile  In- 
dians in  slops  and  dickies,  in  aid  of  the  funds 
of  the  Pottawatomy  Association  !"  This  motion 
was  unanimously  carried,  and  the  large  lady 
was  named  as  said  committee.  Much  further 
general  conversation  occurred,  followed  by  a 
scriptural  banquet  of  hot  rolls  and  preserves, 
and  the  "  Society"  dispersed  to  their  respective 
residences. 

To  his  utter  astonishment,  the  next  scene 
represented  a  room,  in  every  respect  correspond- 
ing with  his  own  study  ;  and  to  his  great  hor- 
ror, he  felt  himself  suddenly  lifted  from  his 
seat  in  the  pit,  and  by  some  unseen  agency 
placed  by  the  side  of  a  small  table  upon  the 
stage  and  fronting  the  gaze  of  an  immense  au- 
dience. In  a  moment  after  his  abrupt  metem- 
psychosis from  the  pit,  a  little  man  in  a  buff  com- 


plexion and  buff-colored  pantaloons  to  match  a 
bob-tailed  coat  and  skull-cap,  with  a  brown  loaf 
under  one  arm,  and  a  bowl  in  his  hand,  entered,  * 
with  a  comic  salutation  to  the  audience  and  an 
irresistible  grin  on  his  visnomy,  and  was  greeted 
on  his  appearance,  as  if  he  were  a  favorite  per- 
former. It  was  Roberts,  Old  Roberts,  the  droll 
and  comedian  of  Old  Chatham  theatre,  and 
Huckins  at  once  recognised  in  him  one  of  the 
actors  whom  he  had  seen  on  that  same  stage 
many  long  years  ago  when  a  boy.  The  char- 
acter which  this  quaint  performer  at  present 
personated,  was  that  of  the  confidential  servant 
of  the  Rev.  John  Huckins,  over-  whom  he 
seems  to  have  possessed  a  singular  mastery, 
which  he  had  an  equally  singular  mode  of  ex- 
hibiting. % 

"  WeU,  Wiggle,"  said  Huckins,  constrained 
by  some  mysterious  influence  to  take  part  in  the    . 
play  that  was,  or  seemed  to  be,  performing,: 
"  Salary,  three  thousand — house-rent  free,  be^i 
sides  an  open  account  with  every  member  of  L-^ 
the   congregation.     That's  a  handsome  busiy 
ness  !" 

"  Rather  handsome,  I  should  say !"  replied 
Wiggle.  "  Summ'at  better  than  looking  through 
a  noose,  like  a  starved  steer  through  an  ox-yoke, 
in  this  fashion."     And  running  a  rapid  noose 
in  his  pocket-handkerchief,  he  threw  it  over 
the  head  of  the  Reverend  gentleman,  and  drewT 
it  up  till  his  face  reddened  like  an  autumnal " 
sunset,   while   the   audience    encouraged    the 
manoeuvre  by  the  most  clamorous  applause. 
"  There,"    continued    Wiggle,    loosening    his  ^ 
halter,  "  I'll  let  you  off  this  time,  but  mind,  I'm 
to  have  twenty  per  cent,  and  marriage  fees  !" 

"I  thought,"  returned  Huckins,  "it  was  to- 
be  the  naked  twenty  per  cent.     Nothing  was 
said  about  the  fees  before."  '• 

"  Oh,  the  fees — I  must  have  the  fees,  or  do ' 
you  see,"  said  Wiggle,  knocking  the  parson's 
broad-brinmied  hat  over  his  eyes,  "you'll  be 
furnished  with  a  night-cap  that  admits  no 
waking,  and  when  it's  drawn  on  you,  go  to  sleep 
for  good  and  all." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  parson,  "  take  your 
own  way,  but  be  careful  and  not  a  word  about 
the—" 

"  A— r— " 

"  Hush,"  said  Huckins,  "  don't  breathe  the 
word  in  this  hemisphere,  or  we're  done  for !" 

"  You  must  pay  me  the  fees  too,"  continued 
the  remorseless  Wiggle,  "  as  you  receive  them. 
They're  generally  paid  in  gold,  and  there's  a 
premium  you  know.     D'ye  understand  ?" 

And  to  awaken  Mr.  Huckins  to  a  lively  per- 
ception of  what  he  meant,  he  punched  him 
playfully  in  different  parts  of  the  person,  and 
concluded  by  placing  his  hand  gathered  like  a 
trumpet  at  his  ear,  and  uttering,  in  a  portent- 
ous whisper,  the  word  "  Arson  !" 

Now  whether  the  terror  and  paleness  which 
invariably  afflicted  Huckins  at  the  mention  of 
this  dissyllable  arose  from  the  retrospect  and 
reminiscence  of  some  past  conflagration  in 
which  he  had  participated,  or  from  his  looking 


^ 


tW' 


PARSON  HUCKDJS'S  FIRST  APPEARANCE. 


ss 


(y-l 


e 


forward,  wilh  prophetic  eye,  to  the  "  great 
burning,"  in  which  he  might,  perhaps,  reason- 
ably expect  to  participate  more  deeply,  it  would 
not  be  wise,  to  conjecture  at  this  early  stage  of 
the  business. 

"Do  you  think  there's  the  slightest — the 
faintest  chance  of  detection  ?"  gasped  Huckins. 

"None  at  all,  not  as  much  as  would  convict 
a  grasshopper  of  wearing  pumps,  I  warrant 
you,  if  you'll  keep  your  face  stretched  out  to  the 
right  length.     Do  you  practise  as  I  told  you  ?" 

"  Yes  twice  a  day." 

"  Mornin'  and  evenin'  I  suppose,  before  a 
glass.  You'd  better  stretch  it  in  a  boot-jack 
than  let  it  dry  and  shrink  up — for  you'd  look 
like  the  very  devil  if  it  wajsn't  for  that  smooth 
face  of  yours.  Jack." 

"  You  haven't  said  anything  of  the  overcoat 
and  so  forth — have  you  ?"  asked  Huckins. 

"  Only  hinted  a  little  of  it  to  Higgs,  one  of 
the  committee — who  was  rather  unfavorable  to 
your  election — thinking  it  might  give  him  an 
idea  of  what  a  great  preacher  you  was,  and 
what  wonderful  talent  you  had  to  write  your 
sermons  in  a  box-coat!" 

"  Be  careful.  Wiggle — for  Higgs  is  a  sharp, 
keen  man,  and  already  suspects  something: 
and  it's  safest  to  be  ready  for  travel  at  short 
notice,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  By  all  means.  Be  prudent,  JJod  wa'llXeather 
our  nests  and  fill  our  pockets  out  of  these  inno- 
cents yet.  Preach  stanch  sermons — strong 
flavor  of  brimstone — make  long  prayers  and 
loud  ones,  and  live  on  vegetables,  in  public — 
and  our  fortunes  are  made !" 
W<*  Ay,  ay,"  said  the  parson,  " don't  fear  me  ; 
and  hark.  Wiggle,  be  particularly  careful  not 
to  have  anything  to  say  to  that  fellow  Morfit. 
I  believe  he  knew  me  when  I  was  here  before." 

"  What,  the  lean  affidavit-maker  ? — I  wouldn't 
speak  to  the  starveling,  if  we  two  were  on  a 
desert  island  famishing — if  he  had  a  broiled 
woodcock  in  his  hand,  basted  in  its  own  drip- 
pings, and  would  divide  it  for  the  asking." 

Here  the  facetious  Wiggle  slipped  his  scull- 
cap  into  his  coat  pocket,  perched  the  bowl  upon 
the  crown  of  his  head,  took  a  huge  mouthful 
from  the  brown  loaf  under  his  right  arm,  lifted 
his  coat-tails  in  a  playful  manner  toward  the 
audience  with  his  left,  and  amid  a  tempest  of 
huzzas  and  shouts  of"  Old  Roberts  for  ever  !" 
made  his  exit.  The  tall  woman  with  her  flow- 
ing robes  and  yellow  crown,  gradually  emerged 
from  the  canvass  as  the  curtain  fell,  and  Parson 
Huckins  seated,  he  could  not  tell  where,  in  the 
confusion  of  his  dream,  heard  the  free  comments 
of  the  audience  on  what  had  passed. 

"He's  a  desperate  villain,"  said  a  young 
man  in  a  pea-jacket,  crushing  a  play-bill  in  his 
hand  as  he  spoke.  "  But  Wiggle's  too  much 
for  him  !" 

"  I've  seen  many  just  such  weasel-faced  fel- 
lows as  this  parson !"  said  a  dry,  little  old 
man,  "  And  I  wouldn't  trust  one  of  'em  with 
my  finger  parings." 

"  What  do  you  think  will  become  of  Huc- 


kins ?"  asked  a  sharp-nosed  man,  with  eyes  that 
projected  like  a  lobster's ;  leaning  forward  into 
the  face  of  the  dry  old  man. 

"  Why,  he'll  be  hung,"  answered  the  little 
old  man,  emphatically,  "  or  turn  politician, 
which  will  amount  to  the  same  thing  in  the 
end !" 

"  I  think  he'll  marrj-  the  old  lady  of  the  Pot- 
tawatomy  Association,"  suggested  the  young 
gentleman  in  the  pea-jacket. 

"  We  shall  see  !"  said  the  old  man : — the  bell 
tinkled — the  curtain  rose,  and  exhibited  the 
same  scene  as  the  last,  with  Huckins  at  the 
small  table,  and  Mr.  Hufl"  seated  opposite. 

"  If  it  could  be  made  out  scripturally,  it 
would  afford  me  great  satisfaction,"  said  Mr. 
Hufl". 

*llt  can  be^  sir,  I  assure  you ;  I  shall  be  able 

to  show  beyond  doubt  or  controversy,  that  every 

human  being  now  on  the  face  of  the  earth  must 

j  sufier  the  flames,  except  my  humble  self,  and 

j  the  majority  of  the  deacons  of chiirch;  in 

j  which  number,  Mr.  Thomas  Huff*,  I  am  happy 
to  say,  holds  no  mean  position." 
I      " Thank  you,  sir,  thank  30U ;  but  have  you  ) 
sufficient  texts  and  apposite  passages  ?"  y 

"Ample,   my  good   sir,   ample,"   answered    , 
Parson  Huckins.     "  Excerpts  and  quotations 
from  Isaiah  and  the  Revelation,  as  long  and 
heavy  as  the  weaver's  beam,  wherewith  Golias 
went  forth  against  the  children  of  Israel." 

"Really,"  continued  the  Pharisaical  little  Mr. 
Huff",  rubbing  his  hands  and  clucking  quietly 
like  a  hen—"  Really,  this  will  be  the  happiest 
event  of  my  life  since  my  election  as  deacon. 
What  a  pleasant  time  we  will  have  in  heaven, 
Br£)ther  Huckins !  a  little  select  company  of 
saints,  feeding  on  the  pleasant  pastures  of  the 
skies,  like  the  remnant  of  a  countless  flock  of 
ew;es^  and  sheep,  scattered  hither  and  thithejr  by 
a  stofin;  while  hundreds  of  thousands  of  poor 
wretches  will  be  groaning  and  burning  and 
crying  out  in  Tophet :  provided  you  get  them 
there  scripturaUy." 

"  It  shall  be  done,  sir  !"  said  Huckins,  con- 
fidently. 

"  Mark  me,  I  deny  the  doctrine — though  I 
must  confess  it  looks  reasonable — unless  you 
support  it  stoutly  by  texts  and  bandages  of  Holy 
Writ!" 

"  Fear  not,"  again  answered  the  parson,  « I 
will  bring  the  Bible  to  bear  directly  upon  the 
point,  as  if  it  had  been  shot  from  the  mouth  of 
a  cannon :  and  many  will  be  the  poor  sinner 
that  would  like  to  come  under  our  blanket, 
when  the  tempest  and  lightning,  and  bombs 
and  hand-grenades  of  AJUoighty  wrath  are  fall- 
ing about  his  ears !" 

«  We  are  safe  ?"  asked  Mr.  Huff;  with  an 
anxious  wrinkle  on  his  brow.  "  You  are  sure 
of  that?" 

"  Beyond  peradventure — as  secure  from  hell 
as  if  we"  were  insured  in  a  fii'e  company," 
answered  Parson  Huckins,  somewhat  profanely; 
but  it  was  in  a  dream,  and  perhaps  the  poor 
man  knew  not  what  he  spake.    Anyhow,  the 


3) 


if 


?iJ 


84 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


^ 


two  grave  and  pious  gentlemen  here  sat  quiet 
about  the  space  of  a  minute,  casting  their  eyes 
toward   the    roof,    and  indulging    in    inward 
laughter,  which  at  length  overflowed,  and  ran 
out  at  their  eyes  and  over  their  faces  like  tears. 
After  this,  the  parson  produced  a  Bible  and 
a  map  of  the  world :  and  proceeded  to  illustrate 
his  views. 
p    "  This,"  said  he,  pointing  out  one  text,  "  this 
[  carries   off  all  the  heathen — all  these  lands 
I   around  which  I  have  drawn  a  black  line  :  Afri- 
can, Patagonian,  Indian,  Bedouin  Arab,  dwarf 
Laplander — and  the  whole  brood.     This,"  se- 
lecting a  second,   "despatches    the   Catholic 
countries — marked  red  in  the   map — and  this 
undoubted  passage,"  taking  a  third,  "  deals  the 
fire  upon  Protestant  Europe  and  Botany  Bay." 
"  Botany  Bay !"  exclaimed  Huff,  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"Yes— there's    a  special    clause  for   New 
South  Wales  in  this  text.    Nothing  else  could 
be  intended.     As  for  America,  there's  no  need 
l^{  of  scriptural  denunciation,  for  we  know  from 
our  own  eyes'  testimony  that  it  deserves  no 
less.    The  state  of  moral  destitution  in  this 
■  country,  Mr.  Huff,  is  absolutely  awful !   Sodom 
and  Gomorrah  ! — Sodom  and  Gomorrah !" 
/'    "Will  the  town  of  Greenwich,  Con.necticut, 
A  be  saved,  think  you  ?"  asked  Huff. 
'""'^  '\      "  Not  a  soul,  from  the  town  .clerk  to  the 
county  judge  !"  answered  the  parson,  who'knew 
that  said  town  of  Greenwich  was  Huff's  birth- 
place, and  that  he  had  been  handled  rather 
severely  there  by  the  county  court,  in  a  little 
affair  of  apportioning  money  from  his  pocket 
for  the  support  of  a  hedge-born  child. 
f     "Thank  God  !"  thereupon  cried  the  deacon, 
'^     y  when  Huckins  had  uttered  this  verdict,  and 
^  j  showed  him  where  he  had  entirely  blotted  out 
V  the  irreligious  borough  with  a  huge  ink  spot. 
"  I  feel  grateful  to  you,  Parson  Huckins,  for 
these  comforting  doctrines,"  said  Huff,  taking 
the  parson  warmly  by  the  hand.     "  Continue 
steadfast  in  preaching  and  upholding  them — 
and  that  matter  of  the.. increase  of  salarj' — 
you  understand  ?"    And  witli  this  broken  sug- 
gestion he  departed. 

The  curtain  dropped,  and  the  next  scene  dis- 
covered Mr.  Higgs,  tfolus,  striding  up  and  down 
the  stage,  apparently  laboring  under  high  ex- 
citement. 

"  This  is  not  to  be  borne,"  said  he.     "  Here 

comes  a  fellow,  the  Lord  knows  whence,  and 

exhibits  a  furloug  of  feature  one  jday  over  the 

pulpit  top,  and  consigns  the  whole  audience 

peremptorily  to  the  pit,  as  if  they  were  a  basket 

U*"      of  spoiled  salmon,  and  the  next  day,  as  the  Lord 

'  >^      liveth,  he  is  chosen  paster  of  the  congregation. 

Why  I  would  rather  hear  a  fire-bell  ring  in 

midsummer  than  his  voice  :  his  tones  are  those 

•     '  of  a  radish-girl,  and  his  gestures  the  contortions 

,   l^  '  of  a  rheumatic  sailor  undergoing  the  bastinado. 

y,-^,.  I  hate  such  fellows  worse  than  a  stone-mason 

.  ^'f^''.  hates  a  rat  about  his  foundations.    Hb  deals  his 

brimstone  about  as  freely  as  if  the  whole  audience 

Tfere  infected  with  the  bilious  fever,  or  were  a 


parcel  of  scoundrel  dogs  with  the  distemper. . 
He  seems  to  have  constituted  himself  a  sort  of  \ 
eternal  watchman  to  cry  in  the  great  burning,    j 
His  discourse  is  stuck  full  of  pitch  and  cinders,       y 
and  one  could  not  be  reasonably  surprised  to 
see  him  spit  flame..    But  somehow  he  hath  ob- 
tained strange  mastery  over  Huff  (a  credulous,  . 
ignorant  old  man,  who  believes  everything  he 
hears,  and  a  self-willed  one,  who  strives  to  im- 
pose his  novel  discoveries  on  every  one  he 
meets)  and  other  of  our  people.     The  Potta- 
watomy  Association  is  again  in  motion — and 
Heaven  knows  what  absurdity  these  cackling 
old  women  will  give  birth  to  !" 

Mr.  Higgs  now  made  his  exit,  and  the  next 
scene  displayed  a  cobbler's  stall,  in  which  a       * 
long  lean  man  was  seated  on  a  bench  at  work, 
and  standing  by  his  side  our  old  friend  Wiggle^ 

"  So  you  find  this  a  profitable  business,"  saij 
Wiggle,  "  this  affidavit  making  ?" 

"  It  helps  a  little  in  hard  times,"  answered 
the  cobbler.  "  I  can  turn  off  at  the  rate  ot 
three  affidavits  and  two  pairs  of  boots  a  week^ 
and  that  pays  pretty  well." 

"  But  Mr.  Morfit,  I  should  think  there  would 
be  no  limit  to  the  amount  of  business  you  might 
drive  in  the  former  line.  If  I  understand  it,  all 
you  have  to  do  is  to  sign  your  name  and  kiss 
the  book." 

"  Ah  !  you  know  very  little  of  the  profescion," 
said  Morfit,  with  a  sigh ;  "  I  have  found,  from 
considerable  experience,  that  I  can't  stand  more 
than  one  affidavit  a  day.  I  tried  for  a  little 
while  after  I  commenced,  but  I  found  the  oaths 
lay  heavy  on  my  conscience  at  night,  and  I  put 
it  on  regimen,  one  a  day." 

"  Who  are  your  chief  employers,  Mr.  Mor- 
fit ?" 

"  The  quack  doctors :  I  supply  them  with 
sworn  certificates.  A  politician  now  and  then 
engages  me  just  before  an  election  ;  and  I  oc- 
casionally go  into  court,  in  important  cases,  tt) 
help  out  the  evidence." 

"  What  are  your  terms  ?  So  much  a  folio, 
or  such  a  per  centage  on  the  profits  ?" 

"  I  see,  Mr.  Wiggle,  you  are  entirely  ignorant 
of  this  branch  of  business,"  said  Morfit,  with  a 
ghastly  grin.  "  A  gentleman  Wants  something 
in  my  line,  he  comes  in,  '  Morfit,'  says  he,  *  an 
affidavit  on  the  virtues  of  the  "  Buffalo  Embro- 
cation," and  a  pair  of  light  boots,  both  ready  by 
Saturday.'  Very  well,  say  I.  <  In  Court,'  says 
an  attorney — I  have  an  extensive  acquaintance  ifl 
among  attorneys — *  In  court,  Morfit,  Saturday 
morning,  case  of  Borrowe  vs.  Bustard,  action 
of  libel,  swear  bad  character  for  Bustard — and 
two  pairs  of  best  made  French  slippers  for 
plaintiff.' " 

"  Well,"  said  Wiggle,  "  when  will  you  have 
this  affidavit  of  mine  done,  about  Huckins  ?" 

"  Let  me  see,  this  is  Wednesday ;  two  certifi- 
cates for  Dr.  Spike,  that  his  pills  are  valuable 
in  clarifying  cider — swear  to  two  barrels  cleared 
of  sediment  by  a  single  box ;  affidavit  for  the 
politician,  that  Quirks,  opposition  candidate, 
knocked  his  cartman  in  the  head  with  a  cart- 


PARSON  HUCKTNS^S  FIRST  APPEARANCE. 


85 


fe 


'Mng,  and  destroyed  four  square  inches  of  skull,  | 
because  said  cartman  refused  to  vote  his  em- 
ployer's ticket ! — This  is  a  busy  week,  Wiggle,  j 
just  before  the  fall  election,  but  as  you're  an 
old  friend,  I'll  have  this  of  yours  for  you  to-mor- 
row noon."  "* 

"  Do  you  understand  what  its  contents  are 
to  be  ?" 

"  That  deponent  was  acquainted  with  said 
Huckins  in  Massachusetts,  while  he  was  study- 
ing theology ;  knew  him  to  be  pious,  correct  in 
deportment,  highly  esteemed,  &c." 

"  That's  it,  Morfit,"  said  Wiggle ;  «  it's  only 
to  satisfy  the  private  scruples  of  one  of  the 
deacons,  who  says  he  never  heard  of  Huckins 
before.     To-morrow  noon." 

''  True  as  a  heel-tap  !"  answered  the  cobbler. 
"  What's  the  number  of  the  parson's  dwelling." 

"  Oh,  I'll  caU  for  it,"  said  Wiggle ;  "  but ' 
our  number's street." 

"  Very  good.  Good  day.  Wiggle." 

"  Good  day  to  your  honor !"  and  Wiggle  de- 
parted, with  an  entirely  original  grin,  which 
drew  his  whole  countenance  into  a  single  wrin- 
kle, by  some  mysterious  motion  of  the  muscles, 
in  the  same  manner  as  an  old  lady's  work-bag 
is  drawn  into  a  snug  ball  of  silk,  by  aid  of  the 
string. 

The  audience  encored ;  he  returned,  and  re- 
newed the  wonderful  face,  again  departed — the 
scene  shifts — and  enter  the  ugly  old  lady  of  the 
"  Poitawatomy  Association,"  and  Mr.  Higgins. 

"  As  I  was  saying,  Mr  Higgins,"  said  the  old 
lady.  "Lacft  to  wait  upon  Parson  Huckins  to- 
morrow, and  n-otify  him  of  his  life-membership 
in  the  Pottawatomy,  and  solicit  him  to  deliver 
a  course  of  lectures,  or  a  single  lecture,  on  the 
present  indelicate  style  of  Indian  di'ess,  and  the 
propriety  of  substituting  trousers  and  bod}'-coats 
in  its  stead.  You  will  accompany  me,  will  you, 
Mr.  Higgins  ?" 

"  Higgs,  my  senior  partner,  says — "  proceed 
ed  Mr.  Higgins. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  understand,"  interposed  the  old 
lady.  "  If  the  medal  was  ready  we  might  call 
upon  him  to-day.  Whether  to  present  it  to  him 
standing  or  kneeling — " 

"  I  should  think,"  again  said  the  unfortunate 
Higgins,  who  seemed  destined  never  to  finish  a : 
sentence,  "as  Higgs — "  j 

"  Or  with  my  hat  on  or  oflf,"  continued  the 
old  lady,  not  heeding  her  companion  ;  "  in  my 
new  calico,  or  my  cloth  habit.  I  must  consult  | 
the  society.  I  never  would  have  undertaken  this 
task  if  I  had  known  how  many  difficulties  and 
perplexities  would  attend  it.  Anyhow,  we  must 
elect  Parson  Huckins  a  member  of  our  *  Short- 
stitch  and  Lon^-stitch  Benevolent  Union  ;'  and 
^Jthen  I  shall  resign  !" 

"Mrs.  Furbelowe  !"  exclaimed  Higgins. 

"  He's  a  sweet  man — a  pious,  sweet  man ;  I 
could  almost  worship  him — Oh,  Huckins,  it's 
too  good  for  my  soul !" 

"  Mrs.  Furbelowe !"  again  cried  Higgins, 
"  at  what  hour — " 

"  To-morrow  noon — to-morrow  noon  !"  ex- 


claimed Mis.  Furbelowe,  waving  him  away ; 
"meet  me  at  the  parson's — sweet  Parson 
Huckins !" 

The  act  curtain  fell,  and  as  the  music  (which 
had  a  wild,  unearthly  tone  in  that  biHlding, 
where  it  had  been  so  long  silent)  played  its  full 
tide  of  melody  upon  the  audience  from  its  airy 
tubes,  the  groundling  critics  again  indulged  in 
strictures  on  the  performance. 

"  The  marriage  will  surely  come  on  in  the 
last  act !"  said  the  young  man  in  the  pea-jack- 
et. "  Mrs.  Furbelowe  sighs  like  a  broken- 
winded  bellows,  and  means  to  trap  the  parson." 

"  There'll  be  a  riot  yet,"  said  the  sharp-nosed 
man  with  the  lobster  eyes,  «  don't  you  think 
there  will  ?"  '  . 

"  No  such  thing !"  answered  the  diy,  little,  i 
old  man.     "  Htickins  will  be  made  a  bishop  or    ■ 
secretary  of  state  before  the  play's  done.  Wig-    '     ^ 
gle  wasn't  as  good  in  this  act."' 

"  He'll  brighten  up  in  the  next  i"  timidly  sug- 
gested the  young  man  in  the  pea-jacket. 

"  He  will !"  answered  the  dry,  little,  old  man, 
sententiously. 

A  shrill  whistle  was  heard,  the  bell  tinkled, 
the  curtain  rose,  and  disclosed  the  worthy  Mr. 
Morfit,  in  an  open  street,  eagerly  eyeing  a  re- 
spectable two-story  house,  with  the  name  of 
"  John  Huckins"  on  a  broad  silver  door-plate. 

"  This  is  the  house,"  said  the  affidavit-ma- 
ker, "  and  I  must  get  a  sight  of  the  reverend 
gentleman — so  as  to  know  his  person  if  I  should 
be  confronted  with  him.  That  must  be  him," 
casting  his  eye  down  the  street,  towards  a  per- 
son approaching  in  that  direction — "  black  suiV 
of  broadcloth — auburn  hair  (making  entries  in 
a  note-book) — a  slow,  cautious  gait — limps  a 
little — about  the  middle  height;  now  for  his 
face— long  featured,  pious — good  heavens  !  it's 
my  old  friend — hush  !  I  won't  mention  it  in  the 
street,  or  we'll  have  a  hanging  on  the  nearest 
lamp-post — ho !  here  comes  Wiggle,  too — I  must 
tell  him  some  lie  about  my  being  here,  though  I 
needn't  swear  to  it.     How  are  you,  Wiggle  ?" 

"  Ah  !  my  man  of  oaths  and  French  slippers, 
my  pink  of  swearing  and  sole-leather — how  are 
you,  and  what  are  you  doing  in  this  quarter  of  the 
town  ?"  said  Wiggle,  striking  the  open  palm  of 
his  broad  hand  upon  his  back,  like  the  fluke 
of  a  Norwegian  sperm-whale  of  the  largest 
class. 

"  Merely  looking  out  for  a  few  subjects  for 
affidavits,"  answered  Morfit.  "  Two  of  the  al- 
dermen, opposed  to  our  party,  live  in  those  two 
double-houses." 

"  Well,  what  can  you  swear  of  them  ?"  asked 
Wiggle ;  "  that  they  are  four  feet  about  the 
girth,  and  split  the  seams  of  their  coats  open 
with  fat,  like  a  full  peascod  in  the  month  of 
August  ?" 

"No;  but  one  of  them  has  purple  embossed 
paper  in  his  fanlights — and  the  other,  a  span 
of  high-headed  light  bay  horses." 

"  Suppose  you  could  swear  one  of  them 
kept  a  stud  of  wild  tigers,  and  had  a  polar-bear 
for  a  coachman — would  it  help  you  any  ?" 


86 


"To  be  sure,  I'd  give  any  amount  of  money 
if  I  could  swear  to  that  effect,  without  being 
set  down  by  the  whole  city  for  as  great  a  liar 
as  the  town-clock '." 

"  How  so,  my  worthy  fellow  V 

"  Why,  you  see,"  responded  Morfit,  with  a 
sly  leer,  "quadrupeds  and  villains  is  intimately 
connected ;  if  a  man  rides  on  horseback,  he's  a 
rogue ;  in  a  one-horsed  vehicle,  he's  a  scamp ; 
and  if  he  ventures  in  a  coach  or  barouche  of 
his  own — God  save  us  ! — he's  a  desperate  ras- 
cal. Let  him  trudge  on  foot,  and  wear  out 
sole-leather — and.  Heaven  bless  him !  he's  an 
honest  man  ;  poor,  but  honest.  That's  our 
creed  !" 

"  Well,  I  must  in,  in  spite  of  your  wonder- 
ful new  discovery  in  ethics,"  said  Wiggle,  work- 
ing his  eyeballs  with  his  thumbs,  so  as  to  im- 
press Morfit  with  the  conviction  that  it  was  all 
there — namely,  in  his  eye.  "  We're  to  have  grand 
times  at  our  house,  this  morning.  Two  of  the 
trustees  is  to  call — the  Botherwhatamy  Society 
presents  a  pewter  dining-set  to  the  parson,  and 
I'm  to  serve  up  a  basket  of  the  '  pure  juice  of 
the  grape' — good  day,  Morfit — another  time — 
happy  to  see  you — good  day — good  day  !" 

And  he  glided  in  at  the  hall-door,  with  both 
hands  extended,  as  if  in  the  act  of  swimming 
out  of  reach  of  further  dialogue  with  the  affi- 
davit-maker. 

"Well,"  said  Morfit,  when  left  alone,  "I 
may  as  well  disappear  too,  and  I'm  afraid  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  adulterate  your  'pure  juice* 
with  a  few  drops  of  that  unpleasant  elixir  called 
justice.  Here's  for  the  police."  Stretching  his 
neck,  like  some  meager  bird  of  prey,  bringing 
his  coat  close  together,  and  knocking  his  hat 
over  his  brows,  he  put  off  at  fuU  speed,  down 
the  street. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  stage  was  occupied  by 
the  ugly  old  lady  of  the  Pottawatomy  Associa- 
tion, who  came  in  puffing  and  blowing,  and  look- 
ing like  Vesuvius  on  the  eve  of  an  eruption, 
with  Higgins  running  at  her  side. 

*'  A  sultry  day,  Mr.  Higgins,"  said  sh6,  paus- 
ing and  unfurling  a  white  pocket-handkerchief, 
wherewith  she  wiped  her  picturesque  face.  *'  A 
very  sultry  day — be  careful,  or  that  medal  will 
melt — see  that  it's  snug  in  the  basket,  if  you 
please,  Mr.  Higgins." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  the  little  gentle- 
man, uttering  the  first  sentence  that  he  had 
been  allowed  to  finish  since  his  appearance  in 
the  performance. 

"I  wish  I  had  thought  to  pack  it  in  ice!" 
said  Mrs.  Furbelowe,  looking  wise,  "  it  would 
be  so  cooling  and  grateful  to  John's  hands." 

"  What  John  ?"  gasped  Higgins,  in  amaze- 
ment.    "  What  John  are  you  speaking — " 

"  Oh,  the  parson — I  meant  the  parson,"  an- 
swered the  old  lady,  blushing  slightly,  "  I  was 
too  scriptural,  that  was  all.  In  the  New  Testa- 
ment, the  apostles  and  disciples  are  so  familiar, 
it's  really  a  picture  to  the  mind,  Mr.  Higgins. 
I  wish  Mr.  Huckins  would  allow  me  to  call  him 
John ;  it  would  be  delightful,  wouldn't  it  ?" 


THE  MOTLEY  BOOK.  ^ "        ^:.       ,  .  M 

Before  Higgins  could  furnish  an  answer, 
they  were  within  Parson  Huckins's  hall,  and 
the  door  had  closed. 

In  a  moment  or  two  more,  the  two  deacons, 
Messrs.  Huff  and  Higgs,  were  discovered  pass- 
ing through  the  street,  in  the  same  direction. 

"  What  think  you  of  our  new  parson,  now  ?" 
said  Huff,  with  a  smile  on  his  wrinkled  visage. 

"  Worse  and  worse,"  answered  Higgs ;  "  I 
have  not  seen  the  certificates  he  promised,  yet, 
and,  from  the  violent  language  of  condemnation 
that  he  uses  in  the  pulpit,  toward  others,  I  doubt, 
more  and  more,  his  own  Christian  character. 
Anyhow,  I  should  like  to  have  some  evidence 
of  it." 

"  You  are  on  your  road  to  it,"  said  Huff.  "  If 
certain  proofs  that  he  is  to  lay  before  me,  are 
not  sufficient,  you  must  be,  in  truth,  hard  of  be- 
lief— strong,  overwhelming,  gospel  proofs  !" 

"  Some,  such,  I  need,"  said  Higgs,  firmly,  "  and 
nothing  less  will  serve  my  purpose.  .  Christian 
churches,  Mr.  Huff,  are  getting  too  much  in  the 
habit  of  selecting  their  pastors  as  showmen 
choose  their  lions,  for  the  loudness  of  their  roar, 
or,  like  jugglers,  for  the  quantity  of  false  fire, 
they  can  spit  from  their  lips." 

"  Ah !"  interposed  Huff,  "  there  you  are. 
Brother  Higgs,  on  your  old  heresy.  You  were 
always  in  favor  of  packing  away  Christians 
coolly  and  comfortably,  and  despatching  them 
from  this  world  as  if  the  journey  to  heaven  were 
no  more  than  a  pleasant  excursion  by  water,  to 
a  country-town,  in  September.  But  nothing,  in 
my  mind,  can  supply  the  Lord's  household  with 
purified  and  holy  occupants  but  fire — fire — fire 
the  beginning,  the  middle,  and  the  end  of  Scrip- 
ture !" 

"  Why  men,  Mr.  Huff,  are  surely  something 
more  than  mere  vessels  of  potter's  clay,  whose 
bad  qualities  are  to  be  burnt  out  by  the 
flame." 

*'  Never  mind,  come  in,  come  in,  and  your 
scruples  will  melt  the  moment  Parson  Huckins 
opens  his  mouth,"  said  Huff;  and  at  that  mo- 
ment they  were  ushered  into  the  same  bujlding 
that  had  received  Mrs.  Furbelowe  and  her  com- 
panion. 

The  next  scene  disclosed  the  parlor  of  Parson 
Huckins's  dwelling,  with  the  parson,  the  two 
deacons,  Mrs.  Furbelowe,  of  the  Pottawatomy 
Association,  and  Mr.  Higgins  assembled  therein. 

"  Well,  how  stands  our  case  ?"  said  Mr. 
Huff. 

"  All  as  I  told  you,*'  answered  Huckins. 

"  Our  brother  Higgs's  condition  is  desperate 
— is  it  ?"  asked  Huff,  with  a  sweet  sardonical 
smile. 

"  What's  that  you  say  of  me  ?"  roared  Higgs. 
"  Pray  what  is  it,  Mr.  Huckins  ?" 

"  I'd  rather  not,"  answered  the  parson,  "  1 
have  too  much  regard  for  your  feelings." 

"  Out  with  it,  sir,  if  you  please,"  again  cried 
Higgs ;  "  I  must  know  what  matter  concerns 
me,  that  you  and  Mr.  Huff  are  so  secret  with. 
Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  inform  me  ?" 

"  If  you  will  know,  then,"  answered  Huckins, 


I/' 


^ 


PARSON  HUCKINS'S  FIRST  APPEARANCE. 


87 


( 


prefacing  his  remarks  with  a  long-drawn  and 
meek  expression  of  countenance,  "it  is  my  un- 
pleasant duty  to  inform  you,  that  it  is  your  in- 
e vit able^destiny  to^^rj^Jj^IL ! ''" 

"  To  go  where  f'exclaimed  Higgs,  in  an  in- 
cipient rage. 

"  Be  not  agitated, .Tny  good  sir  !"  saii  the 
parson  soothingly,  « I  merely  said  to  hell..  Be 
calm — for  my  sake^r-be  calm.  I  regret  it — I 
sincerely  regret  it,  and  wish  to  alleviate  your 
misfortune  as  much  as  possible.  Is  there  any- 
thing I  can  do  for  you  in  a  secular  sense  :  are 
you  in  want  of  meat  ?  clothing  ?  coal  ?  I  truly 
conmiiserate  with  you,  my  fellow-mortal  \" 

"  No  more  of  this,  if  you  please,"  cried  Higgs ; 
"  I  will  look  at  your  certificates." 

"  Here,  sir,  is  one — ^which  must  satisfy  you 
fuUy,"  said  the  parson,  and  he  handed  him  Mor- 
fit's  document,  with  which  Higgs  immediately 
busied  himself. 

Mrs.  Furbelowe  took  advantage  of  the  pause 
to  gain  her  feet,  and  advanced  within  a  yard  of 
the  parson,  with  a  very  solemn  smile  on  her 
countenance,  and  the  basket  on  her  left  arm ; 
she  there  stopped  short,  and  began  to  hold 
forth.  "Sir,"  said  she,  "the  'Pottawatomy 
Association'  highly  appreciating  your  numerous 
Christian  virtues — " 

*^How  is  this,"  broke  out  Higgs,  remorse- 
lessly cutting  short  the  proffered  harangue. 
"  This  affidavit  is  sworn  to  by  my  own  shoe- 
maker !" 

At  that  moment,  and  before  the  parson  could 
reply  to  this  pertinent  query,  Morfit  himself 
entered  with  a  little  grim  man  with  a  staff. 

"Ah  !"  cried  the  little  grim  man,  the  instant 
his  eye  fell  upon  the  reverend  gentleman,  *«  Ah, 
my  good  old  friend ! — how  aire  you,  Peter — how 


are  you  ?"  he  continued,  grasping  the  parson's 
reluctant  hand,  and  wringing  it  with  a  hard 
gripe. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  added,  seizing  Huckins  by 
the  collar,  and  turning  to  the  company,  "  allow 
me  to  introduce  you  to  my  worthy  friend — Peter 
Williams — the  notorious  incendiary !" 

"  Peter  Williams !"  gasped  Huff.  "  Fire  and 
flames  !" 

"  A  house-burner  !''  said  Higgs.  "  I  thought 
as  much  from  the  combustible  character  of  his 
sermons  !" 

"  Take  me  home !"  shouted  Mrs.  Furbelowe, 
"  I'm  fainting,  I  shan't  survive  this  long  !  it's 
too  much  for  my  constitution !"  And  she  let  fall 
the  basket,  from  which  the  Pottawatomy  medal 
rolled  upon  the  floor.  Wiggle  availed  himself 
of  the  confusion  to  slip  from  the  room,  with  a 
most  voluminoiis  and  expressive  grin  on  his 
queer  features. 

"  As  Higgs,  my  senior  partner,  says — "  pro- 
ceeded Higgins. 

"  Come,"  said  the  officer,  interrupting  him, 
"  come,  Peter,  you  must  go  to  prison.  You'll 
die  yet  like  an  old  horse  at  the  rack,  with  your 
head  through  a  halter." 

"  If  I  do,"  cried  the  parson,  "  I'll  be—"    He 
struck  his  hand  forcibly  upon  the  desk  frame, 
to  give  emphasis  to  his  asseveration :  the  shock 
awakened  him.     The  whole  scene  had  vanish-  \ 
ed,  and  instead  of  the  pit  audience,  his  eyes  ( 
rested  upon  the  up-turned  faces  of  two  or  three  I 
humble  Christians  on  the  front  benches  of  the  \ 
chapel,  gazing  upon  him  with  dilating  eyes.^j 
He  convulsively  grasped  iis  hat,  rushed  roadly    f 
up  the  middle  aisle,  out  of  the  buUding — and,    . 
like  aU  heroes  of  this  humbler  kind  of  romance, 
has  never  been  seen  or  heard  of  since. 


THE  END  OF  THE  MOTLEY  BOOK. 


*  *.'  ^-  0^ 


W      ♦  '^i^ 


W::>.. 


^  ♦ 


lisJO  i-       .liO"c.i"i.-|  '  ,i     (.  V- 


?;  .■•%., 


4,    •  •*    ♦• 


i    *^* 


BEHEMOTH: 


A    LEGEND 


OF 


THE   MOUND-BUILDERS. 


a  J.I  ij  a- a 


..  ^H  T 


«      *» 


BEHEMOTH. 


PREFACE. 

It  was  the  main  design  of  the  author  in  the  fol- 
lowing work,  to  make  the  gigantic  reUcs  which 
are  found  scattered  throughout  this  continent,  sub- 
servient to  the  purposes  of  imagination.  He  has, 
therefore,  dared  to  evoke  a  Mighty  Creature  from 
the  earth,  and  striven  to  endow  it  with  life  and 
motion.  Coeval  with  this,  the  great  race  that  pre- 
ceded the  red  men  as  the  possessors  of  our  conti- 
nent, have  been  called  into  being.  With  whatever 
success  the  author  may  have  accomplished  this 
portion  of  his  task,  the  venerable  race  which  strug- 
gled and  endured  in  these  fair  fields,  ere  they  be- 
came our  home  and  dwelling  place,  must  be  allow- 
ed to  awaken  our  feelings  and  share  our  generous 
regards.  In  describing  the  Mound-builders,  no 
effort  has  been  made  to  paint  their  costume,  their 
modes  of  life,  or  their  system  of  government.  They 
are  presented  to  the  reader  almost  exclusively  un- 
der a  single  aspect,  and  under  the  influence  of  a 
single  emotion.  It  matters  not  to  us  whether  they 
dwelt  under  a  monarchical  or  popular  form  of  pol- 
ity ;  whether  king  or  council  ruled  their  realms  ; 
nor,  in  fine,  what  was  their  exact  outward  condi- 
tion. It  is  enough  for  us  to  know,  and  enough  for 
our  humanity  to  inquire,  that  they  existed,  toiled, 
felt,  and  suflered  ;  that  to  them  fell,  in  these  plea- 
sant regions,  their  portion  of  the  common  heritage 
of  our  race,  and  that  around  those  ancient  hearth- 
stones, washed  to  light  on  the  banks  of  the  far- 
western  rivers,  once  gossiped  and  enjoyed  life,  a 
nation  that  has  utterly  faded  away.  We  are  moved 
deeply  in  looking;  upon  their  mortuary  remains — 
those  disinterred  and  stately  skeletons — for  we 
know  that  they  once  were  men,  and  moved  among 
men  with  hearts  full  of  human  impulses,  and  heads 
warm  with  mortal  schemes  and  fancies'.  Of  this, 
history  could  make  us  no  surer.  Over  the  earth 
where  they  repose,  purple  flowers  spring  up,  and 
with  the  brilliancy  of  their  hues,  and  the  sweetness 
of  their  breath,  give  a  splendor  and  fragrance  to 
the  air.  This  touches  him  as  deeply,  the  author 
must  confess,  and  seems  to  his  untravelled  eyes  as 
beautiful  as  anything  he  can  read  of  Athens,  of 
cloudless  Italy,  or  the  sunny  France.  Humanity  and 
nature  are  all  with  which  the  heart  wishes  to  deal, 
and  we  have  them  here  in  their  naked  outlines  and 
grandeur.  There  is  enough  here  for  author  and 
reader,  if  they  be  of  strong  minds  and  true  hearts. 
A  green  forest  or  a  swelling  mound  is  to  them  as 
glorious  as  a  Grecian  temple  ;  and  they  may  be  so 
simple  as  to  be  well  nigh  as  much  affected  by  the 
sight  of  a  proud  old  oak  in  decay  near  at  home,  as 
by  the  story  of  a  baronial  castle  tottering  to  its  fall, 
three  thousand  miles  off. 

The  author  is  aware  of  the  difficulty  and  magni- 
tude of  his  undertaking.  He  knows  as  well  as 
any  one  can  know,  the  obstacles  to  vanquish  and 
remove  j  and  he  also  knows  the  obstacles  that  will 


not  be  vanquished  nor  removed.  Notwithstanding 
all  this,  he  feels  assured,  if  he  has  contended  in  any 
degree  successfully  with  the  greatness  and  majesty 
of  the  subject,  he  will  have  accomplished  some 
slight  service  for  the  literature  of  his  country,  and 
something,  he  ventures  to  hope,  for  his  own  good 
name. 
New  York,  January,  1839. 


PART  I. 

Upon  the  summit  of  a  mountain  which  beetled 
in  the  remote  west  over  the  dwellings  and  de- 
fences of  a  race  long  since  vanished,  stood,  at 
the  close  of  a  midsummer's  day,  a  gigantic 
shape  whose  vastness  darkened  the  whole  vale 
beneath.  The  sunset  purpled  the  mountain- 
top,  and  crimsoned  with  its  deep,  gorgeous  tints 
the  broad  Occident ;  and  as  the  huge  figure 
leaned  against  it,  it  seemed  like  a  mighty  im- 
age cut  from  the  solid  peak  itself,  and  framed 
apainst  the  sky.  Below,  in  a  thousand  groups 
were  gathered,  in  their  usual  evening  worship, 
a  strange  people,  who  have  left  upon  hills  and 
prairies  so  many  monuments  of  their  power, 
and  who  yet,  by  some  mighty  accident,  have 
taken  the  trumpet  out  of  the  hand  of  Fame, 
and  closed  for  ever,  as  regards  their  historical 
and  domestic  character,  the  busy  lips  of  tradi- 
tion. Still  we  can  gather  vaguely,  that  the 
Mound-builders  accomplished  a  career  in  the 
west,  corresponding,  though  less  severe  and 
imposing,  with  that  which  the  Greeks  and  Ro- 
mans accomplished,  in  what  is  styled  by  cour- 
tesy the  old  world.  The  hour  has  been  when 
our  own  west  was  thronged  with  empires. 
Over  that  archipelago  of  nations  the  Dead  sea 
of  time  has  swept  obliviously,  and  subsiding, 
has  left  their  graves  only  the  greener  for  a  new 
people  in  this  after  age  to  build  their  homes 
thereon.  But  at  the  present  time,  living  thou- 
sands and  ten  thousands  of  the  ancient  people 
were  paying  homage  to  their  deity ;  and  as  they 
turned  their  eyes  together  to  bid  their  customary 
solemn  adieu  to  the  departing  sun,  they  beheld 
the  huge  shape  blotting  it  from  sight.  The 
first  feeling  which  sprang  in  their  bosoms  as 
they  looked  upon  the  vision  was,  that  this  was 
some  monstrous  prodigy,  exhibited  by  the  pow- 
ers of  the  air  or  the  powers  of  darkness,  to  as- 
tonish and  awe  them. 


.  ^..- JK> 


92 


BEHEMOTH. 


But  as  they  gazed,  they  soon  learned  that  it 
had  a  fixed  and  symmetrical  form,  and  pos- 
sessed the  faculty  of  life. 

When  they  discovered  that  the  huge  appari- 
tion was  animate  indeed,  a  new  terror  sprang 
up  in  their  soul.  They  gathered  about  their 
mounds,  their  places  of  worship,  and  on  the 
plain,  in  various  and  fearful  groups. 

In  one  spot  were  collected  a  company  of 
priests  and  sages,  the  learned  and  prophetic  of 
the  race,  who  with  straining  eyes  watched  the 
mighty  spectre ;  and  to  gain  a  clearer  concep- 
tion of  its  proportions,  scanned  its  broad  and 
far-cast  shadow,  and  marked  the  altitude  of  the 
sun.  Each  one  searched  his  thoughts  for  some 
knowledge  applicable  to  the  sudden  and  vast 
appearance. 

Not  far  from  these  was  drawn  together  a 
group  of  women,  who  still  retained  their  devo- 
tional posture  and  aspect,  but  yet  casting  side- 
long and  timid  glances  toward  each  other's 
countenances,  as  if  hoping  to  discover  there  an 
interpretation  of  the  spectacle.  Children  clung 
to  their  garments,  and  looking  up  piteously, 
seemed  to  ask  "  if  that  was  not  the  God  whom 
they  were  taught  to  fear  and  worship  V  Each 
moment  the  awe  increased  and  spread ;  from 
lip  to  lip  the  story  ran  across  the  plain  and 
through  the  walled  villages,  until  the  spectre 
embraced  in  its  fearful  dominion  a  circuit  of 
many  leagues. 

Each  moment  conjecture  grew  more  rife  and 
question  more  anxious  and  frequent. 

In  the  opinion  of  many  of  the  wisest — for 
even  from  their  souls  superstitious  misgivings 
were  not  wholly  banished — the  apparition  which 
crowned  the  mountain  was  the  deity  of  the  na- 
tion, who  had  chosen  to  assume  this  form  as  the 
most  expressive  of  infinite  power  and  terrific 
majesty. 

Other  nobler  spirits,  and  who  drew  their 
knowledge  rather  from  the  intellect  than  the 
feelings,  believed  it  was  the  reappearance  of 
a  great  brute,  which,  by  its  singular  strength, 
in  an  age  long  past  and  dimly  remembered,  had 
wasted  the  fields  of  their  fathers  and  made  des- 
olate their  ancient  dwellings. 

A  tradition  still  lingered  among  them,  that  of 
that  giant  race,  which  had  been  swept  from  the 
eaith  by  some  fearful  catastrophe,  one  still  lived 
and  might,  from  a  remote  and  obscure  lair,  once 
more  come  forth,  to  shake  the  hills  with  his 
trampling,  and  with  the  shadow  of  his  coming, 
darken  the  households  of  nations. 

In  the  more  thoughtful  minds  of  these  theor- 
ists, the  vivid  and  traditionary  descriptions  of 
the  mighty  herd  of  brutes  which  had  once  tyran- 
nized over  the  earth,  had  left  an  impression 
deep,  abiding,  and  darkly  colored.  The  mem- 
ories of  their  progenitors  had  handed  them 
down  as  a  Titanic  tribe  of  beings,  who  in  their 
day  excited  a  terror  which  kindled  hiunan  fear, 
and  with  it,  the  best  growth  of  fear,  human  in- 
genuity. They  remembered  that  in  that  distant 
age,  as  the  history  ran,  a  new  and  majestic  race 
of  heroes,  moulded  of  nature's  noblest  clay,  had 


sprung  into  life,  to  battle  with  and  finally  van- 
quish these  brute  oppressors  of  their  country. 

Day  faded  fast.  Its  last  streaks  died  away 
in  the  west,  and  yet  the  solemn  shape  stood 
there  in  its  vast,  unmoving  stillness.  And  still 
the  people  retained  their  postures  of  wonder 
and  fear,  while  in  hushed  voices  they  spoke  of 
the  occupant  of  the  mountain.  Gray,  cold  twi- 
light at  length  cast  its  mantle  upon  the  vision, 
and  they  scattered  in  anxious  parties  toward 
their  homes.  But  with  them  they  bore  the  im- 
age of  the  huge  visitant.  They  could  not  shake 
it  from  them.  A  general  and  deep  awe  had 
fallen  on  the  multitude ;  and  even  when  they 
sought  their  slumbers,  that  giant  shape  passed 
before  their  sealed  lids  in  a  thousand  forms,  as- 
simiing  as  many  attitudes  of  assault  and  de- 
fence ;  for  from  the  first,  by  a  strange  instinct, 
they  had  looked  upon  it  as  their  foe.  To  watch 
its  movements,  for  it  could  be  yet  seen,  in  the 
clear  distinctness  of  its  immense  stature,  calm, 
majestic,  silent ;  to  sound  the  alarm ;  if  need 
be  to  meet  it  face  to  face,  should  it  descend 
from  its  pinnacle,  the  chieftains  of  the  Mound- 
builders  thought  fit  to  station  armed  sentries  at 
various  corners  of  the  streets  and  highways  of 
their  towns  and  cities,  on  the  walls  of  their 
fortresses,  and,  as  a  more  commanding  position, 
on  the  summit  of  their  mounds,  and  in  the 
square  stone  observatories  which  crowned  a 
portion  of  them. 

The  relics  of  the  fortresses  and  observatories 
that  night  manned  by  the  sentinels  of  that  pe- 
culiar people,  still  stand  and  moulder  on  the 
soil  of  the  far  west.  They  are  constructed  on 
principles  of  military  science  now  lost  or  inex- 
plicable. 

But,  whatever  the  code  of  tactics  on  which 
they  were  fashioned,  we  can  not  but  admire,  in 
the  midst  of  our  conjectures,  their  peculiar  sym- 
metry, tlieir  number,  and  their  duration.  Paral- 
lel with  the  foundations  of  Rome  these  walls 
went  up,  far  back  in  the  calendar  of  time,  and 
time-defying,  they  seem  destined  to  pass  down, 
as  far  from  the  present  into  a  misty  and  preg- 
nant future,  as  the  actual  history  of  a  populous 
and  mighty  race.  Like  the  lost  decades  of  the 
writer,  some  passages  are  wanting  to  their  com- 
pleteness, but  in  what  stands  we  may  read  the 
power,  the  strength,  the  decay,  and  the  down- 
fall of  our  own  American  ancients.  They  were 
men  of  war  and  those  ramparts  first  built 
against  a  human  enemy  were  now  occupied  to 
keep  at  bay  a  new  and  untried  foe.  From 
time  to  time,  along  the  line  of  guardsmen  went 
the  watchword ;  the  sentries  of  diflerent  posts 
occasionally  whispering  to  each  other  that  the 
apparition  was  still  visible  on  the  mountain. 
Not  a  few,  overwearied  with  their  fears,  slum- 
bered. 

The  middle  watch  of  the  night  had  come. 
The  air  was  dark  and  still.  Not  a  breath  nor 
voice  broke  the  universal  quiet :  when,  clear 
and  sharp,  there  fell  upon  the  ears  of  the  sleep- 
ing populace,  a  sound  like  the  crash  of  sudden 
thunder.     The  earth  shook  as  if  trodden  by 


BEHEMOTH. 


9S 


hcav}'  footsteps,  and  through  the  air  came  a 
noise  like  the  rushing  of  some  mighty  bulk  in 
violence  and  haste.  Ponderous  hoofs  trampled 
the  earth  and  drew  nigh.  It  was  he — the  tra- 
ditionary brute — Behemoth — and  before  his  ir- 
resistible force  fell  whatever  strove  to  gainsay 
his  advance.  The  whole  region  trembled  as 
when  a  vast  body  of  waters  bursts  its  way  and 
rolls  over  the  earth,  ocean-like,  wave  shouting 
to  wave,  and  all  crowding  onward  with  thunder- 
ous tumult.  In  vain  was  the  solid  breast- work  ; 
the  piled  wall  was  in  vain  ;  in  vain  the  armed 
and  watchful  sentr>'.  Like  some  stupendous 
engine  of  war,  he  bore  down  on  them,  render- 
ing human  strength  a  mockery  and  human  de- 
fences worse  than  useless,  for  as  wall,  bastion 
and  tower  fell,  they  redoubled  death  and  ruin 
on  their  builders.  With  a  speed  of  which  no 
common  celerity  can  give  us  a  conception  he 
swept  through  the  towns  and  villages,  the  till- 
ed fields  and  pleasure  gardens  of  the  Mound- 
builders — desolating  and  desolate — none  daring 
to  stand  before  his  feet  thus  dreadfully  advan- 
ced. 

The  trepidation  of  the  day  grew  a  hundred- 
fold ;  from  the  dark,  dim  light  which  the  stars 
forced  through  drifting  and  solid  clouds,  they 
could  but  guess  vaguely  at  his  bulk,  yet  out  of 
their  fears  and  the  darkness  they  wrought  an 
awful  image  of  vastness  and  strength.  Night 
banded  with  the  monster,  and  terror  walked  in 
their  train. 

The  morning  dawned,  and  its  light  fell  upon 
the  face  of  an  early- wakened  and  fear-stricken 
people.  On  every  countenance  was  graven  the 
clear  and  visible  impiint  of  terror;  but  the  ex- 
pression was  by  no  means  that  of  ordinary 
alarm,  such  as  is  engendered  by  siege,  or  battle, 
or  death ;  nor  did  it  stamp  the  countenance 
with  the  characters  of  a  daily  and  familiar  fear. 

A  dread  which  changed  the  whole  aspect^ 
such  as  distorts  the  features  and  takes  from 
them  their  old,  household  look,  was  upon  all. 
In  the  consternation  and  imbecility  of  the  mo- 
ment messengers  were  speeded  forth  and  hur- 
ried to  and  fro  through  the  many  villages  of  the 
Mound-builders  bearing  tidings  to  which  as 
answer,  they  received — the  same  tidings  in  re- 
turn !  The  visitation  had  been  universal ;  in 
each  one  of  their  five  thousand  villages  were 
left  like  marks  of  brute  ravage  and  strength  ! 

Behemoth  had  been  with  them  all ;  and  his 
large  footsteps  were  traced  wide  over  the  plain 
until  they  broke  off  abruptly  at  its  extreme 
bounds,  and  wheeled  heavily  into  the  mount- 
ains. When  their  dismay  had  subsided  from 
its  first  flood-tide,  they  began  to  compare  ob- 
servations and  consult  with  each  other.  The 
memories  of  most  were  bewildered  in  endeavor- 
ing to  recall  the  occurrences  of  the  past  night ; 
but  from  what  with  their  confused  faculties, 
they  could  grasp,  they  were  weU  assured  that 
the  whole  circuit  of  desolation  had  been  accom- 
plished within  the  passage  of  a  single  hour. 
And  now  the  time  was  come  for  them  to  look 
forth  and  measure  that  desolation — to  what 


side  shall  they  first  turn  ?  Everywhere  is  some 
monument  of  that  irresistible  force.  In  one 
brief  hour  he  has  overthrown  what  Time,  with 
his  centuries,  could  not  touch.  There  at  the 
track  of  his  first  foot-prints  is  a  crushed  wall — 
driven  through  by  some  powerful,  and  to  them 
as  yet  unknown,  weapon  of  strength,  which  has 
left  its  dints  upon  the  shattered  fragments. 
Massive  portions  of  it  have  fallen  to  powder 
beneath  his  weight.  Across  the  path  which  he 
seems  to  have  chosen  out  to  stalk  in  rude  tri- 
umph, through  the  very  heart  of  their  dwellings, 
lies  a  dead  guardsman  whom  his  might  must  have 
first  dashed  to  the  earth  by  some  other  unconjec- 
tured  instrument  of  power,  and  then  trampled 
upon,  for  at  every  pore  the  blood  issues  in  tor- 
rents. Against  a  dwelling,  pinned  to  its  wall, 
is  the  corpse  of  a  second  sentinel  which  seems  to 
have  been  hurled  with  scorn  by  the  brute  invader 
into  its  present  abiding-place.  On  the  threshold 
of  her  own  home  lies  a  mother  with  her  child 
closely  clinging  to  her  neck,  its  little  lips  pressed 
to  its  parents — both  smitten  into  death  by  a 
single  blow. 

Look  forth  from  this  narrow  scene  and  read 
the  map  of  a  broader  ruin — the  traces  of  a  more 
fearful  mastery !  Yonder  mound,  consecrated 
by  the  entombed  dust  of  a  generation  of  sages 
and  heroes  is  embowelled,  and  its  holy  ashes 
laid  open  to  the  vulgar  air  and  the  strumpet 
wind.  And  yonder  gardens,  once  the  resort  of 
blooming  beauty  and  gentle  childhood — its  walls 
strew  the  ground  and  its  flowers,  broken  and 
withered,  are  sunken  by  the  massy  weight  which 
has  spoiled  them,  deep  into  the  earth.  And 
lo  !  that  trodden  and  miry  field,  shut  in  by  the 
standing  fragments  of  two  oblong  walls — yes- 
terday, it  was  a  fair  greensward  where  strength 
wrestled  kindly  with  strength  and  age  looked  on 
approvingly.  In  another  quarter  behold  a  tall 
tower  of  stone  is  cast  down  before  the  same  in- 
comprehensible might !  The  enclosure  which 
surrounded  and  guarded  it  is  battered  to  the  earth, 
and  about  it  is  collected  at  this  morning  hour  not 
a  few  of  the  chiefs  of  the  Mound-builders,  deeply 
lamenting  the  overthrow  of  so  scientific  and  regu- 
lar a  muniment.  Sad  words  pass  from  each  to 
each  and  they  look  despondingly  into  each  other's 
faces,  and  find  no  hope,  but  rather  a  triumphant 
despair.  From  among  the  group  which  hung 
thus  powerless  and  complaining  over  the  shat- 
tered battlement  boldly  stood  forth  Bokulla,  the 
most  fearless  and  energetic  chieftain  of  the  na- 
tion—Bokulla — a  man  of  singular  and  prompt 
courage,  greatly  earnest  and  energetic  in  pur- 
pose :  yet  calm  and  self  involved. 

In  every  enterprise  keeping  himself  aloof 
until  the  resources  of  all  others  were  exhausted, 
and  then,  when  every  eye  was  turned  toward 
him  as  the  last  sustainer  of  hope,  springing 
with  alacrity  to  the  front,  prepared  to  match 
the  emergency  with  some  new  and  vigorous 
suggestion.  Bokulla  was  a  thinker  no  less 
than  a  soldier ;  not  artificially  framed  by  filling 
his  mind  with  learned  apothegms  and  pithy  in- 
stances, but  with  a  philosophy,  the  growth  of  a 


94 


BEHEMOTH. 


meditative  spirit  that  brooded  over  all  things 
and  created  wisdom  from  most.  He  possessed, 
nevertheless,  a  thoroughly  martial  and  ener- 
getic mind,  and  found  in  every  path  of  life,  an 
accessory  to  strengthen  and  adorn  that  char- 
acter. Unlike,  however,  the  majority  of  pro- 
fessed militants,  he  rarely  exhibited  the  gay 
buoyancy  which  is  so  generally  considered  in 
them  an  essential.  On  the  contrary,  even 
in  the  maddest  onset  and  in  the  high  flush  of 
triumph,  liis  brow  was  saddened,  oftentimes 
with  a  passing  cloud  of  gloom ;  the  mark  which 
distinguishes  too  often  those  who  are  bom  to 
be  the  leaders  and  benefactors  of  their  race. 

The  mind  of  Bokulla  partook  of  another  pe- 
culiarity, in  common  with  many  men  of  mas- 
terly genius.  Defeated,  or  foiled  in  any  attempt, 
his  heart  plunged,  awhile,  in  the  profoundest 
and  most  torturing  despair — but  only  for  the 
instant — and  then,  reassuming  its  lofty  strength, 
an  eagle,  unchained,  or  slipped  from  its  dark- 
ened cage,  he  rose  into  the  clear,  broad  sun- 
shine of  a  worthier  condition. 

Such  was  Bokulla  ;  and,  when  those  grouped 
around  him  had  each  offered  his  several  re- 
mark, and  they  had  mutually  mourned  over  the 
present  desolation,  he  stood  forth  from  their 
midst  and  said,  "  Men  !  the  day  is  spent  with 
repining,  and  the  night  comes,  and  with  it,  per- 
chance, our  dread  enemy.  Let  us  rebuild  the 
wall,  and  show,  at  least,  that  we  can  oppose 
our  old  strength  to  his  inroads.  He  has  but  the 
instinct  of  a  brute,  we  have  the  reason  of  men. 
Let  him  not,"  he  cried,  "  let  him  not  find  us, 
for  our  souls'  sake,  let  him  not  find  us  greater 
cravens  than  yesternight !" 

With  these  words,  and  with  the  consent  of 
the  chieftains  who  stood  about  him,  he  ordered 
the  rebuilding  of  the  rampart,  and  the  erection 
of  an  inner  one  to  flank  it.  Before  the  passages, 
which  had  been  previously  left  free  of  egress 
and  ingress,  he  directed  the  construction  of 
short  and  solid  walls,  which  should  suffice  to 
arrest  access,  if  made  in  full  front,  leaving,  how- 
ever, side-passages  between  the  extremities  of 
the  main  and  those  of  the  newly-erected  ram- 
parts. Under  the  authoritative  and  cheering 
voice  of  Bokulla,  the  building-tool  and  the 
trenching-iron  ply  busily.  Parties  of  labor- 
ers hurry  from  quarter  to  quarter  of  the  work, 
and  something  like  a  manly  and  worthy  spirit 
seems  again  to  fire  their  bosoms  and  lighten 
their  toil.  While  some  gather  together  the  bro- 
ken portions  of  earth,  and  remould  them  to  their 
purpose,  others  bring  from  the  distance  new 
supplies,  and  still  others  quarry  and  shape  the 
stone  to  crown  their  summits.  Under  his  quick 
and  commanding  eye,  the  tower  of  observation 
goes  up  and  its  defences  are  restored. 

But,  while  Bokulla  and  his  aids  build  up  the 
strong  wall  to  guard  the  living,  is  there  no  du- 
ty and  service  due  to  the  dead  ?  There  is ;  and, 
under  other  guidance,  the  manly  forms  which 
were  laid  in  the  recent  encounter,  are  stretched 
for  their  last  repose. 


Devoted  hands  compose  their  discolored  limbs, 
and  bathe  them  with  embalming  drugs,  while 
their  kindred,  those  nearest  and  dearest  in  life, 
collect — to  accompany  them  in  this,  their  last 
journey — whatever  can  consecrate  or  dignify 
their  sepulture.  Those  who  have  fallen,  fell  in 
the  defence  of  the  nation,  and  are,  tlierefore, 
worthy  of  the  nation's  honors.  Let  them  be 
buried,  then,  as  becomes  heroes  of  the  Mound- 
builders — bearing  away  with  them,  into  the  un- 
known land,  tokens  of  merit  and  badges  of  high 
desert.  Their  bodies  are  swathed  in  fine  rai- 
ment ;  at  their  right  hand  are  placed  the  weap- 
ons of  war,  grasping  which  they  fell ;  at  their 
sides  are  arrayed  mirrors  of  glass  or  metal  (ac- 
cording to  their  rank)  in  which  they  were  wont 
to  look  for  the  reflection  of  their  own  martial 
features,  when  set  for  the  stern  service  of  war. 
At  their  heads  are  disposed  the  helms  which 
covered  them  in  the  day  of  battle,  and  on  their 
now  pulseless  breasts  lie  polished  pieces  of  cop- 
per, in  the  form  of  the  cross. 

Can  it  be  that  those  antique  warriors  were 
Christian  men  ? — that,  among  them,  they  thus 
cherished  trophies  of  the  crucifixion,  and  up- 
held the  ark  of  that  reverend  creed  ? — or,  at 
least,  some  stray  fragments  of  the  holy  struc- 
ture, obscurely  delivered  over  to  them  by  pater- 
nal or  patriarchal  hands  ?  I  know  not ;  but 
this  is  the  language  which  their  discovered  rel- 
ics speak  to  us  of  the  present  generation. 

Slowly,  from  each  dead  hero's  dwelling, 
winds  forth  the  solemn  procession,  with  its  weep- 
ing-troop and  its  religious  mourners.  Gather- 
ing at  a  central  spot,  they  unite  into  one  body, 
and,  thus  collected,  take  their  way  toward  the 
funeral-mounds.  Attendants  send  forth,  from 
marble  instruments,  shaped  like  crescents  and 
highly  polished,  a  slow  and  mournful  music. 
Beside  the  bier  of  each  fallen  soldier,  walk  his 
wife  and  children,  while,  at  its  head,  marches 
solemnly  the  priest,  who,  in  life,  was  his  spir- 
itual father. 

Winding  through  the  villages,  over  the  mead- 
ows, and  along  the  stream-side,  they  reach  the 
bank,  right  opposite  the  mounds  in  which  the 
dead  are  to  find  their  final  slumber.  Descend- 
ing into  the  limpid  and  shallow  stream,  the  bear- 
ers gently  dip  each  corpse  beneath  the  waters, 
thus  purifying  it,  by  a  natural  sort  of  baptism, 
from  every  earthly  grossness,  and  then  they  re- 
sume their  way — all  following,  with  bared  an- 
kles, through  the  placid  rivulet.  At  length  they 
reach  the  sacred  mound.  At  its  side,  toward 
the  east,  the  earth  is  removed,  and,  turning 
their  faces  to  the  sun,  while  the  marble  breathes 
forth  a  higher  strain,  the  bearers  of  the  dead 
enter  the  hollowed  mound. 

As  they  enter,  the  throng  chant  together  a 
simple  ballad,  reciting  the  virtues  and  the  valor 
of  the  departed,  and,  at  its  close,  recommend- 
ing them  to  the  Giver  of  life  and  the  God  of  the 
seasons.  The  bier-bearers  place  the  mortal  re- 
mains of  the  heroes  whom  they  have  borne, 
within  the  cavity,  upon  the  earth,  with  their 


BEHEMOTH. 


faces  upward,  their  feet  pointing  to  the  north- 
east (perhaps  the  home  of  their  progenitors)  and 
their  heads  toward  the  more  genial  southwest. 

Thus  were  the  common-soldiers,  among  those 
who  had  fallen,  buried ;  but  one  of  that  niunber — 
he  who  had  been  captain  of  the  guard,  and  a 
man  of  note  among  the  people,  received  sepa- 
rate and  more  especial  rites. 

His  remains  were  borne  apart,  to  a  distinct 
mound,  and  there,  when  they  were  laid  out  with 
the  honors  of  a  chief  who  had  lost  his  life  in 
battle,  martial  music,  breathing  from  the  instru- 
ments, and  the  whole  multitude  joining  in  a 
chant,  commemorative  (like  those  recited  over 
the  common  soldier)  of  his  valor  and  character, 
they  proceeded  to  burn  his  body  and  gather  his 
ashes  into  their  separate  tomb.  They  then 
closed  the  mouths  of  all  the  mounds,  and,  when 
the  priests  had  offered  a  prayer  for  the  peace- 
ful repose  of  their  dust,  the  multitude  turned 
toward  their  homes. 

All  was  hushed  and  silent  save  the  gentle 
tread  of  the  homeward-tending  people.  The 
mourning  relatives  of  the  dead  had  lulled  into 
a  temporary  calm  their  troublous  feelings,  and 
wept  with  composure.  The  spirit  of  peace  was 
over  all.  Suddenly  a  shrill  voice  was  heard  to 
cry,  "  He  comes !  he  comes !"  It  proceeded 
from  a  child,  who,  unobserved,  had  climbed  to 
the  upper  window  of  one  of  the  stone  observa- 
tories. The  multitude  were  arrested  by  the 
voice,  and,  turning  to  the  quarter  from  which  it 
issued,  saw  the  finger  of  the  alarmist  pointing 
to  a  body  of  woods  which  lay  a  short  distance 
west  from  the  path  which  they  were  taking 
to  their  homes.  As  at  the  bidding  of  a  god, 
the  whole  people,  with  one  accord,  swerved 
round  and  gazed  toward  the  forest,  and  there 
they  beheld — Behemoth.  Fixed  in  an  attitude 
of  astonishment  and  dread,  they  stood  gazing 
— and  still  gazing  upon  the  spectacle — a  bound- 
less and  motionless  gallery  of  faces.  It  was 
near  the  sunset.  Overhead,  in  its  level  light, 
a  grey  bald  eagle,  just  flown  from  its  neighbor- 
ing eyry,  hung  poised  in  wonder,  as  if  turned 
to  stone  by  the  novel  sight  of  so  vast  a  creature. 
In  its  motionless  suspension,  it  seemed  as  if  i 
sculptured  from  the  air,  while  its  wings  were 
gilded,  like  some  remains  of  the  old  statuaries, 
by  the  golden  touch  of  the  sun. 

Visible  above  the  woods,  moving  heavily 
through  the  sea  of  green  leaves,  like  leviathan 
in  the  deep,  appeared  the  dark  and  prodigious 
form  of  the  Mastodon  ;  an  awful  ridge  rolling 
like  a  billow,  along  the  tops  of  the  pine  and 
cedar  which  grew  beneath  him.  The  bound- 
less bulk  moved  through  the  trembling  verdure, 
like  an  island  which,  in  some  convulsion  of  na- 
ture, shifts  itself  along  the  surface  of  the  sea. 
The  forest  shook  as  he  advanced,  while  its 
scared  and  barbarous  denizens,  the  prairie 
wolf,  the  gopher,  and  the  panther,  skulked  si- 
lently away. 

As  yet  his  whole  mighty  frame  was  not  visi- 
ble. Even  amid  the  trepidation  and  fear  of  the 
Mound-builders  a  curiosity  sprang  up  to  behold 


the  sum  of  his  vast  proportions  :  to  see  at  once 
before  them  and  near  at  hand  the  actual  dimen- 
sions of  that  shape  whose  shado^vy  outlines 
had,  when  first  seen,  wrought  in  them  effects 
so  boundless  and  disastrous. 

Occasionally  as  the  Mastodon  glided  along,  a 
green  tree-top  wavered  for  a  moment  in  the 
wind,  leaned  forward  into  the  air — and  fell  to 
the  earth  as  if  pushed  from  its  hold  by  the 
chance-exerted  strength  of  the  great  brute. 
Again,  they  heard  a  crash,  and  a  giant  oak 
which  had  just  now  lorded  it  over  its  fellows 
was  snapped  from  its  stem  and  cast  far  forth 
over  the  tops  of  the  forest.  His  very  breath 
stirred  the  leaves  till  they  trembled,  and  every 
step  of  his  march  denoted,  by  some  natural  ap- 
pearance, the  possession  of  monstrous  and  fear- 
ful power. 

After  stalking  through  a  large  tract  of  wood- 
land without  allowing  any  greater  portion  of 
his  bulk  to  become  apparent,  he  wheeled  through 
the  forest  and  descending  into  a  wooded  valley 
disappeared,  each  step  reverberating  along  the 
earth  with  a  deep  and  hollow  sound.  It  was  a 
long  time  ere  the  Mound-builders  resumed  their 
old,  homeward  progress,  and  when  they  did  it 
was  with  alarmed  and  cheerless  spirits.  The 
awe  of  the  great  shadow  was  upon  them. 
Now  more  than  ever  they  felt  the  folly  of  gain- 
saying or  attempting  to  withstand  a  power 
which  shrouded  itself  in  a  form  so  vast  and  in- 
accessible. 

From  that  day  forth  a  gloom  settled  upon  the 
minds  of  the  Mound-builders — deep,  rayless 
and  full  of  fearful  omens  ;  for  though  personal 
energy  may  rescue  individuals  from  that  des- 
perate condition,  it  is  a  hopeless  and  a  dreadful 
thing  when  nations  become  the  victims  of  de- 
spair. All  the  mighty  wheels  of  life  are  stop- 
ped ;  all  the  channels  through  which  the  soul 
of  the  people  once  coursed  are  now  closed,  and, 
in  most  cases,  closed  for  ever.  The  arteries 
through  which  the  life-blood  gushed  are 
deadened,  and  the  warm  current  is  arrested  as 
if  the  winter  had  descended  upon  it  in  its  very 
spring-tide.  The  Mound-builders  were  now 
fallen  into  that  sad  estate.  Neither  the  spirit- 
stirring  voice  of  Bokulla,  nor  the  trump  of 
war,  nor  the  memory  of  their  fathers'  fields  or 
their  fathers'  valor,  could  awaken  them  to  a 
sense  of  what  was  due  to  their  manhood  or 
their  duty.  The  Mastodon  seemed  resolved  to 
preserve  the  spell  by  an  almost  perpetual  pres- 
ence. Day  after  day  in  the  same  gray  twi- 
light did  Behemoth  cast  his  shadow  from  the 
sununit  of  some  near  elevation ;  and  midnight 
after  midnight,  at  the  same  cold  and  sullen 
hour,  did  he  descend  and  force  his  huge  bulk 
through  the  villages  of  the  Mound-builders: 
breaking  their  walls  in  pieces,  rending  their 
dwellings,  disclosing  their  mounds  and  despoil- 
ing their  pleasure  gardens  from  end  to  end. 
He  had  become  the  spectral  visitant  of  the  na- 
tion ; — the  monstrous  and  inexorable  tyrant 
who,  apparently  gliding  from  the  land  of 
shadows,  presented  himself  eternally  to  them, 


96 


BEHEMOTH. 


the  destroyer  of  their  race.  He  seemed,  in 
these  terrible  incursions,  to  be  fired  with  a 
mighty  revenge  for  some  unforgiven  injury  in- 
flicted on  his  dead  and  extinct  tribe  by  the  hu- 
man family.  In  the  calm  and  solemn  quiet  of 
night,  when  fretted  labor  sought  repose  and 
anxious  thought  craved  slumber,  he  burst  down 
from  the  mountains  like  thunder  and  bade  them 
— Awaken !  awaken  ! 

The  internal  and  external  influence  of  an 
harassment  like  this  could  not  be  otherwise 
than  large  and  disastrous.  First  came  the  dire 
change  in  the  mind  itself:  when  this  terrible 
shadow  glided  among  its  quiet  emotions,  its  fa- 
miliar habits,  and  its  household  and  national 
thoughts.  All  objects  that  had  hitherto  occu- 
pied a  place  in  the  mind  of  the  people  now  as- 
sumed a  new  color  and  complexion  as  this 
portent  fell  upon  them,  in  the  same  manner  as 
everything  in  nature  catches  a  portion  of  the 
gloom  of  twilight  when  it  suddenly  approaches. 
No  angle  of  the  wide  realm  of  the  Mound- 
builders  escaped  from  the  darkness  of  fear,  and 
everywhere  the  fountains  of  social  life  became 
stagnant  and  ceased  to  issue  in  healthy  currents, 
like  streams  that  are  silent  and  still  when  light 
has  departed  from  their  surface. 

The  voice  of  joy  died  away  into  a  timid  and 
feeble  smiling ;  proud  and  stately  ambition  fell 
humbled  to  the  earth,  and  love  and  beauty  trem- 
bled and  fled  before  the  gloomy  shadow  of  the 
general  adversary.  Men  shunned  each  other  as 
if  from  a  consciousness  of  their  abasement,  and 
skulked  away  from  the  face  of  day,  unwilling 
that  the  heavens  should  look  in  upon  their  des- 
olation and  shame. 

Some  abandoned  their  homes  and  took  refuge 
in  cliffs  and  inaccessible  precipices,  preferring 
poverty  and  exposure  to  wind  and  tempest  and 
hostile  weather,  rather  than  encounter  with  a 
foe  so  dreadful  and  triumphant.  The  great 
mass,  however,  lingered  in  their  customary 
dwellings;  but  so  thoroughly  was  every  mo- 
tive to  action  numbed  and  paralyzed,  they  neg- 
lected to  repair  the  roof  that  had  fallen,  the 
beam  that  had  decayed,  or  the  foundation  that 
had  yielded  to  the  summer's  rain,  and  innumer- 
able buildings,  throughout  the  whole  realm, 
tumbled  into  ruin,  and  many  that  stood  on  the 
borders  of  rivers,  undermined  by  the  motion  of 
their  currents,  tottered  and  fell  into  the  stream, 
while  their  terror-stricken  inmates,  in  many 
cases,  perished  without  a  struggle. 

The  ordinary  occupations  and  duties  of  life 
were  performed  with  feeble  hands  and  vague 
thoughts,  or  entirely  deserted. 

This  mighty  and  puissant  nation,  whose 
strength*  was  that  of  a  giant,  and  whose  glory 
rivalled  the  sun,  was  stricken  by  terror  into  a 
feeble  and  child-like  old  age.  All  its  propor- 
tions were  diminished ;  its  heart  was  shrunk, 
and  it  dragged  on  a  slothful  and  decrepid  exist- 
ence amid  the  cold  and  monumental  ruins  of 
what  had  once  been  its  beautiful  domain,  and 
its  house  of  honor  and  joy.  That  salient  and 
almost  motiveless  energy  which  drives  a  nation 


on  through  toils,  battles,  and  discomfitures,  to 
prosperity  and  triumph ;  that  hazardous  and  all- 
adventurous  daring  which  pushes  doubt  aside, 
and  which,  while  it  questions  nothing,  strives 
at  everything,  was  utterly  departed. 

From  the  silence  and  quiet  of  his  studied  re- 
tirement, BokuUa  beheld  the  shadow  as  it  slow- 
ly and  fearfully  crossed  the  national  mind. 
From  the  first  he  saw  the  change  which  was 
coming  over  it,  and  knew  that  human  wisdom 
was  too  weak  to  arrest  or  avert  it,  unless  the 
great  first  cause  could  be  removed.  And  yet, 
while  others  yielded  thus  submissively  to  a 
meek  despair,  he,  keeping  himself  invisible  to 
the  general  eye,  tasked  his  bold  and  liberal 
mind  for  some  remedy  for  the  evil.  In  the  calm 
and  dead  quiet  of  his  private  chamber  he  sat, 
from  day  to  day,  brooding  over  plans  and  enter- 
prises whereby  to  rescue  the  nation. 

Bokulla  entertained  a  deep-founded  confi- 
dence in  the  human  character.  Himself  equip- 
ped with  an  indomitable  will,  and  faculties  stout 
and  resolute  as  iron,  he  was  assured  that  by  sim- 
ilar qualities  the  nation  was  to  be  redeemed 
from  thraldom.  Amid  a  thousand  changes  of 
nature,  man  had  endured ;  mountains  had  been 
cleft  asunder ;  seas  had  leaped  upon  continents, 
and  marched  triumphantly  over  every  barrier 
and  obstacle ;  great  orbs  had  been  extinguished, 
like  tapers  of  an  evening,  in  the  skies,  yet  man 
stood,  steadfast  amid  the  shock  and  the  mutation. 
Along  the  bleak  coasts  of  inhospitable  time,  he 
had  voyaged  in  a  secure  and  upright  vessel ;  on 
this  ridge  of  earth  he  still  stood,  while  the  visi- 
ble universe  passed  through  changes  of  season, 
through  increase  or  diminution  of  splendors,  and 
through  worlds  created  or  worlds  destroyed. 

Was  man,  who  thus  outlasted  seas,  and  stars, 
and  mountains,  to  be  crushed  at  last  by  mere  bru- 
tal enginery  and  corporal  strength  ? 

Reflections  like  these  wrought  the  mind  of 
Bokulla  to  a  condition  of  fearless  and  manly 
daring,  and  he  brought  his  whole  soul  to  the 
labor  of  discovering  or  contriving  the  means  of 
triumph  or  resistance.  It  may  well  be  supposed 
that,  tower  as  his  thought  might,  it  strove  in 
vain  to  overtop  the  stature  or  master  the  bulk 
of  the  Mastodon ;  what  were  fosses,  and  bas- 
tions, and  battlements,  to  him  that  moved  like 
a  mountain  against  opposition  ?  No  wall  could 
shut  him  out;  seas  might  interpose  in  vain  to 
cut  off"  his  fearful  pursuit  of  a  fugitive  people. 
Resting  or  in  motion,  that  terrible  and  far-reach- 
ing strength  would  overtake  them,  and  accom- 
plish its  purposes  of  desolation  and  ruin. 

With  this  stupendous  and  inevitable  image 
the  whole  might  of  BokuUa's  soul  wrestled  for 
a  long  time.  An  untiring  invention,  that  kept 
steadily  on  the  wing,  started  siiggestion  on  sug- 
gestion, but  all  unequal  to  the  mighty  necessity 
of  the  occasion.  He  gathered  facts  on  which 
to  build  the  fabric  of  opposition,  huge  enough 
to  countervail  a  superhuman  force,  but  they 
tottered  and  fell  to  the  earth  before  the  ideal 
presence  of  Behemoth.  He  surveyed  mountains, 
and,  in  imagination,  linked  them  together,  with 


BEHEMOTH. 


9T> 


wide  archea  and  empyreal  bridges,  and  com- 
passed tlie  people  round  about  with  rock-built 
circumvallations  and  ramparts  of  insuimounta- 
ble  altitude  and  strength.  But  it  would  have 
required  ages  to  complete  the  defences,  suggest- 
ed by  a  swift  imagination,  which  would  have 
been  equal  to  their  object ;  and  others,  which 
great  labor  might  have  more  readily  erected, 
would  have  been  swept  away  in  a  single  night 
by  the  barbaric  invader. 

When  this  conclusion  forced  itself  upon  him, 
Bokulla  felt,  for  a  moment,  the  pangs  of  a  hope- 
less and  overwhelming  despair.  A  midnight 
darkness  came  over  his  mind,  and  it  was,  for  a 
time,  as  if  the  sun  and  the  heavens  were  oblit- 
erated from  his  view,  and  as  if  he  were  doomed 
to  travel,  henceforth,  a  gloomy  turnpike,  where 
all  was  sorrow,  and  wailing,  and  terror  without 
end.  But  the  light  gradually  broke  in  upon  his 
soul,  and  his  palsied  faculties  began  to  awaken 
and  cast  ojfl'  the  slumber  and  the  delusion.  His 
reflections,  it  is  true,  had  taught  him  that  his 
countrymen  could  act  in  defence  against  their 
vast  oppressor  with  but  frail  chance  of  success. 
He  was  satisfied  that  a  weight  and  bulk  as  mon- 
strous as  that  of  Behemoth  would  burst  their 
way,  by  their  mere  impetuous  motion,  through 
any  barrier  or  redoubt  they  might  erect.  There 
was  another  thought,  however,  worthy  of  aU 
consideration — could  not  the  Mound-builders, 
a  naturally  adventurous  and  valiant  people,  act 
on  the  offensive  ?  Abandoning  passive  and  bar- 
barous suffering,  was  not  battle  to  be  waged, 
and  waged  with  hope  against  the  despoiler  ? 
This  question  Bokulla  had  put  anxiously  to  him- 
self, and  he  watched,  with  an  eager  eye,  for 
some  favorable  phase  of  the  national  feeling, 
ere  he  addressed  it  to  the  people. 

From  one  crisis  of  fear  to  another,  the  Mound- 
builders  passed  rapidly,  and,  as  the  shades 
of  night  thicken  one  upon  the  other,  each 
aspect  of  their  condition  was  gloomier  than 
the  former.  At  length,  as  darkness  deepened 
and  strengthened  itself,  light  began  to  dawn 
in  the  opposite  quarter.  Hardened  by  cus- 
tom, and  familiar,  in  a  measure,  with  the  ob- 
ject of  their  dread,  they  now  ventured  to  lift 
their  pale,  white  countenances,  and  gaze  with 
some  steadiness  of  vision  upon  the  foe. 

Naturally  of  a  noble  character  and  constitu- 
tion, the  Mound-builders  needed  only  that  the 
original  elements  of  their  temper  should  be 
stirred  by  some  powerful  conviction  to  excite 
them  to  action.  A  new  spirit,  or  rather  the 
ghost  of  the  old  and  exiled  one,  had  returned  to 
the  nation,  and  they  now  saw  before  them,  un- 
less they  resumed  their  manhood  and  generously 
exerted  strength  and  council,  ages  of  desolation 
and  fear  for  themselves  and  their  children. 
Were  they  men,  and  should  no  hazard  be  dared, 
no  toil  or  peril  endured,  to  break  the  massive 
despotism  that  held  them  to  the  earth  ?  Were 
they  the  possessors  of  a  land  of  sublime  and 
wonderful  aspects,  the  dwellers  amid  intermin- 
able woods  and  lakes  of  living  water,  and  were 
no  glorious  nor  resolute  energies  matured  by 


[  these,  capable  to  cope  with  that  which  was 
I  mighty  and  awful  ? 

At  this  fortunate  siage  of  feeling  Bokulla  ap- 
peared. He  clothed  the  thoughts  of  the  people 
in  an  eloquence  of  his  own.  He  painted  the 
portrait  of  their  past  condition  in  life-like  and 
startling  colors.  He  told  them  that  from  the 
apparent  size  and  solidity  of  the  Mastodon,  and 
the  uniform  analogy  of  nature,  he  might  endure 
for  centuries,  yea,  even  beyond  the  duration  of 
mankind  itself,  unless  his  endless  desolation 
could  be  arrested.  If  they  suffered  now  under 
his  irresistible  sway,  they  might  sutler  for  a 
thousand  years  to  come.  That  vast  frame,  he 
feared,  decay  could  not  touch.  And  in  a  stature 
SjO  tremendous  must  reside  an  energy  and  stub- 
bornness of  purpose,  endurable  and  unchanging. 

Next,  addressing  them  from  the  summit  of  a 
mound,  around  which  many  of  the  people  were 
grouped  in  their  old  worship  (some  faint  image 
of  which  they  had  kept  up  through  all  their 
terror)  he  appealed  to  them  by  the  sacred  and 
inviolate  ashes  that  rested  underneath  his  feet. 
If  old  warriors  and  generous  champions,  never 
dishonored,  could  awaken  from  the  slumbers  of 
death,  and  breathe  again  the  pure  air  of  that 
glorious  clime,  what  voice  of  denunciation  or 
anger  would  they  utter  ! 

"  Are  these  men,  that  creep  along  the  earth 
like  the  pale  shadows  of  autumn.  Mound- build- 
ers and  children  of  our  loins  ?  What  hath 
affrighted  them  ?  Look  to  the  mountains,  and 
lo  !  an  inferior  creature,  one  of  the  servants 
and  hirelings  of  man,  hath  the  mastery.  Arouse ! 
arouse  our  sons  !  Place  in  our  old,  death-with- 
ered hands  the  swords  we  once  wielded — crown 
us  with  our  familiar  helms,  and  we  will  wage 
the  battle  for  you.  Victory  to  the  builders  of 
the  mounds !  victory  to  the  lords  and  masters 
of  the  earth !" 

The  national  pulse  beat  true  again,  and  Bo- 
kulla hastened  from  village  to  vUlage,  quicken- 
ing and  firing  it.  Everywhere  the  hoiu-  of  ren- 
ovation seemed  to  have  come.  Everywhere 
ascending  their  high  places,  he  appealed  to 
them  by  memories  to  which  they  could  not  but 
hearken.  Everywhere  an  immense  populace 
gathered  about  him  and  listened  to  his  words, 
as  if  they  were  the  inspired  language  of  hope. 
And  when  their  souls  were  fired,  as  it  were, 
under  the  fervent  heat  of  his  eloquence,  he 
skilfully  moulded  them  to  his  own  plan  and 
purpose.  He  recounted  to  them  the  mode,  the 
time  and  course  he  thought  fit  for  them  to  adopt 
in  seeking  battle  with  Behemoth. 

After  consultation  with  their  chieftains,, the 
levy  expected  and  demanded  of  each  was  soon 
settled. 

They  were  to  venture  forth  with  an  army 
(easily  collected  in  that  populous  nation)  of  one 
hundred  thousand  strong.  Bokulla  was  to  be 
the  leader-in-chief.  Approved  men  were  to  be 
his  counsel  and  aids.  The  day  of  setting  forth 
on  the  great  campaign  was  fixed ;  not  far  distant. 
In  the  meantime,  all  diligence  and  labor  were 
to  be  employed  in  disciplining,  equipping,  and 


98 


BEHEMOTH. 


inspiriting  the  troops :  in  burnishing  and  fra- 
ming the  necessary  armor,  and  in  constructing 
certain  new  engines  of  war,  which  Bokulla  had 
invented,  and  which  might  be  of  use  in  the  en- 
counter with  the  terrible  foe. 

Every  village,  now  presented  a  picture  of 
busy  preparation  and  warlike  bustle.  The 
forges,  whose  fires  had  smouldered  in  long  dis- 
use, were  again  rekindled,  and  their  anvils  rang 
with  the  noise  of  a  thousand  hammers  rivalling 
each  other  in  the  skill  with  which  they  moulded 
the  metals  into  heroic  shapes.  While  one 
wrought  out  with  ready  dexterity  the  breast- 
plate, with  its  large,  circular  bosses  of  silver, 
another,  with  equal,  but  less  costly  felicity, 
framed  the  brazen  hatchet,  and  the  steel  arrow- 
head. In  every  workshop  there  were  employed 
artisans  in  sufficient  number  to  not  only  begin 
with  the  rude  ore  and  shape  it  into  form,  but 
also  to  carry  it  through  every  stage  of  labor — 
tipping  it  with  silver — burnishing — ornament- 
ing--completing  them, — affixing  leathern  han- 
dles to  the  bosses  by  which  to  grasp  and  hold 
the  shield,  and  arranging  them  in  due  order  for 
inspection  by  the  appointed  officers. 

At  another  and  higher  class  of  laboratories 
they  were  employed  in  framing  and  fashioning 
weapons  for  chieftains  and  warriors  of  note ; 
swords  of  tempered  steel  and  scabbards  of  silver, 
capped  with  points  of  other  and  less  penetrable 
material :  and  helmets  of  copper  and  shields, 
with  ornamental  and  heraldic  devices.  Some 
busied  themselves  in  furnishing  large  shields  of 
brass,  which  they  polished  with  care  until  they 
glittered  again — while  still  farther  on,  they 
wrought  out  large  bows  of  steel,  from  which  to 
speed  the  barbed  arrows  prepared  by  their  fel- 
low-workmen. Farther  up,  near  the  mountain- 
side, there  lay  a  range  of  shops,  in  which  a 
thousand  operatives  constructed  military  wagons 
and  other  vehicles  for  the  expedition  ;  for  they 
knew  not  how  far  it  might  extend,  nor  through 
what  variety  of  hill  and  dale. 

To  the  right  of  these  were  gathered  artisans 
under  the  immediate  superintendence  of  the 
commander-in-chief,  who  labored  at  certain  va?t 
and  new  engines  of  battle,  more  especially  con- 
trived for  conflict  with  the  vast  brute.  These 
were  large  and  ponderous  wooden  structures, 
something  like  the  towers  known  in  Roman 
warfare,  but,  as  the  strength  and  stature  of 
the  foe  required,  of  far  greater  height  and  stiff- 
ness. 

They  were  to  be  planted  on  heavy  wheels 
and  of  great  circumference — placed  far  apart, 
so  as  to  furnish  for  the  whole  edifice  a  broad 
and  immoveable  base.  On  the  outer  side,  they 
were  armed  with  every  sort  of  sharp-edged  wea- 
pon, cutlass,  falchion,  and  spearhead,  so  as  to 
be,  if  possible,  unassailable  by  Behemoth.  In- 
ternally, they  were  furnished  with  great  store 
of  vast  bows  and  poisoned  shafts,  with  which,  if 
such  thing  might  be,  to  pierce  him  in  some  vul- 
nerable point,  or  at  least  to  gall  him  sorely  and 
drive  him  at  a  distance.  Besides  these,  there 
were  suspended  in  copious  abundance,  divers 


ingenious  implements,  each  contrived  for  some 
emergency  of  battle,  to  strike,  to  ward,  to 
wound,  and  to  destroy. 

Others  were  building,  taller  and  stronger,  at 
the  summits  of  which  were  suspended  great 
masses  of  metal  and  ponderous  hammers,  tons 
in  weight,  with  which  to  wage  a  dreadful  bat- 
tery against  the  mighty  foe.  By  some  internal 
machinery,  it  was  so  contrived,  that  these  solid 
weights  of  metal  could  be  swung  to  and  fro  with 
fearful  swiftness  and  violence,  by  the  application 
of  a  small  and  apparently  inadequate  power. 
Another  structure,  like  these,  was  prepared, 
from  which  to  cast,  by  means  of  capacious  in- 
struments, large  quantities  of  molten  metals, 
kept  in  fusion  by  mighty  furnaces,  to  be  hurled 
upon  the  enemy  from  afar,  and  to  descend  upon 
him  in  sulphurous  and  deadly  showers,  like 
those  which  fell  on  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  of 
old. 

Day  and  night,  night  even  to  its  middle 
watches,  were  devoted  to  the  construction  and 
fabrication  of  engines  and  implements  like 
these ;  for  their  minds  were  now  so  anchored 
on  this  great  enterprise,  that  all  other  ties  were 
cast  loose,  and  in  this  alone  they  embarked 
every  thought  and  purpose.  The  hours  hitherto 
given  to  repose  and  sleep,  were  now  made  vas- 
sals to  the  new  adventure. 

It  was  a  magnificent  spectacle  to  see  a  whole 
nation  thus  gathered  under  the  dark  wing  of 
the  midnight,  working  out  battle  for  their  dread 
adversary.  Athwart  the  solid  darkness  which 
pressed  upon  their  dwellings,  the  gleams  of 
swarthy  labor  shot  long  and  frequent.  Far 
through  the  hills  echoed  the  clangor  of  armorers, 
and  the  sharp  sounds  of  multitudinous  toil,  la- 
boring, each  in  its  kind,  toward  the  redemption 
of  a  people. 

Grouped  thus  about  their  forges,  and  hurry- 
ing from  one  task  to  another  with  rapid  and 
quiet  tread,  they  might  have  seemed  to  the  eye 
of  imagination,  looking  down  from  the  neigh- 
boring heights,  to  be  employed  in  infernal  la- 
bor, and  vexing  the  noon  of  night  with  unearthly 
and  Satanic  cares. 

But  over  the  wide  scene  there  rested  a  bles- 
sing ;  for  Heaven  always  shines  upon  the  op- 
pressed who  nobly  yearn  and  vigorously  strive 
to  break  their  chains.  The  long  and  bright 
hours  of  day,  too,  were  crowded  with  their 
peculiar  duties.  The  gardens  and  the  enclosed 
plains,  again  restored  to  their  old  symmetry 
and  beauty,  were  now  filled  with  a  soldiery 
which,  under  the  eye  of  dexterous  leaders, 
were  drilled,  deployed,  marshalled,  and  schooled 
into  new  manoeuvres,  before  this  unknown 
in  the  wars  of  the  Mound-builders,  and  adapt- 
ed to  the  character  of  their  unwonted  an- 
tagonist. They  were  taught  to  wheel  with 
novel  evolutions,  to  retreat  in  less  orderly  but 
more  evasive,  movements  and  marches  than  of 
old,  and  to  attack  with  a  wariness  and  caution 
hitherto  unpractised  in  their  encounters  with 
mortal  enemies.  Over  all  the  eye  of  Bokulla 
glanced,  giving  system  to  the  orders  of  the 


BEHEMOTH. 


chieftains,  and  confidence  to  the  obedience  of 
their  legions.  Apparently  performing  duty  no- 
where, he  fulfilled  it  everywhere,  with  a  calm 
and  masterly  skill,  which,  while  it  was  unob- 
served by  the  populace,  was  an  object  of  ad- 
miration to  another  order  of  men,  who  were 
made  the  immediate  channels  of  his  influence, 
and  who  were  therefore  brought  more  directly 
under  the  spell. 

Upon  my  soul,"  cried  one  of  two  officers. 


"This  army,  five  score  thousand  in  num- 
bers," reiterated  the  old  man,  "  will  be  but  as 
the  snow  in  the  whirlwind  before  the  breath  of 
Behemoth.  They  have  forgotten,  senseless 
men  !  the  story  of  our  fathers.  They  recollect 
not  how  in  ancient  days  the  fellow  of  this  vast 
Brute  (perchance  this  living  one  himself)  was 
met  by  our  hunters  in  the  mountain  gorge : 
that  his  roar  was  like  thunder  near  at  hand, 
and  his  tread  like  the  invasion  of  waters  !  that 


who  stood  near  the  trunk  of  a  withered  cedar,  j  they  shrunk  before  him  into  the  hollows  of  the 
which  overshadowed  a  wide  and  deep  sunken  j  rocks  as  the  white  cloud  scatters  before  the 
well,  looking  upon  one  of  these  novel  parades,  I  sun  f" 

"  upon  my  soul,  Bokulla  hath  the  power  and  j  « I  pray  Heaven  the  wife  of  Bokulla  be  not 
the  knowledge  of  a  God.  Out  of  these  men,  I  widowed,"  echoed  his  spouse.  "  The  chieftain 
but  yesterday  dumb  and  torpid  with  fear,  he  ;  is  a  bold  man,  and  submits  but  poorly  to  the 
has  struck  the  spirit  of  life,  and  that  with  the   lording  of  any,  be  it  man  or  brute." 


same  ease  as  my  sword-blade  strikes  from  this 
dull  stone  at  my  foot,  sparks  of  fire.- 


I  fear  this  spirit  pricks  him  on  too  far  in 
this  adventure ;  I  have  warned  him  secretly," 


"  Who  can  withstand  the  giant  machines  i  concluded  the  old  mpund-builder,  in  a  deep  and 
which  tower  yonder,  like  mountains,  above  our  ]  solemn  tone  of  voice ;  "I  have  warned  him,  but 
dwellings  ?"  cried  his  companion.  "  The  Spirit  he  scorns  my  warning.  He  will  not  be  stayed 
of  Evil  himself,  if  imbodied  in  the  frame  of  the  '  in  his  purpose.  I  will  warn  him  yet  once  more, 
Brute,  must  fall  before  those  whirlwind  ham- 1  for  he  dreams  not  that  he  goes  out  to  war  with 
mers  of  brass  and  tempests  of  molten  copper  !"  i  one  who  is  a  giant  in  instinct  as  well  as  in 

While  he  spake,  one  of  the  vast  oaken  struc- 1  strength  '." 
tures  had  been  wheeled  out,  and  his  ponderous  j  The  eventful  morning  of  going  forth  against 
enginery  set  in  motion,  and  brought  to  bear  |  the  Mastodon  came  :  it  was  a  morning  bright 
upon  a  crag  that  projected  from  the  mountain  |  with  beautiful  auspices.  The  sky  overhead 
near  which  it  rested.  To  and  fro  they  swung  j  glittered  with  its  fresh  and  airy  splendors  :  no 
with  fearful  force  and  velocity,  at  each  blow  i  cloud  dimmed  the  world  of  indescribable  blue 
shattering  vast  masses  from  t2ie  rock,  and  bring- 1  which  hung  calm  and  motionless  like  heaven 
ing  them  headlong  down  the  mountain.  At  the  j  itself  on  high.  Occasionally  against  its  clear 
same  time,  not  far  distant,  tons  of  crude  ore  I  canvass  a  passing  troop  of  wild-fowl  painted 
were  cast  into  the  furnaces,  affixed  to  the  other  ;  their  forms,  and  vanished ;  or,  a  tree-top  here 
towers,  and  hurled  forth  upon  the  prairie  in   and  there  stood  out,  pencilled  upon  it,  with  its 


clouds  of  fire,  which,  as  they  fell  upon  the 
earth,  scathed  and  withered  everything  before 
them. 

Although,  the  multitude  entertained  hearts  of 
favor  anJ  hope  toward  the  project  of  meeting 
Behemoth  in  battle,  there  were  a  few  who 
doubted  its  wisdom  and  foreboded  a  gloomy  re- 
sult. 

"  The  dinging  of  those  anvils,"  said  an  aged 
man  who  sat  at  the  sunset  in  the  front  of  his 
dwelling,  to  his  spouse  (no  less  stricken  in 
years),  who  leaned  out  at  the  window,  "  the 
dinging  of  yon  anvils  is  to  my  ears  a  mere 
death-dirge.  Wherefore  are  the  youth  of  our 
land  to  be  led  forth  on  this  vain  pilgrimage  ? 
They  are  fore-doomed  by  the  hooting  of  the 
owl,  which  has  been  ceaseless  in  our  woods 
since  first  it  was  planned.  The  dismal  bat  and 
the  brown  vulture  flap  their  wings  over  our 
bright  day-marshallings  in  expectancy  of  a  ban- 
quet." 

"  And  as  for  the  chieftain,  Bokulla,"  contin- 
ued his  wife,  prolonging  the  dolorous  strain  of 
conversation,  "  his  defeat,  if  not  death,  is  al- 
ready doomed  in  heaven.  The  star  which  fell 
but  yesternight  luridly  athwart  his  dwelling, 
foretold  that  sequel  too  well.  And  his  spouse, 
stumbled  she  not  essaying  but  this  morning  to 
cross  its  threshold  and  greet  the  home-return 
of  Bokulla  from  the  distant  villages  ?" 


branches  and  foliage  all  distinct.  The  sun 
rode  just  over  the  horizon,  and  through  the  in- 
numerable villages  of  the  Mound-builders  the 
martial  trumpet  sounded  the  spirit-stirring  ala- 
rum. At  the  call,  one  hundred  thousand  right- 
good  men  of  battle  seized  their  arms  and  march- 
ed through  the  territory  of  their  brethren  in 
solid  array. 

At  the  head  of  the  van,  drawn  in  a  two- 
wheeled  chariot  of  wood,  studded  with  iron  and 
ornamented  with  an  eagle  at  each  of  its  four 
points,  front  and  rear,  and  drawn  by  a  single 
powerful  and  jet-black  bison,  came  Bokulla 
himself.  He  stood  erect  in  the  vehicle,  while 
his  burnished  armor  and  towering  helm  flung 
their  splendor  far  and  wide.  In  his  hand  he 
held  no  rein,  but  guided  the  noble  beast  by  his 
mere  intonations  of  voice. 

Behind  Bokulla  followed  a  company  of  men- 
at-arms,  each  bearing  a  long  and  stalwart  club, 
armed,  at  its  heavier  extremity,  with  a  four- 
edged  sword  or  falchion,  to  the  point  of  which 
was  affixed  a  spear-like  weapon,  stiflT  and  keen. 
Of  these  there  were  one  hundred  each  cased  in 
a  mail  of  elk-skin,  which,  while  it  was  flexible 
and  yielded  to  every  gesture  of  the  body,  was 
yet  a  sufficient  defence  against  any  ordinary  as- 
sault. These  were  expected,  beside  guarding 
and  sustaining  Bokulla,  to  close  with  Behemoth, 
and,  taking  advantage  of  the  unwieldy  motions 


100 


BEHEMOTH. 


of  his  frame,  to  wound  his  legs,  or  otherwise 
annoy  and  disable  him.  Behind  these  followed 
an  equal  phalanx  of  spearmen,  whose  allotted 
duty  it  was,  with  a  longer  weapon,  to  gird  the 
brute  at  a  distance,  and  draw  his  attention  from 
any  quarter  to  which  it  might  appear  directed 
with  too  much  vigor  and  chance  of  danger.  In  the 
rear  of  the  company  of  spearmen  marched  a 
strong  body  of  common  soldiers,  bearing  the 
customary  Mound-builders'  instruments  of  war, 
namely,  vast  steel  bows,  six  feet  or  more  in 
length,  and  quivers  filled  with  corresponding 
shafts,  tipped  with  poisons,  and  on  their  left 
arms  bearing  the  usual  shield  of  copper,  with 
bosses  of  silver.  In  the  rear  of  these  heavily 
rolled  on  two  of  those  newly-invented  machines, 
which  rose  like  pyramids  above  the  array. 
These  were  drawn  by  scores  of  yoked  bisons, 
and  driven  forward  by  private  soldiers,  who 
walked  at  their  sides,  live  earth  shook  under 
their  lumbering  weight.  Their  bowels  were 
filled  with  captains  and  privates,  who  had 
charge,  each  in  his  station,  of  their  implements 
of  death.  Following  these,  in  order,  marched 
a  numerous  squadron,  sustaining,  over  their 
sinewy  shoulders,  heavy  axes  of  steel  with  edges 
sharp  as  death,  and  handles  of  immoveable  oak. 
Drawn  by  a  thousand  beasts  of  burden,  behind 
these,  came  innumerable  provision  and  baggage 
wagons,  provided  for  the  emergency  of  a  pro- 
tracted search  for  the  enemy,  and  a  long  delay  in 
vanquishing  and  destroying  him.  These  were 
accompanied  with  troops  and  officers.  Behind 
these  walked  countless  varieties  of  battle ;  sol- 
diers, the  very  conception  of  whose  armor  and 
weapons  is  lost  in  the  oblivious  and  moulder- 
ing past.  Rearmost  came  six  other  towers,  bear- 
ing their  immense  hammers  and  fiery  furnaces, 
with  ten  thousand  troops  to  guard,  to  guide 
them ;  to  select  even  roads  for  their  progress, 
and,  lastly,  to  wield  their  vast  forces  in  the  hour 
of  conflict. 

Over  the  whole  floated  a  hundred  bright  and 
emblematic  pennons,  while  the  sonorous  metal 
kept  time  to  their  waving  folds  as  the  morning 
wind  dallied  them  to  and  fro.  It  was  a  glorious 
thing  to  see  ten  times  ten  thousand,  thus  equip- 
ped and  embattled,  going  forth,  on  that  gay 
morning,  to  the  war. 

Wherever  their  course  lay,  it  was  thronged 
with  the  multitude  pushing  to  gain  a  sight  of 
Bokulla  and  his  compeers,  the  solid  soldiery  and 
the  stupendous  structures.  Every  window  was 
filled,  every  elevation  seized  on,  every  house- 
top covered  by  spectators  straining  their  vision 
to  gather  in  every  appointment  and  device,  ban- 
ner and  sword,  bison,  chieftain,  and  all.  Ah  ! 
well  might  their  eyes  ache  to  look  upon  that 
numerous  chivalry  !  Well  might  they  hang  with 
lingerihg  gaze  upon  the  fair  cheeks  of  that 
youthful  array  J  Well  might  their  hearts  keep 
time  with  the  onward  steps  of  that  glorious 
host !  Happy  is  it  for  mortals  that  they  can  enjoy 
the  pageant  of  the  present,  and  have  no  power 
to  prefigure  in  it  the  funeral-procession  and  the 


mournful  company  into  which  the  future  may 
change  it ! 

As  the  foot  of  the  last  soldier  left  the  territo- 
ry of  the  Mound-builders,  the  drums  and  trum- 
pets sounded  a  farewell,  and  the  army,  taking 
the  right  bank  of  a  rapid  stream  which  ran  due 
west,  pursued  its  march.  The  ground  over 
which  their  course  lay,  was  a  smooth  and  pleas- 
ant green-sward,  the  verdure  of  which  was  still 
wet  with  the  dews  of  the  night.  Occasionally 
it  rose  into  a  gentle  elevation,  which,  for  the 
first  few  miles,  brought  the  advancing  army 
once  again  in  sight  of  the  expectant  gazers, 
who  still  kept  their  posts  upon'housetop,  tower, 
and  mound.  At 'length,  from  one  of  these  emi- 
nences, they  descended  into  a  valley  which  bore 
them  altogether  from  the  view  of  the  most  favo- 
rably-stationed looker-out ;  and  yet,  even  when 
their  banners  and  tall  structures  had  passed 
wholly  from  the  sight,  gushes  of  music,  fainter 
and  fainter  at  each  note,  reached  their  ears, 
and  reverberated  from  the  neighboring  cliffe 
and  hill-sides. 

Onward  they  passed,  through  the  long  vale 
which  stretched  before  them,  choosing  out  the 
clearest  paths,  and  still  keeping  their  march 
toward  the  Occident.  In  selecting  this  route  they 
^ere  guided  by  large  tracks  which  appeared 
at  remote  strides  in  the  earth,  and  by  frequent 
signs  of  devastation — fallen  trees  and  crushed 
underwood. 

Once  fhey  came  to  a  river  of  great  width, 
on  the  near  margin  of  which,  at  the  water's 
edge,  appeared  two  larg^  footprints,  while  on 
the  opposite  bank  were  discovered  indentations 
equally  vast  but  impressed  deeper  in  the  soil, 
as  if  the  monstrous  beast  had  reared  on  his 
hindermost  feet,  and,  with  supernatural  strength 
and  agility,  thrown  himself  across  the  inter- 
vening breadth  of  waters.  As  there  were  no 
bridges  near  at  hand,  they  were  forced  to  com- 
pass the  river  by  a  circuitous  route,  to  regain 
the  tracks  which  had  been  espied  on  the  other 
bank. 

After  attaining  the  utter  extremity  of  the 
vale  through  which  the  stream  poured  its 
tide,  they  pursued  their  chosen  way  into  a 
thick  wood,  the  path  of  the  Mastodon  through 
which  seemed  to  have  been  created  by  sweep- 
ing before  him,  with  a  flexible  power,  what- 
ever obstructed  his  progress.  On  every  side  of 
the  huge  gap  into  which  the  army  now  entered, 
lay  prostrate  trees  of  greatest  magnitude — oak, 
pine,  and  sycamore.  Some,  apparently,  had 
been  cast  on  high,  and,  descending  into  the 
neighboring  forest,  left  their  roots  naked  in  the 
air,  unnaturally  inverted  and  exposed.  And  yet, 
save  in  the  immediate  path  of  the  desolator, 
nature  smiled,  unalarmed  and  innocent  in  its 
primeval  and  virgin  beauty.  Here  and  there 
shone  out,  in  the  forest,  bright  green  patches, 
rising  often  into  gentle  slopes,  or  softening 
away  into  vales  as  gentle.  Frequently  the  up- 
land was  crowned  with  groups  of  small  trees, 
and  the  vales  were  tesselated  with  sweet  wild- 


BEHEMOTH. 


101 


ftowers.  Then  they  crossed  babbling  brooks 
and  rivulets,  which  ran  across  their  march  with 
a  melodious  murmur,  eloquent  with  reproaches 
on  the  warlike  task  they  were  at  present  pur- 
suing. Again,  a  large  stream,  which  had  gath- 
ered volume  from  the  neighboring  mountains, 
came  rushing  down  the  declivities,  and  seemed 
to  shout  them  on  to  battle. 

At  times,  in  the  course  of  this  variegated 
march,  they  fell  upon  open  spaces  where,  for  a 
*  small  circuit,  no  tree  was  to  be  seen ;  rich  mead- 

ows, the  chosen  pastures  of  the  wild  beings  of 
the  prairies,  pranked  with  red  and  white  clo- 
ver, and  fragrant  as  the  rose,  in  their  unmown 
freshness. 

Sometimes  they  passed  through  sudden  and 
narrow  defiles,  overhung  by  frowning  cliiTs,  and 
clothed  with  a  dank  verdure  which  seemed  to 
be  the  growth  of  a  century.  One  gorge,  in  par- 
ticular, of  this  kind,  they  encountered,  whose 
beetling  rocks  in  their  dark  and  regular  gran- 
deur, looked  as  if  they  might  have  been  wrought 
out  by  the  hands  of  the  old  Cyclops  or  Pelas- 
'■♦  gians  strange.     They  seemed  to  be  the  solemn 

*.^  halls  of  a  great  race  which  had  its  seat  of  em- 
pire there  (beyond  even  the  age  of  the  Mound- 
builders),  and  chambered  in  its  tabernacles  of 
everlasting  stone.  But  Nature  alone  built  these 
halls  for  herself,  and  through  them,  toward  the 
west,  she  walks  at  the  twilight  and  morning 
p  hour  in  pomp  and  majesty.  I  see  her,  her  skirts 
purpled  with  evening,  and  flowing  forth  in  the 
fresh  breezes  of  that  untainted  clime,  now 
pacing  those  mighty  avenues,  and  recalling,  in 
their  awful  stillness,  the  nations  which  slumber 
at  her  feet.  Her  face  brightens  like  a  sun,  as 
she  meditates  over  the  empires  which  have 
faded  from  earth  into  the  dust  beneath  her; 
she  thinks  and  kindles  in  knowing  and  remem- 
bering that,  while  man  is  mortal  and  perisheth, 
she  is  eternal  and  thrones  with  God. 

The  glittering  and  long-extended  host  of  the 
Mound-builders  marched  on  through  this  cliff- 
walled  passage,  and  passed  next  from  all  glimpse 
of  the  sun,  into  dense  and  almost  impervious 
woods ;  impervious  but  for  the  way  hewn  out 
by  the  mighty  pioneer,  in  whose  tracks  they 
continued  to  tread.  Gloom,  with  its  midnight 
wings,  sat  on  high  and  brooded  over  the  bound- 
less thicket. 

The  very  leaves  seemed  dipped  in  a  deeper 
hue  of  green,  and  the  grass  was  thick  and  mat- 
ted underneath,  as  if,  in  that  desolate  region,  it 
clung  closer  to  the  earth.  Above,  stood  in  their 
ancient  stillness,  apparently  unvoiced  for  ages, 
the  tall,  sombre  trees,  while  about  their  trunks 
venerable  ivies  and  mosses  clung  desperately, 
and  mounted  far  up  toward  their  topmost  branch- 
es. Athwart  the  solid  darkness  no  wing,  save 
that  of  a  melancholy  owl  or  bat,  clove  and  fur- 
nished to  the  tenebrous  realm  the  sign  of  life 
or  motion.  On  the  earth  no  living  thing  was 
to  be  seen,  unless,  amid  the  dank  grass,  an  oc- 
casional toad  or  serpent,  sitting  or  coUed  on  the 
cold  stone.  And  yet,  though  life  seemed  ex- 
7 


tinct,  or  exhibited  itself  only  in  reptile  and 
hateful  forms,  the  Mound-builders,  as  they 
marched  on  through  the  gloomy  quiet,  in  pur- 
suit of  their  mighty  prey,  saw,  in  the  dimly  dis- 
covered foot-marks  which  they  stUl  followed,  a 
token  of  vast  and  inexplicable  power  which 
deepened  the  darkness  about  them,  and  infused 
a  portion  of  its  weird  influence  into  their  souls : 
and  yet,  with  purpose  unshaken,  they  advanced. 
Again  the  blessed  sunshine  greeted  them,  and 
the  low  mist  rolled  heavily  from  theii"  minds — 
and  again  their  purpose  stood  out  to  their  in- 
ward eye,  clear  and  determinate. 

Emerging  from  the  awful  woods  they  came 
to  a  broad  prairie,  across  which  the  large  foot^ 
steps  were  deeply  visible.  On  every  side,  as 
far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  ample  plain  was 
desert  and  unoccupied.  The  innumerable  herds 
of  bison  which  had  once  been  its  tenantry,  had 
now,  before  the  terror  of  Behemoth,  fled  away ; 
and  the  wild  wolf,  which  once  lurked  amid  the 
rank  grass,  skulked  from  a  power  which  seem- 
ed to  overshadow  the  earth.  Still  there  was  a 
province  of  animated  nature  into  which  the 
alarm  scarcely  ascended  :  for  on  high,  as  in  the 
quiet  and  fearless  hours  of  earlier  times,  the 
brown  vulture  and  the  bald  eagle  flew,  silently 
sailing  on,  or  sending  through  the  air  their 
shrill  notes  of  ecstacy  and  rapture.  The  bound- 
lessness of  those  mighty  meadows  was  in  itself 
calculated  to  strike  an  awe  through  the  bosom 
of  the  advancing  army ;  before  it  they  lay,  a 
vast  table,  on  which,  as  on  the  tables  of  stone, 
the  fingers  of  an  Omnipotent  had  written  ma- 
jesty, power,  and  eternity.  Contemplations 
like  these  were  sufficient  in  themselves  to  fill 
the  mind  of  the  armed  host  with  feelings  of  awe 
and  humility;  but  when,  over  the  immense 
prairie,  they  saw  evidences  that  something  had 
passed  which  for  the  moment  rivalled  Deity; 
more  palpable  in  its  manifestations,  nearer  in 
its  visible  strength,  and  less  merciful  in  its 
might ;  when  the  tracks  about  them  and  the 
desert  solitude  which  Behemoth  had  created, 
became  thus  clearly  apparent,  they  shrunk  with- 
in themselves  and  doubted  the  wisdom  of  their 
present  enterprise. 

This  feeling  however  reigned  but  for  a  mo- 
ment. More  manly  and  martial  thoughts  soon 
took  their  place,  and  they  pressed  on  in  the 
path  pointed  out  with  alacrity  and  courage. 
The  verge  of  the  plain,  which  they  had  now 
reached,  bordered  on  a  long  and  high  ridge  of 
mountains,  which  stretched  from  the  margin 
of  the  prairie  far  west.  Upon  these  summits 
they  now  advanced.  Arrayed  in  broad  and 
solid  columns  the  army  moved  on  over  the 
mighty  causeway,  their  trumpets  filling  the  air 
with  novel  music ;  while  the  echo  of  thei' 
martial  steps,  sounding  through  the  wildemfce*, 
aflfrighted  Silence  from  his  ancient  throne. 
Against  the  clear  sky  their  bright  banners 
flaunted,  and  high  up  into  the  heaven  aspired 
the  warlike  tower  flashing  death  from  every 
point.     The  gleam  of  ten    thousand  swords 


102 


BEHEMOTH. 


streamed  from  those  broad  heights  far  into  the 
depths  of  air — above,  around,  below — lighting 
the  solitude  like  new-risen  morning-stars. 

The  pride  of  war  now  truly  kindled  their 
breasts — fear  skulked  aside  from  their  heroic 
way,  and  Death,  could  he  have  come  forth  a 
personal  being,  on  those  clear  summits,  as  their 
pulses  freshened  in  treading  them,  would  have 
been  no  phantom. 

Through  the  ranks  a  soldierly  joy  prevailed, 
and  with  the  rousing  drum  their  spirits  beat 
high. 

They  had  reached  the  extreme  limit  of  the 
mountain  ridge,  and  were  preparing  to  descend 
into  the  plain  broadening  at  its  foot,  when, 
afar  oif,  they  espied,  slowly  heaving  itself  to 
and  fro  in  the  ocean,  which  sparkled  in  the 
mid-day  sun  beyond  the  plain,  a  vast  body 
which  soon  shaped  itself  to  their  vision  into 
the  form  of  Behemoth. 

The  army  halted  and  stood  gazing.  The 
giant  beast  seemed  to  be  sporting  with  the 
ocean.  For  a  moment  he  plunged  into  it,  and 
swinaming  out  a  league  with  his  head  and  lithe 
proboscis  reared  above  the  waters,  spouted 
forth  a  sea  of  clear,  blue  fluid  toward  the  sky, 
ascending  to  the  very  cloud,  which,  returning, 
brightened  into  innumerable  rainbows,  large 
and  small,  and  spanned  the  ocean.  Again  he 
cast  his  huge  bulk  along  the  main,  and  lay, 
island-like,  floating  in  the  soft  middle  sun, 
basking  in  its  ray,  and  presenting,  in  the  gran- 
deur and  vastness  of  his  repose,  a  monumental 
image  of  Eternal  Quiet.  Bronze  nor  marble 
have  ever  been  wrought  into  sculpture  as  grand 
and  sublime  as  the  motionless  shape  of  that 
mighty  Brute  resting  on  the  sea. 

Even  at  the  remote  distance  from  which  they 
viewed  him  they  could  catch  at  times  through 
the  ocean-spray,  the  sparkle  of  his  small  and 
burning  eye.  Once,  it  seemed  for  a  moment 
steadily  fixed  upon  their  host  as  it  stood  out 
conspicuously  on  the  height,  and,  abandoning  his 
gambols.  Behemoth  urged  his  bulky  frame  toward 
the  land.  Breasting  the  mighty  surges  which 
his  own  motion  created,  he  sought  the  shore, 
and  as  he  came  up  majestically  from  the  water, 
a  chasm  ensued  as  if  the  Pacific  shrunk  from 
its  limits.  With  a  gurgling  tumult  the  sub- 
siding waves  rushed  into  the  broad  hollow,  and 
continued  to  eddy  about  its  vortex. 

Meantime  Behemoth  stood  upon  the  earth, 
and  rearing  on  his  hindmost  feet  his  foremost 
were  lifted  high  in  the  air,  and  with  a  roar 
loud  and  fearful  (like  the  gathering  of  an 
earthquake  with  its  powers  of  desolation  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth)  he  brought  them  to  the 
plain  with  a  weight  and  energy  which  made  it 
tremble  to  its  utmost  verge.  He  moved  on; 
making  straight  toward  the  army  of  the  Mound- 
builders.  To  the  eyes  of  the  astonished  host, 
as  he  shouted  with  his  fearful  voice,  he  seemed 
like  a  dread  thunder-cloud  which  gathers  tone 
and  volume  as  it  rolls  on  assaulting  with  its 
hollow  peals  the  very  walls  of  heaven.    Bokul- 


la  was  undismayed  and  calm.  He  saw  that  the 
hour  for  action  had  arrived,  and  marshalling 
his  troops  in  proper  order,  he  led  them  down  a 
winding  and  gentle  slope  which  descended  to 
the  plain.  A  short  time  sufficed  and  they 
reached  the  level  ground.  Disposing  them- 
selves in  the  preconcerted  order,  they  awaited 
the  on-coming  of  Behemoth.  The  towers  were 
planted  firm  on  the  earth ;  the  pioneers  put 
forth  and  the  instrumental  sounds  began.  As 
an  additional  thought  a  battalion  of  troops  was 
placed  on  a  level  ledge  of  rocks,  on  the  side  of 
the  mountain,  and  in  advance  of  the  main  army, 
to  gall  him  as  he  passed. 

On  his  part  there  was  no  delay :  with  strides, 
like  those  of  gods,  he  stalked  forward.  And 
still  he  seemed,  to  the  Mound-builders,  to  grow 
with  his  advance.  His  bulk  dilated,  till  it  came 
between  them  and  heaven,  and  filled  the  whole 
circuit  of  the  sky.  The  firmament  seemed  to 
rest  upon  his  wide  shoulders  as  a  mantle.  As 
he  neared  upon  their  view,  they  saw  more  of 
his  structure  and  properties.  His  face  was 
like  a  vast  countenance  cut  in  stone,  hewn 
from  the  hard  granite  of  the  mountain-side, 
with  features  large  as  those  of  the  Egyptian 
sphinx.  Before  him  he  bore — terrible  instru- 
ment of  power !  a  mighty  and  lithe  trunk, 
which,  with  swift  skill,  he  coiled  and  darted 
through  the  air,  like  a  monstrous  serpent,  ar- 
teried  with  poison  and  death.  Guarding  the 
trunk  were  two  far  extending  tusks,  which 
curved  and  flashed  in  the  sun  like  scimitars. 
Over  his  huger  proportions  fear  cast  its  shadow, 
and  they  saw  them  as  through  a  cloud  darkly. 
He  moved  forward,  nevertheless,  a  vast  machine 
of  war,  containing  in  himself  all  the  muniments 
and  defences  of  a  well-appointed  host.  To  the 
cool  and  courageous  sagacity  of  the  leader  he 
seemed  to  join  the  strength  and  force  of  an  em- 
battled soldiery :  to  sharp  and  ready  weapons 
of  offence  he  added  the  defence  of  a  huge  and 
impenetrable  frame.  Through  his  small  and 
flaming  orbs,  his  soul  shot  forth  in  flashes  dark 
and  desperate.  His  neck  was  ridged  with  a 
short  and  stiff"  mane,  which  lent  an  additional 
terror  to  his  bulk. 

On  he  came.  He  neared  the  host  of  the 
Mound-builders.  His  fearful  trunk  was  uplift- 
ed, and  his  tusks  glanced  in  the  broad  beam  of 
day  over  the  heads  of  the  army.  Not  a  sword 
left  its  scabbard.  Not  an  arrow  was  pointed. 
The  brazen  hammers  and  vessels  of  molten  cop- 
per, which  had  alone  been  raised,  fell  back  to 
their  places,  powerless  and  ineff'ective.  The 
palsy  of  fear  was  upon  the  whole  host.  The 
near  and  unexpected  vastness  of  Behemoth 
awed  their  souls.  Bokulla  alone  retained  his 
self-possession,  and  shouted  to  the  affrighted 
squadrons  :  "  Onward !  Mound-builders — cheer 
up,  and  onward !  the  battle  may  yet  be  with 
us  !"  It  was  in  vain.  The  vast  proboscis  de- 
scended, and  crushed  with  its  descent  a  whole 
phalanx.  A  second  sweep,  and  the  mighty 
wooden  towers,  with  their  hammers  of  brass, 


BEHEMOTH. 


103 


their  molten  copper,  and  their  indwelling  de- 
fenders, were  hurled  on  high,  and,  rushing  to 
the  earth,  strewed  tbe  plain  with  their  wreck. 

Ten  thousand  perished  under  his  feet  as  he 
trampled  onward.  Ten  thousand  fell  stricken 
to  the  earth  by  the  mere  icy  bolt  of  fear.  The 
legion,  stationed  on  the  level  ledge,  were  swept 
from  their  post,  as  the  whirlwind  sweeps  the 
dust  from  the  autumn  leaf.  Twice  ten  thou- 
sand and  more  fled  up  the  mountain ;  across 
the  prairies;  and  some,  in  their  extreme  of 
trepidation,  sought  shelter  in  the  sea.  With 
infinite  ruin  the  main  host  lay  scattered  upon 
the  prairie,  shield,  sword,  bow,  wagon,  wagon- 
er, spearsman,  and  pioneer.  Over  the  plain, 
maddened  by  terror,  the  bisons,  with  their  vehi- 
cles, following  in  clattering  haste,  galloped, 
they  knew  not  whither.  Of  a  body  of  about ' 
fifteen  thousand  men,  Bokulla,  collected  as 
ever,  took  command,  and  marshalling  them 
through  a  narrow  defile,  led  them  up  the  moun- 
tain, from  which  the  whole  army  had  a  few 
hours  before  descended  in  pomp  and  glory. 
Guiding  them  along  the  ridge  by  new  and  well- 
chosen  paths,  he  hurried  them  forward.  In  the 
meantime  Behemoth  had  accomplished  his  work  ; 
upon  the  squadrons  which  were  left.  When 
the  task  of  death  and  ruin  was  completed,  he 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  wreck,  and,  gazing 
about,  seemed  to  seek  for  some  portion  of  the 
host  on  whom  desolation  was  yet  to  be  wrought. 
With  sagacious  instinct  he  soon  discovered  the 
path  which  the  missing  legions  had  taken.  In- 
stantly abandoning  the  plain,  he  pressed  tow- 1 
ard  the  gap  through  which  the  retreating ! 
troops  had  fled.  I 

Rushing  through  the  defile,  he  was  soon 
standing  on  the  steps  of  Bokulla  and  his  flying  | 
troops.  Through  each  narrow  pass  of  rocks 
the  chieftain  skilfully  guided  them,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  every  object  that  might  be  an  ob- 
stacle to  the  monstrous  frame  of  their  pursuer. 
Sometimes  they  mounted  a  sudden  ascent,  some- 
times hastened  through  a  narrow  vale,  or 
around  a  clump  of  mighty  sycamores  and  cotton- 
woods.  Nevertheless  Behemoth  pressed  on. 
Behind  them,  terrible  as  the  voice  of  death, 
they  heard  his  resounding  roar,  and  turned 
pale  with  aflfright.  They  had  reached  the 
crown  of  a  hill,  and  were  compassing  a  tall 
rock,  which  stood  in  their  way,  to  descend, 
■when  they  heard  heav}',  trampling  steps  behind 
them,  and  looking  back,  they  beheld  the  pon- 
derous bulk  of  the  Mastodon  urging  rapidly  up 
the  ascent.  Trepidation  fastened  on  the  ranks. 
Their  knees  smote  together,  and  many,  in  the 
weakness  of  sudden  fear,  fell  quaking  to  the 
earth.  Some,  in  their  alarms,  cast  themselves 
headlong  from  the  height ;  some  escaped  into 
the  neighboring  woods,  and  two  or  three,  bereft; 
of  sense  by  terror,  fled  into  the  very  jaws  of 
the  huge  beast  himself  A  small  band  only 
kept  on  their  way  with  Bokulla. 

Surging  up  the  steep,  and  down  the  opposite 
descent.  Behemoth  pushed  forward,  trampling 
to  the  earth  those  who  stood  rooted  in  his  path — 


I  statues  of  despair — and  was  soon  at  the  rear  of 
the  small  flying  troop. 

He  was  at  the  very  heels  of  the  pale  fugi- 
tives, and  Bokulla,  placing  a  trumpet  at  his  lips, 
blew  a  long,  loud,  and  what,  in  the  hour  of  bat- 
tle and  under  other  auspices,  would  have  been 
an  inspiriting  blast,  and  endeavored  to  arouse  in 
them  sufficient  spirit  and  strength  to  bear  them 
to  the  shelter  of  a  gigantic  crag  which  stood  in 
their  path.  Past  this  the  velocity  and  impetus 
of  the  brute  would  inevitably  force  him,  and 
they  might  rest  for  a  moment,  while  he  rushed 
down  and  reascended  (if  reascend  he  should) 
the  declivity.  The  attempt  was  successless; 
the  trumpet-blast,  vainly  blown,  was  borne  fai  . 
away  into  the  forest,  and,  echoing  from  cliff  to 
cliff',  seemed  only  to  vex  the  idle  air. 

From  Bokulla,  one  by  one,  his  followers  fell 
off  and  perished  by  Behemoth,  or  crept  into  the 
grass  and  underwood  to  die  a  more  lingering 
death.  At  length  the  chieftain  was  alone  be- 
fore his  mighty  pursuer ;  and  yet  he  bated  not 
a  jot  of  heart  or  hope,  but  still  bore  up  and 
steered  right  onward.  With  the  emergency  his 
courage,  resolution,  and  forethought,  arose. 

He  kept  his  way  steadily,  and  the  bii/n  which 
drew  him  nobly  seconded  his  purpose,  and  ex- 
hibited, as  if  inspired  by  the  greatness  of  the 
occasion,  the  power  of  reason  in  comprehend- 
ing, and  a  giant's  strength  in  carrying  out,  the 
most  expedient  means  for  the  rescue  of  his  mas- 
ter. He  seemed  to  apprehend  every  direction 
ef  Bokulla's  at  a  thought.  "  To  the  right,  be- 
tween yon  stout  oaks !  to  the  left — onward — 
Bokulla  is  at  your  mercy  !"  shouted  the  rider, 
and  they  swept  along  like  the  prophet  and  his 
chariot  of  fire.  The  night  had  gradually  come 
on.  Palpable  twilight  now  overspread  the 
scene,  and,  in  a  moment,  the  moon  glided  to 
her  station  in  the  zenith. 

The  woods  through  which  Bokulla  passed 
were  now  filled  with  shadows,  which,  crossing 
and  blending  with  each  other,  would  have  con- 
fused mere  human  skill  in  selecting  a  path,  but 
the  bison  dexterously  steered  on.  With  cum- 
brous but  swift  steps  Behemoth  stiU  pursued, 
over  hills,  vales,  mountains. 

At  length  Bokulla  reached  that  very  summit 
where  first  the  gigantic  phantom  had  appeared, 
and  where  the  impress  of  his  steps  was  yet 
clearly  left.  He  had  just  commenced  his  de- 
scent toward  the  villages  of  the  mound-build- 
ers (thousands  of  whom  looked  toward  his  char- 
iot as  he  sounded  another  call)  and  Behemoth 
stood  behind  him.  The  mighty  brute,  from  some 
unconjecturable  motive,  paused.  He  saw  the 
chariot  of  Bokulla  rapidly  verging  toward 
its  home.  He  abandoned  the  pursuit,  but  yet 
yielded  not  his  purpose  of  destroying  the  last 
of  the  army  of  the  Mound-builders ;  for,  loosen- 
ing from  its  base  a  massy  rock,  which  hung, 
threatening,  over  the  village,  he  lifted  it  with 
his  tusks,  and,  pushing  it  forward,  urged  it 
with  tremendous  force  directly  in  the  career  of 
the  chieftain.  Thundering  it  followed  him.  It 
neared  his  chariot.    Another  turn  and  BokuUa 


104 


BEHEMOTH. 


is  crushed ;  but  the  Mound-builders  shout  in 
one  voice,  "  To  the  right,  Bokulla  !  to  the 
right !"  and,  turning  his  chariot  in  that  direc- 
«  ■  tion,  he  escapes  the  descending  ruin,  though 
enveloped  in  the  dust  of  its  track.  Emerging 
quickly  from  the  cloud,  and  avoiding  the  rocky 
•  mass,  which  rushed  past  him  with  terrible  fury, 

Bokulla  now  reached  the  bottom  of  the  moun- 
tain, and  was  surrounded  instantly  by  innumera- 
ble Mound-builders,  each  with  a  fearful  question 
on  his  lips,  and  the  dread  of  a  yet  more  fearful 
answer  written  in  his  countenance.  Bokulla, 
alone  and  in  flight,  was  a  reply  to  all  their 
thoughts  could  imagine  or  dread  of  what  was 
terrible.  Gazing  upon  him  for  a  while  in  mo- 
tionless silence,  they  at  length  burst  the  stupor 
which  made  them  dumb,  and  each  one  asked  for 
husband,  brother,  son,  who  had  gone  forth,  a 
few  days  since,  full  of  life  and  vigor,  against 
Behemoth.  "  Death,  defeat,  and  flight!"  were 
all  that  escaped  from  Bokulla,  and,  breaking 
his  way  through  the  multitude,  he  sought  his 
own  home.  Gathering  about  the  house  of  the 
chieftain,  men,  women,  and  children,  in  large 
crowds,  they  cried  out  through  the  live-long 
night,  while  their  tears  fell,  for  their  relatives 
who  had  ventured  to  the  battle,  and  asked 
wherefore  they  came  not  back  ? 

The  next  day,  about  noon,  there  rushed  into 
the  village,  covered  with  foam  and  quaking 
with  fear,  troops  of  bison,  followed  by  the  frame- 
work on  which  the  towers  and  machines  of  war 
had  been  raised,  and,  clattering  through  the 
streets  with  their  enormous  and  lumbering 
wheels  till  they  reached  their  stalls,  they  fell  dead. 
To  some  of  them  a  handful  of  men  clung  tena- 
ciously, though  pale  and  terror-stricken;  and 
to  the  rear  of  one,  hung  by  his  feet,  which  were 
entangled  in  the  leathern  strap  that  had  bound 
the  frame  together,  a  lifeless  body,  the  scull  of 
which  was  broken  by  rude  and  hasty  contact 
with  the  earth,  while  the  tufts  of  hair  which 
remained  were  matted  with  grass,  thorns,  and 
mire,  gathered  as  it  was  drawn  swiftly  along 
through  the  different  varieties  of  verdure,  marsh, 
and  brambles. 

The  next  day  after  that,  at  about  night-fall, 
there  came  down  the  mountains  which  Bokulla 
had  descended  under  circumstances  of  so  much 
peril,  a  lean  and  tattered  company,  marshalled 
forward  by  the  ghostlike  figure  of  a  chieftain, 
with  a  broken  helm,  husky  voice,  and  swordless 
scabbard.  They  were  a  portion  of  the  army 
which  had  gone  forth  with  Bokulla,  and  had 
been  reduced  to  their  present  pale  and  ragged 
condition  partly  by  fear  and  partly  by  the  want 
of  food  for  the  two  days  during  which  they  had 
wandered  in  search  of  home.  Many  a  wife  and 
mother  shed  tears  of  mingled  gratitude  and  pity 
as  she  looked  upon  the  shattered  wreck  of  her 
son  or  husband,  thus  cast  up  from  the  waves  of 
war.  Two  or  three  days  afler  this,  and  day  by 
day,  for  some  'week  or  two,  came  into  the  vil- 
lages of  the  Mound-builders,  single  fugitives  or 
in  pairs,  when  they  had  coupled  themselves  to- 
gether, that,  in  this  sorrowful  fellowship,  they 


]  might  aid  each  other  in  bearing  up  against  ter- 
1  ror,  hunger,  and  death. 

j  And  even  after  a  month  had  rolled  round, 
and  tears  had  been  shed  and  rites  performed  for 
the  absentees,  two  or  three  strayed  home  luna- 
tic— poor  idiots,  whose  brains  had  been  crazed 
by  the  triple  assault  of  fear,  famine,  and  the 
dread  of  instant  death  under  the  hoofs  of  the 
enemy.  From  the  account  that  could  be  gath- 
ered from  their  own  wandering  and  confused 
wits,  they  had  fled  every  inch  of  the  way  from 
the  battle-ground  under  the  terrible  apprehen- 
sion that  Behemoth  was  at  their  heels.  Through 
brake  and  through  briar  they  hastened.  They 
had  scrambled  over  rocks  and  waded  wide 
ponds  ;  they  had  climbed  trees  and  rested  a  lit- 
tle, and  then,  swinging  themselves  from  the 
branches,  had  run  miles  over  hot  and  stream- 
less  prairies,  until  they  had  reached  their  native 
villages,  sad,  witless  idiots  ! 

The  catastrophe  now  stood  out  before  the 
Mound-builders,   drawn   in   bold,  strong,   and  ' 

fearful  strokes ;  painted  in  colors  borrowed 
from  the  midnight,  and  dashed  upon  the  can- 
vass, it  almost  seemed,  by  the  hand  of  destiny 
itself.  The  malignant  planet,  which  had  so  long 
lowered  in  the  atmosphere,  had  now  burst,  and 
poured  from  its  womb  all  that  was  dreadful, 
pernicious,  and  enduring.  The  earth  was  now 
to  them  a  cold,  comfortless  prison,  into  which 
they  were  plunged  by  an  inexorable  power,  and  ^ 
where  they  were  doomed  to  drag  through  their 
allotted  portion  of  life  under  the  eye  of  an 
eternal  and  terrible  foe,  joyless,  hopeless,  and 
prostrate.  The  multitude  gave  themselves  to  a 
quiet  and  passionless  despair,  Bokulla  was  si- 
lent or  invisible. 

Great  occasions  beget  great  men,  while 
they  have  also  a  tendency  to  nurse  into  life 
petty  spirits,  which  take  the  opportunity,  un- 
invited, to  push  themselves  into  prominent 
posts.  Thus  the  same  emergency  which  elicited 
the  resources  of  Bokulla's  large  and  fruitful 
mind,  also  drew  out  the  vagaries  and  absurdi- 
ties of  a  puny  intellect,  Kluckhatch  by  name. 
On  account  of  his  dwarfish  size  and  an  unlucky 
curvature  in  the  legs,  this  valorous  gentleman 
had  been  rejected  from  the  military  companies. 
Nevertheless  he  kept  a  drum  on  his  own  ac- 
count, with  which  he  was  wont  to  regale  a  rab- 
ble crowd  of  urchins  and  maidens  ;  making  a 
monthly  tour  through  the  villages  and  refresh- 
ing them  with  the  dulcet  sounds.  He  also 
wore  in  this  itinerant  and  volunteer  soldiery  of 
his  a  small  sword;  a  bright  pyramidal  blade  of 
steel  with  a  handle  of  elk's  horn,  the  tip  of 
which  was  surmounted  with  a  clasp  or  circlet 
of  silver  and  ornamented  with  the  device  of  an 
owl  hooting.  The  person  of  Kluckhatch  was, 
as  I  have  hinted,  pigmean  rather  than  other- 
wise. He  had  a  low  forehead  with  prominent 
cheek  bones,  and  a  broad  full-moon  face  with 
large  eyes,  in  which  idiocy  and  self-conceit  pre- 
dominated, though  they  were  occasionally  en- 
livened with  an  expression  of  mirth  and  good- 
fellowship,  and  sometimes  even  brightened  with 


BEHEMOTH. 


105 


a  humorous  conception.  On  the  cro^vn  of  his 
head,  to  complete  his  garniture,  Kluckhatch 
bore  a  cap  of  conical  figure,  with  a  flattened 
circular  summit,  ending  at  the  apex  with  a 
,  round  button  of  copper.  Attached  to  the  sides 
of  the  cap  were  two  large  ear-flaps  of  deer- 
skin, or  that  of  some  other  indigenous  animal, 
made  to  cover  ears  as  large. 

"  I  believe,"  said  this  self-constituted  cham- 
pion, when  every  plan  suggested  and  acted 
upon  had  proved  fruitless,  "  I  believe,''  said  he, 
"  I  must  take  this  huge  blusterer  in  hand.  I 
look  for  a  mound  of  the  largest  size  at  least  for 
my  memory  if  I  lay  him  at  length,  and  a  patent 
of  nobility  for  my  family.  Kluckhatch  is  no 
fool — is  he  ?"  asked  the  vainglorious  militant, 
turning  with  a  cocked  eye  to  a  shock-headed 
youth  who  stood  gaping  at  his  elbow.  The 
boy  replied  with  a  similar  squint,  and  Kluck- 
hatch ran  on,  detailing  at  length,  like  a  crafty 
plotter,  the  whole  course  of  strategy  he  intend- 
ed to  put  in  practice  against  Behemoth,  naming 
the  time  when,  and  the  place  where,  he  ex- 
pected to  achieve  his  capture  at  least,  if  not 
his  death. 

In  accordance  with  this  carefully  matured 
plot,  one  bright  and  cold  autumn  morning 
Kluckhatch  sallied  forth  accoutred  to  a  point 
with  dagger,  hat  and  sword-belt,  to  which  was 
attached,  special  ministrant  in  the  anticipated 
capture,  his  little  drum,  with  the  melodious 
sounds  of  which  he  expected  to  qiieU  and  molli- 
fy the  mighty  rage  of  Behemoth.  Over  his 
right  shoulder  he  bore  a  light  ladder  of  pine  of 
great  length,  with  which  he  intended  to  mount 
to  Behemoth's  neck  and  inflict  the  fatal  wound 
with  his  trenchant  blade. 

Thus  armed  and  accoutred  Kluckhatch  set 
forth.  Fortunately  on  the  morning  which  he 
chose  for  his  adventure,  the  Mastodon  was  not 
far  off  but  pastured  in  a  broad  open  meadow 
within  sight  of  the  Mound-builders'  vOlages. 
When  Kluckhatch  first  beheld  him  opening  and 
closing  his  mighty  jaws  as  he  cropped  the  tall 
verdure,  his  soul  trembled  within  him  and  vi- 
brated to  and  fro,  like  a  mariner's  needle,  be- 
tween the  determination  to  retreat  and  that  to 
advance.  At  length  however  it  settled  down 
true  to  its  purpose.  He  marched  forward 
jaeating  a  reveOle  on  his  dwarfish  drum,  while 
he  whistled  faintly  as  an  accompaniment.  He 
was  now  within  stone's  throw  of  the  monster. 
He  had  lowered  the  ladder  from  his  shoulder, 
that  he  might  be  better  prepared  to  scale  the 
sides  of  the  Beast.  Behemoth  ceased  from  the 
labor  of  feeding ;  a  moment  his  eye  twinkled 
on  the  puissant  Kluckhatch,  and  the  next,  un- 
rolling his  trunk,  he  coiled  it  about  the  slender 
body  of  the  adventurer,  and  lifting  him  gently 
from  the  earth,  as  gently  tossed  him  some 
score  of  yaids  into  a  neighboring  pond,  which 
was  about  five  feet  deep,  and  mantled  with  a 
covering  of  stagnant  water.  Into  this  Kluck- 
hatch descended  and  fell  amid  a  noisy  company 
of  large  green  bull-frogs  who  were  holding  a 
meeting  for  general  consultation  and  the  ex- 


pression of  opinion.  Amid  the  blustering  as- 
sembly the  valiant  little  hero  fell.  For  a  time, 
as  he  hung  balanced  in  the  air,  it  was  doubtful 
which  portion  of  his  person  would  first  pene- 
trate the  water. 

The  levity  of  his  head  and  the  weight  of  his 
splay-feet,  at  length  brought  the  latter  first  to 
the  pool,  and  dividing  the  stagnant  surface,  they 
sank  through  and  reached  a  bottom  of  mud ; 
still  they  sank  and  continued  to  settle  down 
deeper  and  deeper.  Kluckhatch  knew  not 
where  his  descent  would  stop,  nor  where  in  the 
end  he  might  arrive.  His  feet  at  last  found 
support  just  as  his  chin  reached  the  waters' 
edge,  and,  looking  up,  the  first  object  that 
fell  upon  his  vision  was  a  household  of  vener- 
able and  contemplative  crows  who,  seated  on  a 
dry  tree  at  the  edge  of  the  pool,  seemed  to  be 
philosophizing  over  his  mishaps,  in  their  most 
doleful  discords.  One,  an  old  rake,  with  only 
an  eye  left  in  his  head,  appeared  to  Kluckhatch, 
as  he  leered  knowingly  upon  him,  to  be  a  des- 
perate quiz.  When,  after  many  vain  efforts,  he 
had  brought  his  scattered  senses  into  something 
like  order,  reaching  forth  one  hand  he  grasped 
his  drum,  which  floated  at  a  distance  on  the 
pool,  and  held  it  up  tremblingly,  while  with  the 
other  he  drew  from  his  belt  a  drum-stick  which 
survived  his  faU.  Stretching  out  the  hand  that 
held  the  stick,  he  struck  up  a  faint  tatoo  on  the 
parchment,  with  the  double  purpose  of  driving 
off  those  accursed  and  hard-hearted  crows,  and 
also  to  draw  help  from  the  nearest  village. 
To  the  instrumental  sounds  thus  elicited  he 
added  an  humble  vocal  effort.  Here  was  a  scene 
for  a  painter :  Kluckhatch,  the  drum,  and  the 
crows,  all  in  unison,  running  down  the  scale 
from  lofty  bass  to  shrill  treble. 

The  hero  soon  tired  of  liis  toilsome  essays  at 
the  two  kinds  of  music  under  his  charge,  and 
putting  forth  all  his  strength  in  a  desperate 
venture,  he  succeeded,  scrambling,  floundering, 
and  paddling,  in  reaching  the  shore  endued  in  a 
coat-of-mail,  composed  of  black  slime  and  green 
ooze,  with  long  locks  of  eel-grass  dangling  at 
his  heels,  as  trophies  of  his  exploit.  Satisfied 
with  this  valorous  attempt  at  the  capture 
of  the  huge  blusterer,  Kluckhatch  skulked 
home. 


PART  SECOND. 

It  was  two  hours  before  sunrise.  Through 
the  wide  realm  of  the  populous  west  not  a  soul 
was  stirring,  save  a  single  human  figure,  which 
threaded  its  way  through  the  streets  of  one  of 
the  great  cities  of  the  Mound-builders.  This 
solitary  object  moved  at  a  slow,  measured  pace, 
as  if  its  progress  was  actually  retarded  by  tlie 
weight  of  the  thoughts  with  which  it  labored. 
The  eyes  gleamed  as  if  they  beheld,  afar  off, 
some  enterprise  of  magnitude  and  obstinacy 
suflicient  to  call  up  the  whole  soul  of  the  man, 
and  the  lines  of  the  countenance  worked,  and 


106 


BEHEMOTH. 


the  hands  were  clenched,  as  if  he  was  already 
employed  in  the  struggle.  If  one  could  have 
looked  into  his  bosom,  he  might  have  seen  all 
his  faculties  mustering  to  the  encounter;  and, 
among  other  passions,  aroused  and  assembling 
there,  he  might  have  noted  discomfiture  and 
mortification  thrusting  in  their  hated  visages, 
and  lending  a  keener  stimulous  and  quicker  mo- 
tion to  the  current  of  his  thoughts.  He  might 
have  also  discovered  an  heroic  resolution,  al- 
most epic  in  its  proportions  and  strength,  tow- 
ering up  from  amid  the  ruins  of  many  cast-down 
and  desolated  projects,  and  assuming  to  contend 
with  unconquerable  might. 

The  solitary  figure  was  that  of  BokuUa,  who 
was  thus  venturing  forth,  self-exiled  and  alone, 
to  discover,  in  the  broad  wilderness  toward  the 
sea,  whatever  means  of  triumph  he  might,  over 
a  power  that  had  hitherto  proved  itself  more 
than  a  match  for  human  strength  or  cunning. 
A  great  spirit  had  taken  possession  of  the  chief- 
tain, and  the  shame  of  an  inglorious  defeat  aid- 
ed to  kindle  the  energy  of  his  passions.  Over 
that  defeat  he  had  already  pondered,  long,  and 
anxiously.  He  confessed  to  himself  that  he  had 
formed  but  a  vague  opinion  of  the  hugeness  and 
strength  of  Behemoth  when  he  had  proposed 
the  battle.  But  he  dwelt  in  the  midst  of  a  ter- 
rified and  perishing  people.  As  a  man  he  was 
touched  by  the  sufierings  and  alarms  of  his  na- 
tion. Danger  and  death  were  before  them,  and 
no  gate  of  safety  or  mercy  opened.  He  saw 
this  people,  not  only  in  the  present  time,  but 
through  a  long  futurity,  scourged  and  suffering ; 
the  old  tottering  into  a  hasty  grave,  pursued  by 
a  hideous  phantom  that  increased  its  terrors ; 
the  young  growing  up  with  images  and  thoughts 
of  fear  interwoven  with  their  tender  and  pliant 
elements  of  being. 

Was  there  no  one  man,  in  this  whole  nation, 
who  would  go  forth,  in  the  spirit  of  martyrdom 
and  self-sacrifice,  and  seek,  even  in  the  desert 
itself,  the  knowledge  that  would  bring  strength 
and  safety  in  its  wings  ?  It  was  he  that  was 
now  passing  away  from  his  country,  for  a  while, 
and  launching  himself  in  the  boundless  wilder- 
ness of  the  west.  Championed  by  doubt  and 
solitude,  he  was  plunging  into  a  region  which 
stretched,  he  knew  not  whither,  and  to  a  fate, 
perchance,  his  heart  dared  not  whisper  to  itself. 
What  fruit  might  spring  from  this  hardy  enter- 
prise, it  was  vain  to  conjecture ;  but  he  was 
determined  to  gather  some  knowledge  of  the 
habits,  and  some  information  as  to  the  lodg- 
ment of  this  terrible  scourge  of  his  people. 
With  rapid  and  firm  step,  he  therefore  proceed- 
ed on  his  way.  By  secret  paths,  and  through 
dark  woods,  he  advanced,  and  midday  brought 
him  to  a  spot  which  overlooked  the  whole  of 
the  wide  territory  of  the  Mound-builders. 

He  stood  upon  a  cliff  which  pushed  out  bold- 
ly from  the  wooded  region  that  lay  behind  it, 
and  hung,  like  a  platform,  over  a  valley  and 
river  that  wound  round  its  base.  It  was  cov- 
ered in  patches  with  verdure  and  earth,  from 


which  a  few  stately  trees  threw  up  their  branch 
es,  and  underneath  these  Bokulla  now  stood. 

Casting  his  eye  abroad,  he  beheld  a  scene 
which  the  boldest  fancy  of  our  time  can  scarce- 
ly conceive,  accustomed  as  we  are  to  think  of 
the  prairies  as  tenantless  and  houseless  deserts, 
and  the  whole  broad  west  as  a  wild,  unpeopled 
region,  never  disturbed  unless  by  bands  of  strag- 
gling Indian  hunters,  or  a  mad  herd  of  buffalo, 
sweeping,  like  a  tornado,  over  their  bosom. 
From  his  lofty  stand  the  self-exiled  chieftain 
looked  down  upon  a  country  belting  a  hundred 
leagues,  swelling  or  declining  through  a  glorious 
variety  of  hill,  and  vale,  and  meadow,  with  a 
thousand  streams  intersecting  the  whole,  some- 
times mingling  with  each  other,  occasionally 
ploughing  their  way  through  a  genial  valley, 
or  cutting  deep  into  the  heart  of  a  mountain, 
whose  slope  was  covered  with  forests.  A  nu- 
merous population  lined  their  banks,  or  hovered 
on  their  eminences,  whose  dwellings  and  na- 
tional edifices  reared  themselves  in  the  air  and 
darkened  the  land  with  their  number.  Over 
those  vast,  verdant  deeps,  the  prairies,  were 
scattered,  like  islands,  countless  cities,  in  whose 
suburbs  tall  towers  of  granite  and  marble  sprang 
to  the  sky,  and  resembled  the  masts  of  ships  of 
war  just  putting  out  from  the  shore.  In  another 
direction,  a  mighty  bastion  of  earth,  with  its 
round,  green  summit,  heaved  itself  into  view, 
like  the  back  of  some  huge  sea-monster ;  and 
the  long  grass  of  the  prairies,  swept  by  occa- 
sional winds,  rolled  to  and  fro  and  furnished 
the  ocean -like  surges  on  which  all  these  objects 
rode  triumphant. 

Upon  this  scene  Bokulla  gazed  long  and 
earnestly,  while  many  dark  thoughts,  and  sad 
emotions  followed  each  other  like  the  clouds  of 
summer  through  his  mind,  and  darkened  his 
countenance  as  they  passed.  Beneath  him  he 
saw  a  hundred  cities  devoted  to  ruin ;  tower, 
and  temple,  and  dwelling,  crumbled  to  the  earth, 
and  no  hand  lifted  to  arrest  their  fall.  A  wide 
populace  was  wasting  away  from  a  robust  and 
manly  vigor,  into  a  pale  and  shadow-like  de- 
crepitude. Day  by  day  the  august  majesty  of 
a  prosperous  and  ambitious  nation  dwindled 
into  a  shrunken  and  counterfeit  image  of  itself. 
To  them  there  was  now  no  alternation  of  sun- 
shine or  shadow ;  seasons  passed  without  their 
fruits  ;  the  golden  summer  no  longer  smiled  in 
their  midst,  and  generous  autumn  departed  with- 
out a  blessing  and  unheeded. 

To  these  miserable  and  suffering  realms  Bo- 
kulla now  bade  farewell.  His  present  enter- 
prise might  be  without  fruit,  or  fraught  with 
disastrous  and  fatal  results  to  himself;  yet,  in 
the  strength  of  nature,  he  would  once  more  pre- 
sume to  cope  with  the  dreaded  enemy,  for  he 
still  believed  that  man  must  be  triumphant,  in 
the  end,  over  this  bestial  domination.  To  man 
the  earth  was  given  as  his  kingdom,  and  all 
tribes  and  classes  of  creatures  were  made  his 
subjects  and  vassals.  In  this  faith  he  turned 
away  from  a  scene  which  suggested  so  many 


BEHEMOTH. 


107 


fearful  topics  of  thought,  and  bent  his  course 
toward  the  west,  guided  by  such  knowledge  as 
he  already  enjoyed,  and  such  marks  as  occurred 
to  his  observation,  determined  to  avoid  the  face 
of  man,  and  to  be  familiar  only  with  solitude  and 
danger,  until  some  new  means  of  triumph  were 
clearly  discovered.  Pursuing  this  resolve,  he 
pushed  forward  with  speed  and  energy ;  pluck- 
ing, by  the  way,  wild  berries  and  other  natural 
fruits  as  food,  and  drinking  of  the  cool,  shaded 
rivulet,  his  only  beverage ;  for,  from  the  first 
moment  that  he  had  conceived  the  thought  of 
this  venturous  self-exile,  he  vowed  to  cast  him- 
self on  nature,  and  to  be  received  and  sustained 
by  her  as  her  worthy  child,  or  to  perish  as  an 
alien  and  an  outcast  on  her  bosom.  He  had, 
therefore,  come  forth  unprovided  with  food,  and 
trusting  entirely  to  her  bounty  for  supply. 

Hand  in  hand  thus  with  liberal  Nature,  Bo- 
kuUa  pressed  onward  until  night-fall,  when  he 
halted,  and,  sheltering  himself  safely  within  the 
hollow  of  a  rock,  he  gathered  himself  for  re- 
pose. 

Thus  for  many  days  did  this  solitary  pilgrim 
journey  on,  seeking  no  other  couch  but  the 
overhanging  cliff  or  the  sheltering  bank,  and 
finding  no  other  canopy  but  the  broad,  open 
sky  and  the  green  roof  of  the  branching  tree. 
A  constant  grandeur  of  soul  sustained  him  in 
the  midst  of  many  pressing  hardships,  and  a 
noble  purpose  bore  him  forward  as  the  winds 
propel  the  eagle  that  trusts  to  their  strength. 
Guided  by  apparent  tracks  and  obvious  land- 
marks, about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  of 
the  second  day  he  reached  a  solemn  wood,  into 
the  heart  of  which  he  made  his  way. 

He  was  wearied  with  travel,  and  seeing  the 
remains  of  a  large  old  oak  thrusting  themselves 
up  from  the  tangled  and  chequered  shade,  he 
seated  himself  upon  them.  The  wild  under- 
wood and  smaller  foliage  were  twisted  into  a 
thousand  fantastic  shapes,  which  wreathed 
themselves  round,  and  the  prodigal  forest- 
flowers  had  scattered  their  colors  here  and  there 
so  profusely  over  the  seat  which  the  self-exile 
had  chosen,  as  to  furnish  somewhat  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  cushioned  throne.  What  wonder 
if  the  resemblance  struck  the  excited  imagina- 
tion of  Bokulla,  and  his  eye  glanced  about  the 
forest  as  if  in  search  of  attendants  that  should 
hedge  this  seat  of  honor  round.  "  Am  I  alone 
here  !"  half-muttered  the  chieftain.  "  Is  all 
this  pleasant  realm  of  air,  and  this  verdurous 
spot  of  earth  void  and  barren  !  No,  no  ;  I  am 
not  in  an  unpopulous  solitude  even  here.  Airy 
citizens  throng  about  me  in  this  remote  and  un- 
frequented wood.  Busy  hopes,  immortal  de- 
sires, passions,  longings,  and  aspirations  that 
lengthen  like  shadows  the  nearer  we  approach 
the  sunset  of  life.  Mighty  and  tumultuous 
wishes  and  emotions  gather  around  me  in  this 
pathless  and  woodland  region,  and  tell  me  I  am 
not,  that  I  can  not  be,  alone.  Shadowy  crea- 
tures !  which  sway  us  beyond  all  corporal  pow- 
ers and  instruments — ye  swarm  now  in  these 
shaded    walks — and   foremost    Ambition    and 


Fame,  glorious  twins  !  stand  forth  and  tower 
in  cloudy  stature,  grasping  at  impossible  objects 
and  plucking  at  the  heavens  themselves  !  Im- 
mortal powers  and  faculties  !  in  these  retired 
and  natural  chambers,  I  know  you  as  the  in- 
ternal and  silent  agencies  which  are  to  guide 
and  sustain  me  through  this  hardy  and  ventur- 
ous pilgrimage." 

In  this  wood  he  found  a  suitable  shelter  and 
stretched  himself  for  sleep.  Notwithstanding 
the  great  cares  with  which  he  was  oppressed, 
the  mind  of  the  chieftain  was  visited  by  pleas- 
ant dreams ;  and  he  was  borne  far  back  from 
the  gloomy  and  troubled  present,  into  an  old 
and  cheerful  time,  where  everything  wore  a 
countenance  of  joy,  and  a  golden  atmosphere 
floated  about  all.  He  wandered  along  the 
banks  of  mighty  streams,  watching  the  careless 
flight  of  birds,  or  the  idle  motions  of  their  cur- 
rents, on  which  many  vessels  of  gallant  trim, 
with  every  sail  set,  were  hastening  toward  the 
sea.  Around  him  a  thousand  familiar  sounds 
made  the  common  music  of  day ;  trumpets 
were  sounded  in  the  distance;  citizens  were 
hurrying  forth  or  home  on  errands  of  business, 
or  pleasure,  or  tender  sorrow ;  and  aU  was 
human  and  delightful.  The  chieftain  himself 
seemed  to  have  the  heart  of  youth,  and  to  ram- 
ble onward  amid  these  pleasant  scenes  of  life 
as  if  no  morrow  was  coming,  as  if  the  sun  that 
was  now  in  mid-heaven  would  never  set. 

Near  the  close  of  the  night,  this  pageant 
passed  away,  and  the  slumbers  of  the  champion 
were  interrupted  by  a  loud  sound,  like  that  of 
a  storm  gathering  in  the  distance,  and  which 
drew  nearer  by,  increasing  every  moment 
Presently  it  seemed  to  cross  the  western  quar 
ter  of  the  wood  with  a  clashing  and  tumultu- 
ous noise,  resembling  that  of  a  great  cataract, 
and  then  it  passed  far  to  the  northwest,  and 
died  away  after  a  long  time,  like  rattling  thun- 
der, among  the  distant  peaks  of  the  mountains. 

Nothing  could  be  more  alarming  to  the  ima- 
gination than  this  midnight  tumult,  and  Bokul- 
la felt  that  his  situation  was  like  that  of  the 
wretched  mariner,  whose  bark  is  dashed  on 
the  rocks  of  some  inhospitable  shore,  where 
night  and  the  raging  winds  press  on  him  be- 
hind, and  darkness  and  the  wild  beast  prepare 
to  fasten  on  his  weather-beaten  body  as  he 
strikes  the  land.  But  no  sound  that  Bokulla 
had  ever  known  could  represent  the  character 
of  that  which  rebellowed,  and  thundered,  and 
died  away.  The  stormy  shouts  of  a  warlike  as- 
sault, the  furious  outcry  of  popular  rage,  the 
howling  of  winter  winds,  all  commixed,  would  be 
an  imperfect  image  of  its  depth,  and  strength,  and 
varying  loudness.  In  the  morning,  disturbed  and 
perplexed,  he  girded  himself  again  to  his  task,  and 
shaped  his  course  toward  that  region  of  the  for- 
est by  which  the  indescribable  tumult  had 
swept.  An  hour's  swift  travel  brought  him  to 
a  large  wooded  slope,  which  presented  to  his 
view,  in  the  uncertain  light  of  a  sun  obscured 
by  the  gray  mist  of  morning,  an  astonishing 
spectacle.     A  thousand  vast  old  trees,  each 


108 


BEHEMOTH. 


large  enough  for  the  main  column  of  a  temple, 
were  dashed  against  the  upland  and  lay  there, 
leaning  half-way  down,  as  if  they  had  contest- 
ed against  overthrow,  like  mighty  ships,  blown 
over  in  the  harbor  of  some  great  city,  when  the 
north  has  burst  upon  them  and  commanded 
that  they  should  veU  their  pennons  and  high- 
aspiring  standards. 

From  obvious  footmarks  he  easily  discovered 
the  course  which  the  strength  that  caused  this 
desolation  had  taken,  and  pursuing  the  indica- 
tions thus  furnished,  he  was  soon  out  upon  an 
open  plain.  The  region  that  now  spread  be- 
fore him  was  a  wide  and  trackless  waste,  bar- 
ren, void  of  vegetation,  and  apparently  deserted 
of  nature.  Such  herbage  as  lingered  about  its 
borders,  was  small,  scanty,  and  withered,  and 
crept  gloomily  along  the  dusty  banks  of  dried- 
up  brooks  and  rivulets.  Over  this  arid  desert, 
as  Bokulla  slowly  plodded,  he  discovered  the 
same  large  foot-prints  as  he  had  followed  all 
along,  crossing  and  re-crossing  each  other, 
sometimes  diverging  and  again  keeping  straight 
on,  in  a  manner  so  irregular  and  wandeiing,  as 
to  bewilder  him  and  set  any  attempt  to  pursue 
them  entirely  at  nought. 

In  some  places  the  earth  was  ploughed  up 
and  rent  with  seams  recently  made,  and  in 
others  it  was  scattered  far  and  wide,  in  irregu- 
lar and  broken  heaps.  The  whole  wilderness 
presented  an  appearance  as  if  it  had  been  re- 
cently trampled  by  some  angry  and  barbaric 
puissance,  that  had  swept  it  from  end  to  end, 
like  a  storm. 

What  now  rendered  his  situation  still 
more  perplexing,  was  that  which  would  seem 
at  first  a  source  of  self-gratulation  and  com- 
fort, after  the  fearful  sounds  of  the  preceding 
night.  A  dead  silence  hung  all  around  him, 
which  was,  if  possible,  more  dreary  and  de- 
pressing than  the  unearthly  noises  of  midnight. 
A  soundless  and  voiceless  quiet  filled  the  air, 
the  sky,  and  brooded  over  the  inanimate  sea  of 
sand  slumbering  at  his  feet. 

Through  this  confused  and  desolate  region, 
the  chieftain  resolved  to  make  his  way  to  the 
summit  of  some  one  of  the  mountains  that  dom- 
inated this  arid  plain  at  its  farthest  extremity, 
and  thence,  as  from  a  citadel,  look  abroad  and 
make  such  discoveries  as  he  might. 

Bokulla  at  length  reached  the  summit  of  a 
high  mountain,  and  looking  forth  toward  the 
east,  he  beheld  a  mighty  region  of  hill  and  val- 
ley, whose  immensity  astonished  and  over- 
whelmed him.  In  one  direction,  a  hundred 
peaks  towered  one  above  the  other,  until  the 
farthest  was  lost,  it  seemed,  on  the  very  thresh- 
old of  the  sky.  In  another,  torrents  dashed 
through  numerous  declivities,  tearing  down 
mountains,  it  almost  seemed,  in  their  rage,  and 
threatening  to  wash  away  the  very  foundations 
of  the  earth,  as  they  leaped  over  rocks,  and 
crags,  and  rugged  precipices.  Huge  passes 
and  defiles  that  ploughed  their  way  through  the 
bosoms  of  solid  mountains,  and  led  down,  as  it 
were,  to  the  central  fires,  were  visible  in  other 


quarters,  and  exhibited  more  or  less  of  their 
dreary  turnpikes,  as  the  sunlight  fell  upon  one 
or  the  other.  As  Bokulla  looked  forth,  he  des- 
cried a  dark  object  moving  slowly  along  a  distant 
peak.  Sometimes  it  paused,  and  then  again 
advanced ;  at  length  it  plunged  down  the  moun- 
tain-side into  a  deep  and  dark  valley,  but  still 
some  portion  of  it  was  apparent ;  and  at  inter- 
vals, as  it  crossed  a  seam  or  gap  that  intersect- 
ed the  valley,  the  whole  figure  came  into  view. 
Thus  it  wound  through  the  immense  region,  al- 
most the  whole  time  conspicuous  to  the  eye  of 
the  gazer,  who,  however,  was  unable  to  dis- 
cover its  character,  so  remote  was  the  distance 
at  which  it  moved.  At  length  it  emerged  from 
the  many  defiles  and  declivities,  among  which 
it  had  passed,  and  came  out  upon  the  ope  . 
plain. 

As  a  numerous  fleet  of  war- ships,  all  their 
canvass  spread,  double  some  one  of  the  Atlan- 
tic capes,  and  come  within  the  ken  of  the 
anxious  watcher  on  shore,  so  did  this  vast  ob- 
ject steer  round  the  mountain-base  and  stand 
before  the  eye  of  Bokulla.  Like  a  huge  fog 
that  has  settled  in  autumn  upon  the  ground, 
and  creeps  along  until  it  has  mastered  the  earth 
with  its  broad  dimensions,  so  did  the  stature 
and  bulk  of  the  Mastodon  tower  and  enlarge  as 
it  drew  nigh.  Among  those  mighty  peaks,  and 
along  that  immeasurable  plain,  he  seemed  to 
move  the  suitable  and  sole  inhabitant.  Rocks 
piled  on  rocks,  and  rivers,  the  parents  of 
oceans,  calling  unto  rivers  as  large,  and  dread- 
ful summits  that  hung  over  the  earth  and 
threatened  to  crush  it,  were  not  its  massy  plains 
and  platforms  broad  enough  to  uphold  moun- 
tains a  hundred  fold  vaster,  this  was  the  proper 
birth-place  and  dwelling  of  the  mightiest  crea- 
ture of  the  earth. 

Amid  these  great  elements  of  nature,  Bokulla 
beheld  the  motions  of  the  Mastodon  as  he  trode 
the  earth  in  gigantic  sway ;  and  thought  swelled 
upon  tumultuous  thought,  as  waves  that  break 
over  each  other  in  the  middle  ocean,  at  each 
step  of  that  unparalleled  and  majestic  progress. 
What  wonder,  if  at  that  moment  he  deemed  the 
great  creature  before  him  unassailable  and  im- 
mortal ?  Behemoth  passed  onward,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  many  hours  was  lost  to  the  gaze 
of  the  chieftain,  as  he  entered  a  dark  gap  in  a 
great  mountain-range  far  to  the  east.  Intent 
on  the  daring  and  venturous  purpose  which 
had  drawn  him  forth  into  the  wilderness,  he 
descended  from  his  lofty  station,  and  shaped  his 
course  to  the  barriers  within  which  the  uncon- 
quered  brute  had  passed.  With  incredible  la> 
bor  he  toiled  over  a  thousand  obstacles  ;  clam- 
bering high  mountains,  plodding  through  gloomy 
valleys,  and  compassing,  by  contrivance  some- 
times, sometimes  by  sheer  strength,  broad 
streams,  he  found  himself  at  length,  as  the 
night  approached,  fixed  on  a  lofty  ridge,  whence 
his  eye  fell  upon  a  spacious  amphitheatre  of 
meadow,  completely  shut  in  by  rocks  and  moun- 
tains, save  at  a  single  narrow  cut  or  opening. 
In  the  centre  of  this  he  beheld  Behemoth  cou- 


BEHEMOTH. 


109 


chant  (his  head  turned  toward  the  chieftain 
himself)  like  a  sublime  image  of  stone  in  the 
middle  of  a  silent  lake.  Bokulla  exhibited  no 
symptoms  of  terror  or  trepidation,  and  the  beast 
lay  motionless  and  quiet.  Great  emotions  filled 
the  breast  of  the  chieftain  as  he  looked  upon 
the  Mastodon  reposing  in  this  fortified  solitude. 
He  closely  scrutinized  the  whole  circle  of  moun- 
tains, and  took  an  accurate  survey  of  the  gate 
which  led  out  into  the  open  country  beyond. 
Among  other  circumstances,  he  observed  large 
hollows,  here  and  there,  in  diiferent  quarters  of 
the  plain,  as  if  worn  there  by  the  constant  hab- 
itation of  Behemoth;  and  also,  that  as  the 
wind  sighed  through  the  branches  of  trees  that 
stood  in  its  centre  and  along  its  border,  the 
Mastodon  moved  up  and  down  the  amphi- 
theatre with  a  slow  and  gentle  motion,  as  if 
soothed  by  the  sound. 

While  he  was  thus  engaged,  night  descended 
upon  the  scene  ;  and  the  dark  hours  were  to  be 
passed  by  Bokulla  alone  in  that  far-off  wilder- 
ness, and  within  reach  of  the  mighty  and  terri- 
ble foe.  As  well  as  he  might  he  addressed 
himself  to  sleep ;  but  it  was  almost  in  vain,  for 
it  seemed  as  if  the  fearful  strength  beneath  was 
slumbering  at  his  side,  and  as  if  its  tall,  cold 
shadow  fell  upon  him  and  froze  the  very  blood 
in  his  veins.  Armed  beings  of  an  inconceiv- 
able and  superhuman  stature  passed  and  re- 
passed before  his  mind;  and  the  vision  of  a 
conflict  mightier  than  any  that  his  mortal  eyes 
had  ever  witnessed,  in  which  huge  trumpets 
brayed  and  enormous  shields  clashed  against 
each  other,  swept  along.  Then  it  changed, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  mountains  rocked  to  and 
fro,  and  pent  winds  strove  to  topple  down  peaks 
and  pinnacles,  while  in  their  midst  one  mighty 
Figure,  neither  of  man  nor  of  angel,  stood 
chained,  and,  in  a  deep  and  fearful  voice,  cried 
to  the  heavens  for  succor.  Perplexed  by  im- 
ages and  visions  like  these,  Bokulla  wakened 
before  the  dawn,  and  turned  his  steps,  with 
scarce  any  guide  or  landmark,  toward  his  own 
home. 

And  now  an  appalling  fate  was  before  the 
champion,  for  he  was  without  food  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  desert.  The  liberal  fare  upon 
which  he  had  at  first  subsisted,  was  gone  long 
ago,  and  the  scanty  supply  which  nature  had 
lately  furnished  from  hedges  and  meadows,  had 
entirely  ceased.  Barrenness,  barrenness,  bar- 
renness, spread  all  around.  After  toil  and  ex- 
ertion of  body  and  mind,  almost  beyond  mortal 
s^ength,  he  seemed  likely  to  perish  in  the 
wastes  with  the  great  project  that  his  soul  had 
conceived  unknown  to  living  man.  Intermin- 
able and  gloomy  disasters  lowered  over  his 
country  if  he  should  perish  in  the  wilderness. 
He  struggled  onward  with  anguish  and  hunger 
at  his  heart. 

At  last,  when  his  strength  was  fast  ebbing, 
he  came  at  night-fall  upon  a  vast  open  plain, 
and  dragged  himself,  with  a  pang  in  every  step, 
to  a  crag  that  jutted,  like  a  great  fang,  in  its 
very  centre.    Upon  this  he  raised  himself,  and 


with  features  sternly  set  against  the  darkness, 
awaited  liis  fate.  Narrower  and  narrower  the 
great  circle  of  the  horizon  closed  upon  him, 
binding  him  where  he  sat  in  an  inexorable 
grasp.  A  black  universe  pressed  upon  him  on 
every  side,  and  seemed  eager  to  smother  him 
up  in  gloom.  Against  hunger  and  terrible  dark- 
ness and  death,  he  folded  his  arms.  Even  then 
he  strained  his  gaze  through  the  thick  night, 
toward  the  quarter  of  the  sky  under  which  lay 
the  homes  of  the  Mound-builders,  as  if  to  learn 
by  some  light  that  flickered  up  in  the  distance, 
whether  any,  the  faintest  hope,  kindled  a  fire- 
side among  them  yet.  Blackness  and  infinite 
gloom  alone  swelled  about  him,  and  filled  the 
whole  heaven. 

No  sleep  came  to  his  eyes  that  night,  nor 
was  he  altogether  wakeful,  but  lingered  in  a 
middle  world,  where  the  images  of  the  new 
being  and  the  old  held  him  fast,  or  yielded  him 
for  a  time  to  the  other.  At  one  time,  a  voice 
was  at  his  ear,  whispering  peace  and  tranquil 
hours  henceforth  for  ever ;  a  voice  that  came 
he  knew  from  a  shining  face.  At  another,  a 
cry,  as  of  one  shrieking  in  excess  of  pain, 
came  booming  through  the  dark,  and  cut  all 
his  human  sense  of  suffering  to  the  quick. 

At  length  the  slow  morning  dawned  again, 
and  looking  forward,  where  he  thought  he  had 
discerned  a  dull  marsh  stretching  to  bar  his 
way,  he  found  instead  a  long  green  line  of 
verdure,  smiling  freshly  in  the  eye  of  the  light. 
In  its  very  midst  there  stood  a  calm,  brown 
bird,  reposing  with  an  infinite  quietude,  with 
an  eye  obliquely  turned  upward,  contemplative- 
ly regarding  the  sun,  and  stretching  its  wings 
to  catch  the  warm  breeze  that  rippled  past. 

A  new  pleasure  shot  into  the  soul  of  the 
champion,  beholding  this  easy  mirth  of  nature 
— this  so-great  repose  :  the  bird  heaving  itself 
sluggishly  on  the  wing,  crept  lazily  off"  through 
the  air ;  and,  regarding  it,  while  his  mind  was 
thus  gently  moved,  a  sound,  as  of  a  beautiful 
hoof  set  upon  the  earth,  struck  upon  his  ear. 
He  turned  back,  and  at  the  spot  from  which 
the  bird  had  taken  flight,  there  stood  a  steed, 
so  young,  so  smooth,  so  shapely  in  every  limb, 
and  so  like  a  happy  creature  of  darkness  in 
every  line  of  its  glossy  black,  that  Bokulla 
mused  upon  it  as  upon  a  vision. 

Tranquil  as  the  air  it  stood,  its  head  uplifted 
only  and  drinking  in  the  sky,  with  its  neck 
stretched  far  away  toward  the  home  of  the 
champion.  Bokulla  knew  the  omen,  and  with 
a  spirit  fresh  and  unbroken  he  stood  beside  the 
steed,  and  at  a  bound  was  his  master. 

Away  they  flew — the  crag,  the  plain,  the 
sky  dying  behind  them  at  a  thought.  Gently 
through  fair  green  glades — at  a  bound  over  vales 
and  rugged  steeps — swiftly  past  stupendous 
peaks,  that  held  aloft  their  dazzling  snow-sheets, 
as  with  a  mighty  tented  staflf— along  a  heavy 
river  that  strove  to  run  an  even  race  with 
them, — past  cataracts  that  burst  on  the  wilder- 
ness in  crashing  peels — they  speeded  on.  Over 
hills,  through  forests,  and  along  stream-sides, 


110 


BEHEMOTH. 


the  wondrous  flight  kept  on  all  that  day  and  all 
that  night  too  (Heaven  in  its  deep  providences 
knew  how),  when,  at  the  next  day's  dawn,  up- 
on a  mountain-brow  the  steed  stayed  his  steps, 
and  a  populous  city  burst  upon  the  gaze  of  Bo- 
kuUa,  directly  at  his  feet.  The  steed  stood 
still  in  the  immoveable  quiet  in  which  the  chief- 
tain first  beheld  him — silent,  gentle,  beautiful, 
the  calm  counter-image  to  Behemoth.  Wide 
upon  the  plain  below  the  scattered  Mound- 
builders  stood  about,  striving  to  worship  as  of 
old  ;  and  as  their  lifted  look  fell  upon  the  new 
vision,  they  clapped  their  hands  for  joy,  and 
shouted  like  men  before  whose  shipwrecked 
gaze  land  suddenly  springs  to  view.  It  showed 
to  them  fair,  beautiful  indeed,  but  when, 
breaking  the  spell  of  silence  and  quietude  that 
held  him,  the  steed  hastened  down  the  moun- 
tain-side, and  galloped  through  their  streets, 
they  beheld  the  rider — his  features  gaunt  and 
unearthly,  his  hair  streaming  wildly  to  the 
wind — they  fled  from  his  steps  with  a  new 
fear. 

Some  sought  refuge  in  their  dwellings, 
while  others  rushed  out  to  gaze  upon  him 
as  he  scampered,  wild  and  spectre-like,  along 
the  distance ;  and  others  gathered  together, 
and,  in  subdued  voices,  conjectured  or  can- 
vassed the  character  of  the  sudden  apparition. 
Many  wild  guesses  and  shrewd  suggestions 
were  ventured. 

**  This  is  a  fiend  of  the  prairie,''  said  one,  "  he 
that  rambles  up  and  down  the  big  meadow, 
blowing  his  horn,  and  who  calls  the  wolves  and 
goblins  together  when  a  carcass  is  thrown  out 
or  a  traveller  perishes  in  crossing  them." 

"  It  is  a  lunatic,  escaped  from  his  friends," 
said  a  second,  "  who  has  been  out,  seeking  his 
wits  in  the  mountains." 

"  You  are  wide  of  the  mark,  my  good  sirs," 
said  another,  a  sharp-eyed  little  man,  glaring 
about  and  looking  up  at  the  windows,  as  if 
afraid  of  being  overheard ;  and  the  group 
pressed  more  closely  about  him,  as  if  expecting 
a  communication  of  great  weight  and  shrewd- 
ness— "  a  whole  bowshot  wide  of  the  mark — it 
is  the  keeper  of  Behemoth  !" 

At  this  they  all  turned  pale  and  lifted  up  their 
eyes  in  astonishment,  and  admitted  that  nothing 
could  be  nearer  the  truth. 

By  this  time  Bokulla  had  reached  his  own 
door,  and,  throwing  himself  from  his  steed  of 
the  desert,  prepared  to  enter  in ;  but,  ere  he 
could  effect  this  object,  several  stout  citizens 
pressed  before  him  and  arrested  his  steps. 

"  Wherefore  is  this  ?"  said  the  foremost. 
**  will  you  rush  into  a  house  of  mourning  in 
this  guise  ?  Know  you  not  that  this  is  the 
mansion  of  Bokulla  the  champion — and  that  his 
widow  is  in  sackcloth  and  tears  within  ?  Be- 
gone elsewhere,  madman !" 

This  remonstrance  was  seconded  by  another, 
and  a  third,  until  it  swelled  so  high  that  the 
crowd  would  have  seized  him,  and  wreaked 
some  injury  upon  his  person,  had  he  not  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining  a  moment's  pause ;   and, 


standing  on  an  elevation,  he  shouted  out, 
"  Peace,  Mound-builders,  it  is  Bokulla  before 
you  !" 

At  this  declaration  many  began  to  recognise 
in  the  shrunken  features  and  toil-worn  frame 
before  them,  their  great  champion  and  chief- 
tain, and  a  shout  was  raised,  "  Life  and  health 
to  Bokulla,  the  father  of  his  country  !"  "  Pleas- 
ant dew  fall  upon  him  !"  "  Long  may  he  tread 
the  green  earth  under  his  feet  !"  and  many  na- 
tional invocations  and  blessings. 

The  rumor  now  spread  rapidly  abroad,  and 
the  cry  was  taken  up,  wherever  it  reached,  and 
renewed  with  hearty  goodwill,  for  all  were  re- 
joiced at  the  return  of  their  great  leader,  whom 
some  had  considered  lost  for  ever,  and  who  all 
admitted  was  the  only  one  that  could  contend, 
with  any  chance  of  success,  against  their  bar- 
baric foe.  Even  the  little  group  of  gossips  that 
had  construed  him  into  a  fiend,  a  lunatic,  and 
the  keeper  of  Behemoth,  but  a  moment  before, 
now  rushed  eagerly  forward,  and  were  among 
the  first  to  welcome  him  back,  the  sharp-eyed 
little  man  invoking  a  Special  blessing  on  his 
pleasant  countenance,  which  looked,  he  said, 
"  like  that  of  a  saving  angel !"  Escaping  from 
these  numerous  tokens  of  admiration  and  re- 
gard, Bokulla  withdrew  into  his  dwelling,  and 
the  crowd,  after  lingering  about  for  many  hours 
to  glean  such  information  as  they  might  of  his 
absence  and  to  catch  a  view  of  his  person,  at 
length  dispersed,  each,  he  knew  not  why,  with 
a  lighter  heart,  and  more  joyous  look,  than 
had  fallen  to  his  lot  for  many  long  and  weary 
months. — 

From  the  dwelling  of  Bokulla  let  us  turn  our 
steps,  for  a  while,  toward  the  suburbs  of  the 
city,  and  enter  the  sick-chamber  of  Kluckhatch, 
the  blusterer.  The  adventure  of  that  valiant 
pretender  against  Behemoth  had  been  accom- 
panied with  serious,  and,  from  the  aspect  they 
at  present  assumed,  perhaps  fatal  conse- 
quences. The  alarm  of  spirits  which  he  had 
suffered,  together  with  the  dreary  submersion 
in  the  pool,  had  thrown  the  adventurer  into  a 
violent  ague.  Day  by  day  the  malady  became 
more  tyrannical,  and  the  mind  of  Kluckhatch 
more  fretful  and  restless.  His  soul  seemed, 
like  the  sun,  to  expand  as  it  approached  its  fi- 
nal eclipse,  and  nature,  who,  at  his  birth,  had 
exhibited  the  art  and  skill  of  a  bottle-conjurer 
in  crowding  so  puissant  a  spirit  into  so  narrow 
a  body,  now  seemed  at  a  loss  to  drive  the  obsti- 
nate tenant  from  its  residence.  The  little  man 
clung  more  desperately  to  life  the  more  forci- 
ble the  attempt  made  to  wrest  it  from  him.  The 
pale  ague  assailed  him  with  its  whole  band  of 
forces  ;  throttling  him  by  the  throat,  as  it  were, 
it  essayed,  by  rough  and  uncourteous  usage,  to 
shake  the  vital  spirit  from  him,  but  it  adhered 
closer  and  closer,  and  the  attempt  of  nature  to 
cast  off'  the  pigmy  militant,  resembled  that  of 
a  horse,  in  whose  flank,  on  a  midsummer's  day, 
a  burr  has  chanced  to  fix  itself;  he  feels  an- 
noyed and  irritated — he  whisks  the  hairy  brush 
to  and  fro— he  runs — he  gallops — he  rears — he 


BEHEMOTH. 


Ill 


plunges,  but  all  in  vain,  the  barbarous  annoy- 
ance clings  to  him  with  the  more  zeal,  until,  at 
some  quiet  moment,  it  drops  gently  from  its 
hold,  and  disturbs  him  no  more.  Thus  stood 
the  account  between  nature  and  Kluckhatch. 
In  his  bed  he  lay,  trembling  like  an  earthquake 
or  an  ocean,  under  the  coverlid.  After  a  while 
the  ague  relaxed,  and  the  fever  came  on  ;  and 
then  he  sat  up  in  his  couch,  and  grasping  a 
wooden  sword,  which  had  been  made  to  amuse 
his  sick  and  distempered  fancy,  he  made  airy 
thrusts  and  lounges,  and  called  out  as  if  he 
were  plunging  it  deep  in  invisible  ribs,  or  hack- 
ing at  the  head  of  some  monstrous  chimera. 
Then,  again,  he  would  appear  to  seize  the  end 
of  some  palpable  object,  and,  drawing  it  along, 
would  measure  and  cut  off  pieces  of  a  yard  in 
length  at  a  time.  It  Avas  evident,  from  the  whole 
tenor  of  his  strange  action,  that  the  Mastodon 
was  in  his  phantasy ;  and  this  was  amply  con- 
firmed by  his  breakingjput,  after  the  fever  had 
partially  subsided,  into  the  following  wild  in- 
vectives, with  a  gasp  between  each,  into  which 
his  soul  seems  to  have  thrown  its  whole  col- 
lected powers. 

"This  huge  bully;  this  fleshly  continent; 
this  vagabond  traveller ;  this  beast  mountain  ; 
this  tornado  in  leather ;  this  bristly  goblin ;" — 

"  Pray  be  calm,  Kluckhatch,"  whispered  the 
shock-headed  youth,  who  stood  at  his  bedside, 
terrified  and  quaking. 

"  This  huge,  moving  show ;  this  two-horned 
wonder;  this  tempest  of  bull's-beef;  this  land- 
leviathan  ;  fiend ;  wood-elf;  this  devil's  ambas- 
sador; this  territory  of  calves'-hide,  stretched 
on  a  mountain  ;  this  untanned  libel  on  leather- 
dressers  ;  this  unhung  homicide ;" — 

"  Uncle  Kluckhatch,"  again  interrupted  his 
attendant,  "  Uncle  Kluckhatch,  wherefore  do 
you  rail  after  this  fashion  ?  you  but  madden 
your  fever." 

"  This  empire  of  bones  and  sinew ;  this  mon- 
strous government  on  legs  ;  this  tyrant  with  a 
tail ;  this  rake-helly ;  this  night-brawler ;  this  \ 
measureless  disgust ;  this  lusty  thresher,  with 
his  endless  flail ;  this  magnified  ox ;  this  walk- 
ing abomination ;  this  enormous  discord,  sound- 
ing in  base ;  this  huge,  tuneless  trombone  ;" — 

The  sick  dwarf  fell  back  on  his  pillow,  ex- 
hausted, his  lips  still  moving  as  if  laden  with 
other  bitter  epithets  of  denunciation.  His  hour 
now  rapidly  drew  nigh  ;  his  strength  gradual- 
ly ebbed  away,  and,  at  length,  the  conviction 
that  he  must  die  forced  its  way  into  the  heavy 
brain  of  Kluckhatch.  In  a  few  words  he  made 
his  humble,  and,  of  course,  lean  will.  "I  leave," 
said  he,  to  his  gaping  companion,  "  I  leave  to 
you  my  fame,  my  virtues,  and  my  drum  !"  He 
then  gave  directions  for  his  burial,  which,  if 
obeyed,  would  make  it  a  spectacle  rare  and  un- 
exampled; and,  rising  once  more  in  his  bed, 
he  said  he  wished  to  expire  in  a  sitting  attitude. 

The  last  sinking  wave  of  life  was  dying  up- 
on the  shore.  His  simple  attendant  had  taken 
in  his  hand,  to  survey  its  fashion  and  its  prop- 


erties, the  testamentary  bequest  of  his  depart- 
ing friend. 

"  Strike  up !  strike  up,  once  more !"  ex- 
claimed Kluckhatch,  as  his  eye  kindled  with  the 
gleam  of  death,  and  as  the  first  sounds  rolled 
from  the  drum  under  the  obedient  hand  of  its 
new  possessor,  the  spirit  of  the  pretender,  min- 
gling with  them,  left  the  earth. 

The  second  morning  after  his  death,  at  an 
early  hour,  the  funeral  procession  set  out  from 
the  domicil  of  Kluckhatch  for  the  tomb  of  his 
forefathers,  a  snug  family  vault,  just  beyond  the 
skirts  of  the  town.  Under  the  direction  of  the 
shock-headed  youth,  who  enacted  the  master  of 
ceremonies,  the  solemn  cavalcade  was  drawn 
Up,  and  proceeded  in  the  following  order : 

First,  led  on  by  the  legatee  himself,  in  front 
of  whose  person  hung  suspended  the  testamen- 
tary drum,  hobbled  slowly  along  a  sorry  and 
cadaverous  jade,  which  had  been  the  pack-sad- 
dle of  Kluckhatch  in  his  strolling  tours.  One 
eye  of  the  sad  creature  was  wholly  closed  and 
useless,  but  the  other,  as  if  to  make  amends, 
was  a  sea-green  orb  of  twice  the  ordinary  di- 
mension, and,  with  its  ample  circle  of  white, 
blazed  like  the  moon  crossing  the  milky-way 
in  the  sky.  His  lank,  hollow  body  bore  clear 
evidence  of  the  neglected  meadows  and  scant 
mangers  of  the  Mound-builders;  for  he  had 
been  on  fast,  broken  by  occasional  spare  mor- 
sels, for  more  than  a  month,  and  glided  along 
in  the  procession  like  a  spectre.  Behind  this 
monkish-looking  beast  followed  a  low  wagon 
or  four-wheeled  cart,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  ven- 
erable and  spiritless  bisons,  in  which  sat  the 
blusterer  himself,  erect  and  in  the  costume  of 
every-day  life,  his  strange  red  coat  shining  like 
a  meteor,  conspicuous  from  afar,  while  his  co- 
nical cap  nodded  gayly  to  the  one  side  or  the 
other,  as  the  wind  swayed  it.  The  strange 
whipster  held  the  reins  firmly  between  his  skel- 
eton fingers,  and  exhibited  on  his  countenance 
a  broad,  ghastly  grin,  which,  at  the  first  view, 
startled  the  beholders,  but  after  they  had  recov- 
ered from  the  shock,  caused  them  to  burst  into 
a  hearty  laugh.  On  each  side  of  the  vehicle 
thus  strangely  driven,  marched,  in  serious  or- 
der, six  sturdy  men,  each  bearing  a  huge  rus- 
tic pipe  or  whistle,  wrought  of  reed,  on  which 
they  blew  soft  and  melancholy  music.  Behind 
the  wagon,  the  favorite  dog  of  Kluckhatch, 
crestfallen  and  whining,  was  led  in  a  string. 
In  the  rear  of  this  faithful  mourner  followed  the 
friends  and  admirers  of  the  deceased,  and  after 
these  scrambled  a  promiscuous  rout  of  his  town's- 
people,  of  every  variety,  age,  sex,  and  hue. 

Creation  itself,  both  overhead  and  on  the 
earth,  was  something  in  unison  with  the  gro- 
tesque obsequies.  In  one  quarter  of  the  sky, 
which  resembled  the  bottom  of  a  rich  sea,  sud- 
denly disclosed,  a  vast  cloud,  like  a  whale, 
floundered  and  tumbled  over  the  azure  depths. 
In  another,  the  clouds  lay  piled  in  heaps  of 
shining  silver ;  here  they  assumed  the  form  of 
a  shattered  wreck,  fleecy  vapors  standing  out 


112 


BEHEMOTH. 


as  mast  or  bowsprit,  with  evanescent  bars  for 
rigging,  and  there  a  black  and  jagged  mass  of 
them,  stretched  along  like  a  reef  of  dangerous 
and  stubborn  rocks.  Lower  down,  a  small,  dis- 
mantled fragment,  mottled  with  white,  sunlit 
scales,  represented  a  mackerel,  at  full  length, 
opening  his  mouth  and  biting  at  the  tail  of  a 
cloudy  grampus  that  stood  rampant  just  over- 
head. In  the  midair,  drawn  thither  by  the  strange- 
ly exposed  remains  of  Kluckhatch,  a  sable-coated 
troop  of  ravens  kept  the  procession  company, 
occasionally  demanding,  in  coarse,  rude  clam- 
ors, their  reversionary  right  in  the  deceased. 
Now  and  then  a  timid  bird  put  forth  his  head 
from  the  trees  and  bushes  at  the  roadside,  and 
twittering  for  a  moment,  and  seeming  to  smile 
at  the  defunct  rider,  hopped  back  into  its  cool 
hiding-place. 

In  a  little  while  they  reached  the  place  of 
burial,  a  small,  suburban  vault,  the  passage  to 
which,  through  a  wooden  door,  led  down  to  a 
score  of  cells  or  apartments,  all  of  which,  save 
one,  were  occupied.  Over  the  entrance  to  the 
vault  stood  the  weather-bleached  skeleton  of  a 
robustious  ancestor  of  Kluckhatch,  balancing 
on  one  of  his  short,  stout  legs,  flourishing 
the  other  as  if  in  the  act  of  going  tlirough  a 
pirouette,  and  holding,  in  his  outstretched  right 
hand,  the  effigies  of  an  owl,  the  favorite  fam- 
ily bird  and  device. 

For  what  reason,  or  whether  for  any,  the  lit- 
tle, queer  skeleton  occupied  this  position,  it 
would  be  now  difficult  to  decide.     Perhaps,  in 
his  lifetime,  he  had  been  a  hard,  weather-beat- 
en hunter,  who  preferred  to  be  left  thus  in  the 
free,  naked  air,  and  under  the  open  sky,  which 
during  life  he  had  enjoyed  without  stint  or  cir- 
cumscription.    Passing  underneath  the  figure 
of  this  portentous  guardian,  and  through  the  j 
passage,  they  bore  the  mortal  remains  of  the  : 
last  of  the  Kluckhatches,  and  placed  them  in  ' 
their  upright  posture  in  the  only  cell  which  re-  ] 
mained  untenanted.  The  moment  it  was  known  ' 
that  the  corse  was  deposited  in  its  final  place  | 
of  rest,  the  twelve  stout  whistlers  let  ofif  four  | 
successive  volleys  of  their  peculiar  music ;  the  j 
dog  came  forward  and  howled,  and  the  shock- 
headed  youth  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  vault 
sobbing  and  weeping,  while  the  beast,  whose  i 
halter  he  lield  in  his  hand,  silently  devoured  ! 
the  dnmnhead  and  looked  inside  for  further  vi-  | 
ands.     A  few  moments  more  and  the  door  was 
closed  for  ever  between  the  world  and  Kluck- 
hatch  

The  unexpected  departure  of  Bokulla  from 
their  midst  had  been  a  source  of  fruitful  and 
anxious  speculation  to  the  Mound-builders. 
They  were  conscious  of  his  absence,  as  if  the 
great  orb  itself  had  left  the  skies  and  deprived 
the  earth  of  its  light  and  influence.  His  pres- 
ence diffused  among  them  the  only  cheerful  ray 
that  enlightened  their  gloomy  condition ;  and 
although  liis  recent  enterprise  had  proved  dis- 
astrous, they  were  satisfied  that  the  great  chief- 
tain would  promptly  grasp  the  first  favoring  cir- 


cumstance, and  energetically  use  it  against  the 
fearful  foe. 

Of  the  causes  of  his  absence  none  were  ad- 
vised, nor  as  to  the  direction  his  steps  had  ta- 
ken. Some  dreaded  lest  he  had  gone  forth  to 
perish  by  his  own  hand  in  the  wilderness  ;  and, 
by  these,  scouts  had  been  dismissed'  in  every 
quarter,  to  bring  back  the  fugitive  warrior,  or 
his  body,  for  honorable  sepulture,  if  he  had  per- 
ished. The  agitation  and  fear,  excited  by  the 
causeless  and  unexplained  absence  of  Bokulla, 
were  only  less  than  those  occasioned  by  the  ter- 
rible presence  of  the  Mastodon.  His  return, 
therefore,  was  welcomed  with  every  demon- 
stration of  rejoicing.  Lights  were  displayed, 
as  glad  signals,  from  every  tower ;  processions 
and  cavalcades  were  formed  to  make  triumphal 
marches  through  the  realm,  and  bodies  of  citi- 
zens constantly  gathered  under  the  window  of 
the  chieftain,  to  express  their  delight  at  his  re- 
turn. During  a  whole  week  this  universal  fes- 
{ tivity  was  sustained,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the 
:  flower  of  national  hope  once  more  blossomed 
I  in  their  midst.  Merry  games  were  celebrated 
I  in  their  gardens ;  religious  worship  again  as- 
;  sumed  its  robe,  and  walked  forth  with  serene 
and  placid  features  in  the  traces  of  its  early 
duty. 

What  gave  additional  animation  to  this  un- 
wonted scene  was,  that  Behemoth,  during  its 
continuance,  ceased  to  sadden  or  alarm  them 
with  his  presence ;  it  may  have  been  that  the 
dazzling  splendor  of  the  illumination,  and  the 
loud  sound  of  innumerable  instruments  all 
playing  together,  kept  him  back. 

About  two  weeks  after  the  return  of  the  self- 
exiled  chieftain,  and  at  the  close  of  their  joyous 
celebrations,  he  appeared  before  the  Mound- 
builders,  and  declared  "  that  his  strange  and 
unexplained  absence  had  not  been  without  its 
uses.  Nature,"  he  said,  "had  put  forth  her 
mighty  hand  and  generously  furnished  the 
means  of  deliverance.  Liberty  was  now  before 
them,  but  it  must  be  attained  through  many 
perils  and  through  toil,  sanctified,  perchance, 
with  blood.  Like  the  swimmer  that  nears  the 
shore,  they  must  now  buffet  the  wave  of  hostile 
fortune  with  their  sternest  strength.  It  might 
be  that  once  more  the  firm  and  smiling  con- 
tinent of  joy,  of  honor,  and  peace,  could  be 
reached.  If  so,  Heaven  should  be  praised  with 
a  deep  sense  of  gratitude,  and  the  realm  should 
ring  througli  all  its  borders  with  sounds  of  glo- 
rious triumph  !" 

He  then  stated  that  he  had  discovered  in  his 
wanderings  a  mighty  meadow  where  Behemoth 
was  wont  to  pasture ;  and  that  if  they  would 
choose  a  delegation  to  visit  it  in  company  with 
himself,  he  would  endeavor  to  point  them  to  a 
sure  and  safe  method  of  subduing  the  enemy. 

At  this  suggestion  the  populace  shouted 
loudly,  and  echoed  the  name  of  Bokulla  with 
the  most  eager  and  fervent  expressions  of  ad- 
miration. They  readily  appointed  three  emi- 
nent citizens  to  accompany  him.    The  next 


BEHEMOTH. 


113 


morning  they  set  out,  and  having  in  due  course 
of  time  reached  the  locality,  they  selected  an 
elevation  which  commanded  the  whole  prospect 
at  once. 

All  admitted,  as  they  looked  upon  the  high 
walLs  that  girt  the  broad  and  spacious  meadow, 
and  on  the  single  narrow  opening  which  led 
from  the  enclosure,  that  nature  had  furnished 
an  extraordinary  aid  toward  the  capture  of  the 
invincible  brute.  Far  around  on  both  sides 
from  the  central  position  which  they  occupied, 
the  stupendous  upright  battlement  of  moun- 
tains stretched — a  peak  here  and  there  shooting 
up  an  immense  tower,  and  a  crag  occasionally 
thrusting  itself  forth  from  the  general  mass  of 
perpendicular  rocks,  like  the  quaint  head  of  a 
beast,  or  the  rugged  and  ugly  features  of  a  hu- 
man being,  as  the  fancy  chose  to  give  it  shape 
and  likeness.  The  whole  hedged  in  a  meadow 
covered  with  a  fertile  growth  of  tall,  rich  ver- 
dure— dotted  by  a  few  scattered  trees — and  in- 
tersected by  a  stream  of  considerable  breadth 
and  depth,  which  flowed  through  its  centre, 
and  formed  an  outlet  in  a  narrow  passage  un- 
derneath the  mountains.  The  natural  opening 
leading  from  this  broad  enclosure,  was  about 
five  hundred  feet  wide,  and  walled  on  either 
side  by  gigantic  fragments  of  stone,  from  whose 
huge  posterns  it  seemed  as  if  in  an  earlier  age 
of  the  world  an  immense  gate  may  have  swung 
and  shut  in  captives  of  mighty  size  and  fearful 
guilt.  Nothing  could  be  conceived  a  more  se- 
cure and  dreadful  prison  than  these  vast  walls 
of  rock  :  and  no  solitude  could  be  more  dreary 
than  one  thus  fortified  as  it  were  by  nature, 
and  made  sublimely  desolate  by  barriers  and 
enclosures  like  these. 

All  felt,  thus  gazing,  the  grandeur  of  the 
thought  presented  to  their  mind  by  BokuUa, 
and  they  turned  and  looked  upon  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  chieftain,  as  if  they  expected  to 
discover  there  features  more  than  human.  Bo- 
kulla  stood  silent. 

"  The  thought  is  mighty  and  worthy  of  Bo- 
kuUa \"  at  length,  exclaimed  one  of  his  com- 
panions, a  man  of  generous  and  ardent  heart ; 
**  here  we  triumph  or  the  story  of  our  life  closes 
in  endless  defeat,  and  our  fate  makes  us  and 
ours  perpetual  bondmen." 

"  Who  is  it,"  interposed  a  second  of  less  san- 
guine temper,  "  who  is  it  that  dare  visit  the 
panther  in  his  den  ?  or  grasp  the  thunder  from 
its  cloud  on  the  mountain-top  ? — It  were  as  safe 
to  chmb  into  the  eagle's  nest  as  disturb  this 
monstrous  creature  in  his  lair  !" 

"  Terrible  as  the  north  when  it  lightens  and 
is  full  of  storms — inexorable  as  death,  will  be 
the  encounter !"  cried  a  supporter  of  the  second 
speaker — "  I  would  sooner  plunge  headlong 
from  a  tower,  than  venture  within  this  guarded 
enclosure !" 

"  What  say  you,  my  friends  !"  cried  Bokulla, 
springing  to  his  feet,  "  what  say  you  to  an  em- 
bassy to  the  brute  on  bended  knee  ?  I  doubt 
not  if  we  came  as  humble  worshippers  and  sup- 
pliants, and  consented  to  choose  him  as  our  na- 
H 


tional  idol,  he  would  abate  something  of  his 
fierceness  I" 

"  Now  heaven  and  all  good  planets  forbid  !" 
cried  his  companions  with  one  accord. 

"Nothing  better  and  nothing  nobler,  then, 
may  be  tried,  than  the  great  suggestion  of  Bo- 
kulla !"  said  the  first  speaker.  "  Here  let  us 
wrestle  with  fate  and  die,  then,  if  die  we  must, 
in  this  broad  and  open  arena,  where  the  heavens 
themselves,  and  the  inexorable  stars,  shall  be 
witnesses  of  our  struggle  !" 

Taking  up  their  position  on  an  elevated  rock, 
shaded  by  trees  which  overlooked  the  whole 
scene,  they  consulted  as  to  the  most  proper  and 
speedy  method  of  accomplishing  their  purpose. 

After  a  consultation  of  several  hours,  during 
which  the  sun  had  fallen  far  in  the  west,  and 
after  weighing  anxiously  every  circumstance 
that  could  have  bearing  or  influence  on  the 
event,  they  determined  in  their  open  council- 
chamber,  amid  the  solemn  silence  of  the  wil- 
derness, that  an  attempt  must  be  made  to  im- 
prison Behemoth  in  the  vast,  natural  dungeon 
at  their  feet,  by  building  a  stout  wall  across  its 
present  opening. 

And  furthermore,  that  it  would  be  matter  of 
afterthought  to  decide,  if  successful  in  the  first, 
by  what  means  his  death  was  to  be  wrought. 
Their  resolves  had  scarcely  taken  this  shape, 
when  a  heavy  shadow  fell  suddenly  in  their 
midst,  as  if  a  thick  cloud  had  covered  the  sun ; 
and  looking  forth  for  its  source,  they  beheld 
Behemoth  walking  silently  and  ponderously 
along  the  ridge  of  the  opposite  mountains. 
They  arrested  their  deliberations,  and  rising  in 
a  body,  watched  the  progress  and  actions  of  the 
brute.  In  a  short  time  he  descended  from  the 
summit,  and  attaining  its  foot  by  a  sloping  and 
broad  path,  in  a  moment  presented  himself  at 
the  gap,  which  conducted  into  the  mountainous 
amphitheatre.  Stalking  through,  he  advanced 
to  its  far  extremity,  and  stretching  himself  on 
the  bank  of  the  stream,  and  in  the  cool  shadow 
of  the  mountains,  he  prepared  for  repose. 

His  companions  had  already  learned  from 
Bokulla,  that  the  Mastodon  was  in  the  habit  of 
paying  long  periodical  visits  to  this  place,  and 
of  feeding,  for  considerable  periods  of  time,  on 
its  abundant  and  savory  verdure.  Nothing 
could  have  been  more  opportune  to  their  con- 
sultation than  the  arrival  of  Behemoth.  His 
sudden  coming  was  an  argument  for  activity 
and  despatch. 

The  fifth  day  from  this,  the  Mound-builders 
arrived  in  considerable  numbers,  in  a  wood 
near  the  amphitheatre,  bringing  with  them  in 
wagons  the  tools  and  implements  required  in 
the  proposed  labor.  They  immediately  set 
about  the  task,  and  commenced  hewing  large 
blocks  of  stone  and  dragging  them  to  the  mouth 
of  the  gap,  but  not  so  near  as  to  obstruct  it. 
The  whole  body  of  workmen  that  had  come 
from  the  Mound-builders'  villages  had  labored 
at  this  task  for  a  week,  and  they  found  that  in 
that  time  sufiicient  stone  had  been  hewn  to 
build  the  wall  from  base  to  summit.    Each 


114 


BEHEMOTH. 


block  was  more  than  twelve  feet  square,  and 
through  its  centre  was  drilled  a  hole  of  some 
six  inches  diameter,  in  which  to  insert  bars  of 
metal,  to  bind  them  more  firmly  together. 

As  soon  as  they  were  prepared  to  commence 
the  erection  of  the  Avail,  which  was  the  most 
critical  part  of  their  labors,  four  or  five  separate 
bands  of  musicians  were  stationed  at  the  far- 
ther end  of  the  enclosure,  and  near  to  Behe- 
moth :  for  they  knew,  from  Bokulla's  report, 
that  the  Mastodon,  mighty  and  terrible  as  he 
was,  could  be  soothed  by  the  influence  of  music, 
adroitly  managed. 

The  moment  the  work  of  heaving  the  vast 
square  blocks  one  upon  the  other  began,  the 
musicians,  at  a  given  signal,  commenced  play- 
ing, and  during  the  progress  of  the  labor,  ran 
through  all  the  variety  of  gentle  tunes  :  so  that 
the  wall,  like  that  of  Amphion,  sprang  up  un- 
der the  spell  of  music.  So  cunningly  did  the 
different  bands  master  their  instruments,  that, 
at  three  different  times,  when  the  Mastodon 
had  turned  his  step  toward  the  gap  at  which 
the  Mound-builders  labored,  they  lured  him 
back,  and  held  him  spell-bound  and  motionless. 

The  blocks  were  hoisted  to  their  places  by 
craneSj  and  the  utmost  silence  was  observed  in 
every  movement ;  not  even  a  voice  was  lifted 
to  command,  but  every  direction  was  given 
with  the  pointed  finger.  No  one  moved  from 
his  station  during  the  hours  of  toil,  but  each 
stood  on  his  post  and  executed  his  portion  of 
the  task  like  a  part  of  the  machinery.  And  yet 
there  was  no  lack  of  spirit ;  every  one  labored 
as  if  for  his  own  individual  redemption,  and 
one  who  beheld  them  plying  amid  the  massive 
fragments  of  granite,  silent  and  busy,  might 
have  thought  that  they  were  some  rebellious 
crew  of  beings  brought  into  the  wilderness  by 
a  genius  or  necromancer,  and  there  compelled, 
speechless  and  uncomplaining,  to  do  his  bidding. 

They  labored  in  this  way  for  more  than  a 
month,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time,  BokuUa 
proclaimed  from  its  summit  that  the  wall  was 
completed.  At  the  announcement,  the  whole 
host  of  artisans  and  laborers,  and  innumerable 
women  and  children,  who  had  come  from  the 
villages,  sent  up  a  shout  that  rent  the  air.  Be- 
hemoth heard  it,  and,  listening  only  for  a  mo- 
ment, browsed  on  among  the  tall  grass  as  if 
regardless  of  its  source  and  its  object.  In  a 
few  days,  however,  after  the  music  had  ceased 
its  gentle  influence,  and  the  supply  of  pastur- 
age began  to  be  less  luxuriant,  the  Mastodon 
made  progress  toward  the  old  outlet,  with  the 
determination  of  seeking  food  elsewhere. 

He,  of  course,  sought  an  outlet  in  vain,  and 
found  himself  standing  at  the  base  of  an  im- 
mense rampart,  which  shot  sheer  up  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  feet  in  air.  He  surveyed  the 
structure,  and  soon  discovered  that  it  was  no 
trifling  barrier,  but  a  mighty  pile  of  rocks,  that 
showed  themselves  almost  as  massive  and  firm 
as  the  mountains  which  they  bound  together. 
At  first,  Behemoth  thought,  although  it  would 
be  idle  to  attempt  to  shake  the  whole  mass  at 


once,  that  yet  the  separate  parts  might  be  re- 
moved block  by  block.  With  this  purpose  he  en- 
deavored to  force  his  white  tusks  between  them, 
but  it  was  in  vain ;  they  were  knit  too  firmly 
together  to  be  sundered.  At  length,  the  great 
brute  was  maddened  by  these  fruitless  eflbrts, 
and  retreating  several  hundred  rods,  he  rushed 
against  the  wall  with  tremendous  strength  and 
fury. 

The  Mound-builders,  who  overlooked  the 
structure,  trembled  for  its  safety,  but  it  stood 
stiff,  and  the  shock  caused  Behemoth  to  re- 
coil discomfited,  while  the  earth  shook  with 
the  weight  and  violence  of  the  motion.  Over 
and  over  again  these  assaults  were  repeated, 
always  with  the  same  result.  Wearied  with 
the  attempt,  the  Mastodon  desisted,  and  return- 
ed to  feed  upon  the  diminished  pasturage, 
which  he  had  before  deserted.  He  had  soon 
browsed  on  it  to  its  very  roots,  and  began  to  feed 
on  the  commoner  grass  and  weeds,  scarcely  pal- 
atable. In  a  day  these  had  all  vanished,  and  he 
turned  to  the  trees  which  were  here  and  there 
scattered  over  the  meadow.  These  he  de- 
voured, foliage,  limb,  and  trunk. — In  a  few 
days  they  were  wholly  exhausted,  and  the  en- 
closed plain  was  reduced  to  a  desert — pasture- 
less,  herbless,  and  treeless. 

The  impatience  and  wrath  of  Behemoth  now 
knew  no  bounds.  He  saw  no  possible  mode  of 
escape  from  this  dreary  and  foodless  waste. 
Around  and  around  the  firm  colosseum  which 
enclosed  him,  he  rushed,  maddened,  bellowing, 
and  foaming. 

At  times,  in  his  fury,  he  pushed  up  the  al- 
most perpendicular  sides  of  the  mountains  and 
recoiled,  bringing  with  him  shattered  fragments 
of  rock  and  large  masses  of  earth,  with  fearful 
force  and  swiftness.  Around  and  around  he 
again  galloped  and  trampled,  shaking  the  very 
mountains  with  his  ponderous  motions,  and  fill- 
ing their  whole  circuit  with  his  terrible  bowl- 
ings and  cries.  The  Mound-builders  who  stood 
upon  the  wall,  and  on  different  parts  of  the 
mountains,  shrunk  back  affrighted  and  awe- 
stricken  before  the  deadly  glare  of  his  eye,  and 
the  fearful  and  agonizing  sound  of  his  voice. 

Day  by  day  he  became  more  furious,  and  his 
roar  assumed  a  more  touching  and  dreadful 
sharpness.  All  sustenance  was  gone  from  the 
plain;  the  whole  space  within  his  reach  fur- 
nished nothing  but  rocks  and  earth,  for  he  had 
already  drunk  the  stream  dry  to  its  channel. 

The  mighty  brute  was  perishing  of  hunger  in 
the  centre  of  his  prison. 

His  strength  was  now  too  far  wasted  to  ad- 
mit of  the  violent  and  gigantic  efforts  which  he 
had  at  first  made  to  escape  from  the  famine- 
stricken  enclosure,  and  he  now  stalked  up  and 
down  its  barren  plain,  uttering  awful  and  heart- 
rending cries.  Some  of  the  Mound-builders 
who  heard  them,  and  who  saw  the  agonies  and 
sufferings  of  Behemoth,  although  he  had  been 
their  most  cruel  enemy,  could  not  refrain  from 
tears.  So  universal  is  humanity  in  its  scope, 
that  it  can  feel  for  everything  that  has  life. 


4» 


BEHEMOTH. 


115 


Howling  and  stalking  like  a  shadow,  moment- 
ly diminishing,  he  walked  to  and  fro  in  this 
way  for  many  days.  Hunger  hourly  extended 
its  mastery  through  his  immense  frame.  At 
about  midday  in  the  third  week  of  his  impris- 
onment, he  cast  his  eye  upon  the  cavernous 
and  dusty  opening  through  which  the  river 
that  watered  the  plain  had  been  accustomed 
to  find  its  way.  It  was  broad  and  open  and  of 
considerable  height.  Into  this  Behemoth  now 
turned  his  steps.  Its  mouth  was  larger  than  the 
inner  passage,  for  time  and  tempest  had  worn 
away  the  rocks  which  once  guarded  it. 

As  he  advanced  it  diminished,  and  ere  his 
whole  bulk  had  entered  the  channel,  it  became 
so  narrow  and  confined  that  he  was  forced  to 
sink  on  his  knees,  in  order  to  make  further  prog- 
ress. This  labor  soon  proved  vexatious  and 
toilsome,  and  the  Mastodon,  willing  to  force 
a  way  where  one  was  not  to  be  found,  or  to 
perish  in  the  endeavour,  raised  himself  slowly 
toward  an  upright  position. 

The  remnant  of  his  strength  proved  to  be 
fearful,  for,  as  his  broad  shoulders  pressed  upon 
the  rocks  above  Mm,  the  incumbent  mountain 
trembled,  and  when  he  had  attained  his  full  sta- 
ture by  a  last  powerful  effort,  the  impending 
rocks  roUed  back  and  forth,  and  fell  with  a  re- 
sounding crash  and  in  great  fragments  to  the 
earth.  The  whole  cone  of  the  mountain  had 
been  loosened  from  its  base,  and,  leaning  for  a 
moment,  like  a  lurid  cloud  in  midair,  fell  into 
the  plain  with  terrible  ruin,  bearing  down  a 
whole  forest  of  trees  and  the  earth  in  which 
they  had  taken  root. 


Fortunately  for  Behemoth — unfortunately  for 
the  object  of  the  Mound-builders — the  rocks 
which  immediately  overhung  Behemoth,  though 
rent  in  several  places,  did  not  give  way,  but  so 
interlocked  and  pressed  against  each  other  as 
to  form  a  solid  arch  over  his  head  and  leave 
him  unharmed  amid  the  ruins.  Passage  through 
the  channel  was,  however,  wholly  arrested  by 
the  large  masses  of  earth  that  had  fallen  into 
it,  and  Behemoth,  finding  it  vain  to  attempt  to 
pass  farther  onward,  withdrew. 

The  fatal  time  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  Hun- 
dreds and  thousands  of  the  Mound-builders  gath- 
ered from  every  quarter  of  the  empire  to  look  up- 
on the  last  hour  of  the  mighty  creature  which  lay 
extended,  in  his  whole  vast  length,  in  the  plain. 
A  catastrophe  and  show  like  that  was  not  to  be 
foregone,  for  it  might  never  (and  so  they  prayed) 
come  again.  Death  and  the  Mastodon  held  a 
fearful  encounter  in  the  arena  below.  Nations 
looked  down  from  the  wall  and  the  mountains, 
on  the  strange  and  terrible  spectacle. 

To  and  fro  the  whole  famished  bulk  moved 
with  the  convulsions,  and  spasms,  and  devour- 
ing agonies  of  hunger.  At  times  the  brute 
raised  his  large  countenance  toward  heaven, 
and  howled  forth  a  cry  which,  it  seemed,  might 
bring  down  the  gods  to  his  succor. 

On  the  fortieth  day  Behemoth  died,  and  left 
his  huge  bones  extended  on  the  plain,  like  the 
wreck  of  some  mighty  ship,  stranded  there  by  a 
deluge,  to  moulder,  century  after  century,  to  be 
scattered  through  a  continent  by  a  later  con- 
vulsion, and,  finally,  to  become  the  wonder  of 
the  present  time ! 


THE  END  OF  BEHEMOTH. 


'^ 


THE    POLITICIANS; 


A    COMEDY 


I         IN  FIVE  ACTS. 


-  * 


f 


THE   POLITICIANS. 


PREFACE. 

It  scarcely  befits  the  author  of  a  comedy  to  meet 
his  readers  with  a  rueful  visage,  and  to  give  them 
a  prologue  seasoned  with  as  many  hardships  as 
there  are  pebbles  in  a  pudding  served  at  a  country 
inn. 

Were  this  his  privilege,  the  present  entertainer 
might  spread  one  of  the  most  delicate  and  delicious 
banquets  of  mishap  that  it  has  ever  been  the  dolor- 
ous fortune  of  the  reader  to  sit  down  to.  First,  we 
should  have  a  little  railing  at  the  managers,  the 
sworn  foes  to  dramatic  writers,  who  lie  in  wait,  as 
is  well  known,  behind  the  door  of  the  green  room, 
to  knock  the  poor  gentleman's  brains  out,  without 
paying,  as  gentlemen  should,  for  their  sport.  It 
would  be  impossible  in  this  place  too,  to  pass  over 
a  dissertation  on  the  impertinence  of  producing,  at 
an  American  theatre,  a  constant  succession  of 
farces  with  Sir  Harry  Humdrum,  my  Lord  Noddy, 
and  my  Lady  Highdiddlediddle.  attended  by  flying 
squads  of  waiters  in  livery  ana  coachmen  in  top- 
boots — to  the  entire  exclusion  of  a  single  scene  or 
personage  that  has  the  recommendation  of  fitness, 
either  in  respect  to  time,  place,  or  audience.  In 
fact,  the  author  might  safely  dUate  on  the  manifest 
injustice  of  not  allowing  a  solitary  devil  of  a  poor 
republican  to  show  his  visnomy  on  the  stage  more 
than  once  in  a  quarter,  and  then,  only  with  an  Eng- 
lish playwright  at  his  back.  That  the  Americans 
are  a  stolid,  melancholy,  lon^-visaged  people,  is 
quite  evident  from  tliis — that  they  have  not.  up  to 
this  moment,  furnished,  as  far  as  the  present  au- 
thor  is  advised,  material  for  the  concoction  of  a 
single  genuine  and  legitimate  comedy. 

The  citizen  who  is  employed  in  the  manufacture 
of  constables  and  aldermen  by  the  year,  governors 
bi-yearly,  and  presidents  quadrennially,  may  be 
readily  supposed  to  be  too  much  engaged  in  this 
weighty  business  to  find  time  for  the  contrivance 
of  idle  plays  and  poems  ;  although  he  may  be  all 
the  while  furnishing  very  admirable  material  to 
such  lookers-on  as  have  leisure  for  sketching  his 
•worship  in  his  hour  of  bustle  and  glory. 

Besiaes  this,  a  word  should  be  said  on  the  evi- 
dent absurdity,  on  tlie  part  of  our  legislature,  of 
♦enacting  a  law  by  which  remuneration  should  be 
secured  to  such  idle  persons  as  spend  their  time  in 
the  writing  of  plays  The  builder  of  a  cotton  um- 
brella, or  the  creator  of  a  four-hooped  tub,  are  ob- 
jects sufiiciently  dignified  for  the  regards  of  a  sen- 
ator  or  representative,  because  the  one  may  secure 
the  said  senator  or  representative  a  dry  sconce  in 
a  shower,  and  the  other  a  supply  of  jerked  beef  in 
an  emergency : — but  what  claim,  we  beseech  you, 
has  a  vagabond  dramatist,  who  works  in  feelings, 
affections,  mirths,  and  melancholies,  upon  these 
pluvious  and  hungry  legislators? — They  would  as 
soon  think  of  incorporating  a  guild  of  eagles  to 
gaze  upon  the  sun,  as  of  bestowing  a  charter  to 
think  and  write,  upon  the  fraternity  of  dramatic 


authors.  Tariffs  and  immunities  were  invented 
by  some  fool  of  a  man  of  genius  for  the  benefit  of 
clowns  and  calico-mongers,  and  not  for  his  own 
kindred.  To  the  red-coated  invader  of  his  coun- 
try, the  heroic  statesman  presents  a  gloomy-look- 
ing  gun,  and  says,  "  One  step — and  you  are  a  dead 
man !"  Such  is  his  respect  for  the  land  he  lives 
in.  To  the  foreign  merchant,  the  prudent  states- 
man extends  a  formidable,  codified  document,  and 
exclaims,  "  Come  this  side  of  high-water  mark, 
and  it  shall  cost  you  twenty  per  cent,  ad  valoi-ein .'" 

Such  is  his  affection  for  the  native-born  gentle- 
man who  clothes  his  back  in  homespun.  To  the 
invading  grain-dealer,  the  voracious  statesman  sends 
a  furious  inspector  to  say,  "  None  of  your  musty 
wheat  enters  this  market — we  pray  you  mercy  !" 
Such  is  his  reverence  for  the  home-constructed 
flour-mill  that  satisfies  his  belly.  Thrice-honored 
Lycurgus  — His  back,  his  belly,  and  his  birthplace, 
he  nobly  provides  for  ;  but  his  mind,  the  immortal, 
ftir-seeing,  capacious  soul — tiiat's  sheer  stuff,  im- 
palpable, intangible,  and  invisible — and  if  it  can't 
take  care  of  itself,  a  week,  feeble,  rickety  intel- 
lect it  must  be.  A  law  to  protect  the  mind  from 
foreign  corruptions,  to  secure  to  the  homeborn 
offspring  of  that  mind  rights  of  remuneration  and 
inheritance  ! — The  sagacious  and  enlightened  M.  C. 
scorns  such  props  and  protections,  as  laws  and  en- 
actments for  the  efforts  of  his  own  noble  intellect. 
His  speeches  are  spread  over  the  face  of  the  coun- 
try in  extra  Globes  and  Intelligencers,  and  he  re- 
ceives eight  dollars  pa-  diem  :  so  what  cares  he  for 
remuneration  and  copyright !  Is  not  this  sound, 
wholesome,  and  safe  logic  for  a  politician  ?  For  a 
politician,  it  is. — 

Having  thus  suggested  what,  in  a  certain  mood, 
he  might  have  said,  the  author  can  not  part  from 
the  reader  without  giving  utterance  to  a  few  pres- 
ent feelings  of  a  somewhat  deeper  cast. 

In  the  present  condition  of  things,  a  manager 
looks  upon  a  manuscript  American  play,  with,  I 
imagine,  about  the  same  favor  as  he  would  peruse 
the  wasn-book  of  one  of  his  supernumeraries,  and 
would  as  soon  think,  under  ordinary  circumstances, 
of  putting  the  last  year's  almanac  into  action,  with 
the  twelve  signs  of  the  zodiac  as  dramatis  personce 
(which  would  in  fact  make  a  very  pretty  spec- 
tacle), as  of  producing  a  comedy  by  a  dramatic 
writer  bom  this  side  of  Cape  Lookout.  An 
American  dramatist  is  at  once  confronted  and 
frowned  back  by  a  cheap  array  of  sturdy  strangers, 
in  the  guise  of  farce,  burlesque,  and  comedy,  from 
abroad,  that  have  usurped  exclusive  authority  even 
in  his  chosen  places  of  amusement.  A  spirit  alien 
to  anything  that  may  be  found  in  his  homeborn 
compositions,  starts  up  and  warns  him  from  the 
spot,  with  maledictions  on  the  unlucky  head  that 
has  ventured  to  conceive  scenes  of  native  humor, 
or  to  delineate  Five  Acts  of  the  life  which  his  sim- 
ple-witted  countrymen  are  content  to  live. 

The  author  of  the  following  work,  in  the  spirit 


120 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  I. 


of  a  liberal  self-reliance,  has  at  all  times  entertain- 
ed  the  belief  that  America  contains  within  itself 
material  quite  adequate  for  any  class  of  literary 

{(reductions  which  might  be  demanded  by  the  pub- 
ic taste.  Auspicious  nature  has,  in  this  land,  de- 
nied us  no  product  that  is  necessary  to  sustain, 
cheer,  and  embellish  human  life:  her  foundations 
here  are  broad,  and  deeply  set,  and  her  airy  sum- 
mits are  gilded  with  the  lighter  graces  and  orna- 
^ments'  of  natural  architecture.  Rolling  rivers, 
reen  dark  woods,  boundless  meadows,  and  majes- 
tic peaks,  labor  together  to  complete  the  beauty 
and  nobleness  of  its  outward  aspect.  Within  the 
mind  of  man  there  is,  there  must  be,  unless  human- 
ity is  false  to  its  trust,  something  that  replies  to 
these.  Some  spirit  of  beauty  and  truth  must  haunt 
us  in  our  walks  through  scenes  like  these,  and 
awaken  the  soul  to  action  and  utterance  not  un- 
worthy, at  least,  of  its  great  inspiration.  Thigjs 
the  divine  origin,  the  Dalian  birthplace  of -poetic 
thought,  and  the  poetic  progeny  can  not  fia.il  to  at- 
tain its  true  growth,  if  the  atmosphere  it  is  allowed 
i  to  breathe  be  not  chilled  or  rendered  impure  by  an 
ungenial  or  unhealthy  national  taste.  From  this 
grand  external  world,  co-operating  with  and  in- 
spiring an  equally  grand  and  elevated  human  spirit, 
must  spring  the  loftier  creations  of  dramatic  art. 
— From  another  phase  of  things,  the  crowded  hfe 
of  cities,  the  customs,  habitudes,  and  actions  of 
men  dwelling  in  contact,  or  falling  off  into  peculiar 
and  individual  modes  of  conduct,  amalgamated  to- 
gether into  a  close  but  motley  society,  with  reli- 
gions, trades,  politics,  professions,  and  pursuits, 
shooting  athwart  the  whole  living  mass,  and  form- 
ing a  web  infinitely  diversified  ;  from  this  wonder- 
ful world  of  life  and  opinion,  must  grow  the  genial 
and  brilliant  representative  of  life  and  opinion. 
Comedy  itself. 

Comedy,  it  is  true,  requires  something  of  cos- 
tume, something  of  age  and  reverence  to  be  laughed 
at,  some  settled  and  canonized  absurdities  to  mock, 
in  order  to  accomplish  a  portion  of  its  labor.  But, 
rooted  and  fixed  in  the  very  elements  of  human 
*  nature,  are  to  be  found  the  materials  with  which 
genuine  comic  genius  seeks  to  deal ;  making  use. 
however,  of  external  aids  of  face,  figure,  dress,  ana 
action,  as  the  exponents  and  betrayers  of  the  spirit 
of  foUy  or  humor  that  lurks  within.  To  say  that 
there  are  no  proper  materials  for  comedy  m  our 
country  and  among  ourselves,  is  to  assert  that  so 
great  a  revolution  has  been  wrought  in  human  na- 
ture, that  it  has  ceased  to  be  itself. 

In  truth,  with  high  and  generous  qualities  which 
have  carried  us  nobly  through  all  past  struggles  of 
action,  we  have  proved  ourselves,  I  fear,  greatly 
wanting  in  lofty  and  manly  self-dependence,  in  all 
that  relates  to  the  nobler  intellectual  duties.  A  res- 
olution to  repudiate,  without  respect  to  foreign 
authority^  whatever  is  really  hostile  to  the  true  na- 
tional spirit,  and  to  give  a  welcome  to  whatever 
embodies  or  appeals  to  it  (I  mean  in  no  false  or 
gfTovelling  sense),  would  go  far  toward  achieving 
many  of  the  benefits  proposed  by  legislation  and 
restriction.  If  we  are  but  true  to  ourselves,  no 
law,  no  state  of  things,  can  be  false  to  us.  We  are 
first  traitors  to  ourselves,  and  the  law,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  follows  us  as  a  deserter.  We  establish 
a  league  of  disastrous  amity  with  folly  and  injus- 
tice, and  we  soon  find  the  camp  in  wluch  we  have 
taken  shelter,  though  seemingly  our  country,  a 
place  in  truth  of  alien  and  unhappy  servitude.  Let 
us  have  free  thoughts  and  home  thoughts,  or  let  us 
cease  to  live  ! 

It  only  remains  for  the  author  to  dismiss  the 
reader  to  the  perusal  of  the  following  work — he 


could  have  hoped  with  a  more  cheerful  and  less 
earnest  welcome,  but  the  full  heart  will  have  its 
way — with  the  declaration,  that  it  will  be  a  life- 
long pleasure  to  him,  if  this  humble  dramatic  at- 
tempt shall  furnish  the  least  countenance  to  the 
cause  of  a  true  National  Literature  ! 
New  Yokk,  July,  1840. 


CHARACTERS. 

Brisk — Candidate  for  Alderman, 

Crowder. 

Gudgeon — The  rival  Candidate. 

Botch. 

Glib. 

Old  Crumb. 

Blanding. 

Bill  Baffin. 

Tom  Lug. 

Joe  Surge. 

Mrs.  Gudgeon. 
Kate  Brisk. 
Citizena  and  others. 

Scene — New  York. 


ACT  I. 
SCENE  I. 

T?ie  open  street. 
Enter  Brisk  and  Crowder. 


Now  for  a  capital  stroke  of  policy,  Crowder — 
we  must  get  the  use  of  the  church  bell. 

CROWDER. 

The  very  thought  I  had ;  we  must  be  of  the 
same  sect  of  thinkers  : — the  very  thought. 


Yes,  you  can  look  through  the  thing.  Many 
of  the  more  quiet  voters,  being  accustomed  to 
its  Sunday  summons,  would  be  brought  out  and 
would  readily  aid  our  ticket,  if  they  understood 
the  steeple,  for  the  time,  to  be  in  the  hands  of 
our  party.    You  see  ? 

CROWDER. 

Exactly  so ;  and,  with  a  banner  displayed  and 
our  ticket  spread  on  the  weathercock,  they 
could  not  fail  to  comprehend  our  views  at  a 
glance.  ^ 


Particularly  as  the  weathercock's  a  silver- 
side,  with  a  gold  ball  in  its  mouth .'     But  you 


Scene  I.J 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


121 


mentioned  the  porter-houses  at  the  upper  end 
of  the  ward  ? 

CROWDER. 

You  must  make  a  tour  of  them  immediately. 
The  best  arrangement  will  be  to  brandy  with 
those  in  Scammel  street,  and  take  your  supper 
of  cutlets  and  pale  ale  at  Works's  with  his 
boarders — who,  you  know,  are  chiefly  retired 
ragamuffins,  disbanded  street-sweepers,  and 
almshouse  candidates  generally;  a  powerful 
class  at  the  poll. 


If  that  must  be  done,  couldn't  you  get  Tom 
Lug  out  of  the  way  whQe  I'm  there  ?  Pah  ! 
the  thought  of  him  makes  me  sick  ;  a  double- 
distilled  scamp. 

CROWDER. 

With  great  influence,  however,  greater  than 
the  best  citizen  we  have.  I  would  not  insure 
your  election  if  Mr.  Lug's  feelings  are  ruffled 
in  the  slightest. 


I  must  digest  him  then,  with  the  coarse 
steaks,  as  if  they  were  both  as  savory  as  grOled 
woodcocks — that's  all.  I  only  ask  Heaven  for 
a  dry  night,  for  he  eomes  staggering  in  from  a 
shower,  with  his  drippings,  soaked  through  and 
steaming  like  a  swamp. 

CROWDER.' 

But  there  are  others  whom  you  must  know, 
and  take  by  the  hand,  or  they'll  call  you  an 
aristocrat. 


Oh !  I  must  be  spared  that  title.  They  may 
name  me  toad,  snake,  dog,  monkey — but  not 
aristocrat.  If  the  popular  nose  snuff  an  aristo- 
crat nine  miles  off,  its  delicacy  is  offended,  and 
it  veers  instantly  the  other  way — to  catch  the 
odor,  more  grateful  to  its  organ,  of  gentle  loaf- 
er ism.     Who  are  your  other  vagabonds  ? 

CROWDER. 

There's  a  short  man  with  a  large  mouth  and 
a  scar  on  his  cheek. 


That's  Joe  Surge,  by  the  token ;  as  rough  a 
Christian  as  ever  came  into  the  world,  and 
whose  character  is  as  offensive  as  Tom  Lug's 
person.- 

CROWDER. 

But  Joe  carries  a  whole  block  with  him,  be- 
sides his  river  influence  among  the  hard-drink- 
ing fishermen  and  ship-joiners. 


Well,  we  must  be  charitable  in  our  construc- 
tions ;  that  gives  me  a  different  opinion  of  the 


man — there  are  worse  fellows  than  Joe  Surge, 
I  am  satisfied.  How  about  the  revolutionary 
veteran  ?  that's  capital  too  good  to  be  wasted. 


CROWDER. 


He  deposites  the  first  vote  on  our  side,  and 
we  think  of  bandaging  one  of  his  legs  and 
placing  a  patch  over  his  eye,  to  make  the  spec- 
tacle more  imposing. 


If  we  could  fix  it  to  have  his  vote  challenged 
by  the  other  party  it  would  tell  amazingly  in 
our  favor,  and  we  would  get  out  a  placard  at 
once — "  Disgraceful !  an  old  soldier  dishon- 
ored !"  and  so  forth. 

CROWDER. 

It  would  afford  a  good  opportunity  to  call 
our  opponents  ruffians,  libellers,  and  miscre- 
ants— which  should  not  be  lost. 


Couldn't  we  attach  two  or  three  cases  of  su- 
icide to  their  neglect  to  clear  the  river  ?  where- 
by, for  example,  many  are  prematurely  smoth- 
ered in  the  mud,  that  might  otherwise  have 
been  saved  by  a  drag-net ! 

CROWDER. 

This  would  hardly  do,  simply,  because  no 
such  case  of  devotion  to  water  has  occurred 
within  the  memory  of  man;  but  we  might 
plausibly  charge  them  with  the  death  of  the 
watchman  that  was  moonstruck  the  other  night, 
sleeping  on  Gudgeon's  stoop.  If  Gudgeon  had 
exercised  ordinary  benevolence  and  taken  him 
in,  in  the  early  part  of  the  evening,  and  kept 
him  by  the  warm  fire,  and  nourished  him  with 
hot  toddy,  it  couldn't  have  happened — that  ev- 
ery one  must  see. 


Excellent — very  excellent — but  recollect,  we 
must  follow  them  up  with  charge  on  charge, 
accusation  on  accusation,  till  they  are  stunned 
like  cattle,  and  drop  astonished  to  the  ground. 
You  will  be  at  my  house  in.  an  hour,  and  exam- 
ine my  dress,  to  see  if  it's  sufficiently  rusty  and 
plebeian  to  make  me  presentable  at  this  court 
of  loafers  at  Works's.  iRetiring. 

And,  I  say.  Crowd  er,  if  you  have  a  coat  out 
at  the  elbow  a  little,  bring  it  around ;  my  worst, 
I  am  afraid,  is  a  month  or  so  too  much  this  side 
of  shabbiness  to  be  popular.  [Returns. 

Bring  your  iron  snuff-box,  too,  filled  with 
Lorillard,  and,  hark  you  again,  I  must  borrow 
that  catskin  cap  of  yours,  that's  moth-eaten — 
meantime,  I'll  let  my  beard  grow.  lExit  Brisk. 

Enter  Glib. 

GLIB. 

Well,  Crowder,  we  are  going  to  try  anothei* 
wrestling  match  with  you,  and  if  you  achieve 
a  fall  I  hope  there  will  not  be  an  earthquake. 


122 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  I. 


CHOWDER. 

Oh,  we  promise  there  shall  be  no  such  thing 
provided  you  will  pledge  yourself  to  raise  no 
hurricane  harangues  during  the  election ;  nor 
to  strike  down  our  tallest  men  with  your  tor- 
nadoes of  speech  and  tempests  of  windy  decla- 
mation. No  noise,  no  corruption — that's  our 
motto. 


Sly,  deep,  and  dangerous,  like  a  wily  river ; 
that  is  the  way  you  undermine  what  you  wish 
to  overthrow. 

CROWDEK. 

You  think  that  we  manage  it  so,  do  you  ?  we 
that  are  behind  the  scenes  and  in  the  secrets. 


You  behind  the  scenes  !  you  in  the  secrets  ! 
Why,  Crowder,  you  are  one  of  those  fellows,  in 
every  party,  who  are  allowed  to  make  a  noise 
in  proportion  to  their  real  want  of  confidence 
and  information  ;  in  the  same  way  as  poor  Bill 
Baffin,  the  stevedore,  thumps  and  whistles  and 
plies  his  mallet  on  the  outside  of  the  ship  on 
the  stocks,  without  getting  so  much  as  a  peep 
in  at  the  cabin-window. 


We  are  not  hoodwinked  so  easily,  my  kind 
Gudgeonite  !  We  don't  allow  ourselves  to  be 
mystified  like  your  money-ridden  citizens. 

GLIB. 

Oh  no,  you  prefer  to  be  mystified  more  after 
the  manner  of  a  cartman's  horse,  with  his  head 
in  a  feed-bag,  who,  if  he  can  get  a  sufficiency 
of  oats,  doesn't  mind  how  much  he's  in  the  dark. 

CROWDER. 

Darkness  and  light  are  the  same  to  us,  if  we 
can  but  serve  the  interests  of  the  people,  and 
protect  them  from  the  fangs  of  knaves  and  in- 
triguers. We  could  pass  our  lives  in  dens, 
dungeons,  yea,  even  in  stalls  and  stables. 


With  well-filled  mangers  and  perpetual  drip- 
pings from  the  public  reservoir,  to  keep  you  in 
mind  of  your  dear  friends — the  people !  Roast 
beef  is  the  altar  on  which  you  swear  to  sustain 
that  cause  ;  and,  at  whatever  sacrifice  of  bread 
and  beer,  you  will  uphold  it — while  the  sup- 
plies last !  £h ! 

CROWDER. 

Glib,  you  loathe  a  poor  man — I  know  you  do 
— as  if  he  were  a  monster.  We  love  paupers 
— we  have  an  affection  for  them,  and  mean  to 
establish  the  city  government  on  a  pauper  ba- 
sis, as  solid  as  the  graywacke  foundations  of 
the  island,  for  it  is  our  honest  belief  that  the  deep- 
er you  go  in  the  scale  of  society,  the  richer 
^rows  the  soil. 


And  you  poor  gentlemen  in  office  are  the  hus- 
bandmen that  cultivate  it ;  the  tillers  of  this 
arable  land  of  salary,  perquisite  and  plunder. 


CROWDER. 


Sir,  IM  have  you  know,  with  us  no  man's  in- 
tegrity is  tampered  with. 


Who  ever  dreamed  such  an  absurdity  ?  You 
disdain  a  resort  to  such  petty  meanness — and, 
what  with  dinners,  and  contracts  at  high  rates, 
and  a  privilege  to  dip  fifty  per  cent,  deep  into 
the  public  pocket,  a  worthy  man's  virtue  is  no 
more  exposed  with  you,  than  a  sea-captain's 
wife  whose  husband  has  gone  the  Canton  voy- 
age. 

CROWDER. 

Mr.  Glib,  I  must  leave  you — you  are  grow- 
ing offensive.  We  will  finish  this  discussion 
at  the  polls.  [Exit  crowder. 


Ha  !  ha !  upon  my  soul  l  forgot  that  his  own 
aunt  had  been  tempted  in  this  way,  and  that 
our  little  alderman  would-be,  Mr.  Brisk,  was 
the  supposed  serpent  in  the  garden.  Hereafter 
I  must  avoid  such  subjects — for  to  make  virtue 
a  topic  with  a  professed  politician  is  sure  to 
give  offence ;  and  if  one  of  these  fellows  gets 
by  chance  among  the  saints  in  the  next  world, 
he  will  be  as  much  out  of  place  as  a  painter  in 
a  mob. 


SCENE  II. 
^  room  in  Gvdgeon's  house. 

GUDGEON. 

What  a  glorious  thing  it  is  to  be  a  candidate 
for  alderman  !  One  wakes  up  in  the  morning, 
and  the  first  thing  he  hears  is  some  little  poli- 
tician under  his  window,  shouting,  hurrah  for 
Gudgeon  !  and  the  young  rascal,  in  his  enthu- 
siasm, throws  his  cap  so  high,  the  shadow  in 
the  dressing-glass  almost  makes  me  cut  my- 
self. Every  spile  becomes  a  speaker  of  his 
praises  ;  every  shutter  swings  open  with  a  proc- 
lamation of  his  virtues ;  and  there's  not  a  dead 
wall  in  the  ward  that  does  not  announce  his 
glory  in  the  largest  capitals — nor  a  dumb  hogs- 
head that  is  not  vocal  in  approval  of  his  nomi- 
nation. I  shall  have  another  seal  put  to  the 
bunch  at  the  end  of  my  watch-chain,  that's  flat, 
and  I  think  I  will  have  my  calves  padded. 
Robert  Gudgeon,  Esquire,  Alderman !  I'll  get 
me  a  stamp  cut,  with  a  flock  of  goslings  in  the 
centre,  to  show  that  I  was  reared  in  the  coun- 
try and  am  not  ashamed  of  my  origin ;  and  with 
this  I'll  mark  all  the  corporation  documents  I 
can  lay  hold  of ! 


Scene  II.] 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


123 


Enter  Botch. 

BOTCH. 

Have  you  heard  this  rumor,  sir  ? 

GUDGEON. 

What  rumor,  for  Heaven's  sake  ?  They 
haven't  bought  up  all  the  large  flags  iu  the 
ward? 


No,  sir. 


BOTCH. 


GUDGEON. 


Have  they  got  in  a  new  barrel  of  beer  ?  or 
hired  Blaster,  the  popular  trumpeter  ?  I  spoke 
to  him  myself  last  night.  They  haven't  en- 
gaged Murphy's  t\ro  starved  horses,  that  always 
operate  so  on  the  popular  sympathies  and  bring 
up  so  many  voters  ? 


None  of  these,  sir  I 

GUDGEON. 

What  then.  Botch  ?    Be  quick — ^what  then  ? 

BOTCH. 

Why,  sir,  the  Brisk  party  is  going  to  ijse  the 
belfry  of  the  church  to  distribute  tickets  from, 
and  they  intend  to  employ  the  sexton  to  read 
prayers  every  morning  of  the  election  from  the 
small  window  in  the  steeple. 


This  must  be  counteracted :  it  will  have  an 
overwhelming  effect.  We  shall  have  the  whole 
religious  conununity  moving  against  us  in  pla- 
toons, pew  by  pew ! 


Something  must  be  done,  sir ;  I  see  clearly 
something  must  be  done.  What  shall  it  be, 
sir? 


Yes ;  something  must  be  done. 

BOTCH. 

Certainly — something  must  be  done. 

GUDGEON. 

What  then,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  shall  it 
be  ? — Couldn't  we  get  Glib  to  climb  the  steeple 
above  the  window  and  deliver  an  harangue  ? 
It  might  do  away  with  the  evil  influence  of  the 
proceedings  below,  and  give  us  a  tremendous 
ascendency  at  once. 


I  doubt  whether  Mr.  Glib  would  undertake 
it,  even  if  he  could  snatch  a  notary's  commis- 
sion from  the  weathercock,  as  the  chances  of 
being  made  a  martyr  of  by  stoning  would  be 
considerable. 


Can't  you  think  of  anything  else,  then.  Botch  ? 

BOTCH. 

Why,  yes,  sir — a  little  suggestion  strikes  me. 
How  would  it  do,  if  you  were  to  be  seen  walk- 
ing down  the  street  by  the  poll,  between  two 
men  drunk  ? 


Arm-in-arm  with  two  drunkards 
you  propose  to  gain  by  that  ? 


What  do 


The  finest  series  of  popular  effects  ever  pro- 
duced. See,  sir,  how  it  operates !  You  in  your 
new  blue  coat,  sir,  with  bright  buttons,  clean 
ruffles,  and  well-polished  boots — looking  as 
handsome  as  Adam  the  day  he  was  born — 
march  along,  with  Adze  the  tippling  cooper 
hanging  on  one  arm,  and  Ike  Luff,  for  instance, 
pulling  at  the  other,  and  pitching  about  like  a 
scow  straining  at  her  moorings.  Everybody's 
attention  is  immediately  directed  to  you. 
"  Gudgeon  is  friendly  to  tavern-license — we'U 
vote  for  him,"  says  a  dealer  in  Hollands,  "  ob- 
vious from  his  respect  for  our  customers." 

GUDGEON. 

That  fixes  the  tavern-keepers  and  the  tip- 
plers ;  very  well. 


"  What  a  big-souled  man  Gudgeon  is  !"  says 
a  tailor.  "  He'U  need  a  new  coat  every  other 
week,  when  he's  made  alderman — He  knows 
how  to  use  a  coat,"  as  Ike  Luff  wipes  his 
mouth  on  your  shoulder. 

GUDGEON. 

That  gives  us  the  tailors  and  their  journey- 
men, I  suppose,  and  might  have  its  effect  with 
the  cloth-dealers. 


Then  the  temperance  people  are  yours  to  a 
man ;  for  if  you  put  your  mouth  cunningly  to 
the  ear  of  your  side-champions,  and  lift  up  your 
fingers  in  a  solemn  manner,  they  will  suppose 
you  are  warning  the  poor  wretches  to  refrain 
from  their  cups  ;  while  the  conmion  mob  will 
laugh,  taking  the  whole  spectacle  for  a  very 
tolerable  joke. 

GUDGEON. 

It  shall  be  done,  Botch ;  and  to  aid  the  efiect, 
I'll  have  some  tracts  against  drunkenness  stick- 
ing from  my  coat  pockets,  while  you  can  have 
a  few  large  handbiUs,  setting  forth  that  I  am 
in  favor  of  retail  liquor  shops,  posted  against 
the  opposite  fence. 


In  favor  of  retail  liquor  shops  and  the  new 
water  works  ? 


124 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  I. 


GUDGEON. 

No,  not  the  new  water  works— you  had  bet- 
ter put  that  in  a  separate  handbill  by  itself. 
[Exeunt  severally. 

SCENE  m. 

jSn  ante-chamber  at  Blanding^s  lodgings. 

OLD  CKUMB. 

Somehow  this  young  man  has  touched  me 
strangely.  Ever  since  I  heard  him  play  those 
plaintive  tunes,  my  heart  has  been  with  him  : 
he  is  poor — a  mere  flute-player  at  the  theatre 
— but  I  love  him,  for  he  reminds  me  of  my  own 
youth  and  of  days  long,  long  gone  by.  His 
musical  and  pathetic  breath  gives  me  back  de- 
licious moments,  that  are  otherwise  vanished 
for  ever;  sweet  evenings,  tranquil  noonday 
hours,  and  long,  long  afternoons,  when  the  sun 
set  with  a  light  that  can  never  rise  again .  Child 
and  changeling  of  poverty  as  he  is,  he  can  do 
more  for  this  old  wearied  soul  of  mine,  than  any 
one  beneath  the  degree  of  my  Creator.— I  hear 
him  now — his  door  is  ajar,  and  I  will  listen  be- 
fore I  enter. 

BLANDiNG.    (From  within.) 

A  city  life,  a  city  life  for  me — 

Far,  far  from  the  shade  of  the  greenwood  tree  ! 

The  sights  and  sounds  that  stir  the  nimble 

brain 
Beyond  the  speaking  stream — the  golden  grain. 
The  thundering  shout  of  the  gathering  rout 
When  the  town  goes  mad  and  its  wrath  is  out — 
Has  more  that  fires  the  true  red  blood  in  me 
Than  the  crash  of  a  forest  in  every  tree. 
The  glorious  light  of  the  city  night 
When  the  stars  are  quenched  and  the  lamps 

burn  bright — 
Is  better  far,  is  better  far  to  me 
Than  the  pale  round  moon  and  aU  her  com- 
pany. 

CRUMB. 

A  lover,  and  not  a  word  of  his  mistress  in 
twelve  lines  of  poetry  ! — I  am  afraid  this  is  not 
the  true  lunacy. 

BLANDING.    {From  within.) 

Fol-la — my  heart — andino — has  gently — sa — 
felt — allegro — allegro — sweet  Kate — piano — the 
sharp  and  sure  revenge  of  fate — La-mi-fol-sa. 

CRUMB. 

The  fit  is  coming  upon  him. 

BLANDING. 

Oh  smile  upon  the  gloomy  wave 
That  bears  me  to  a  gloomier  grave. 

That  goes  badly  in  andante — so-fa-me-fi-so. 

CRUMB. 

Its  rising.  (Tapping  hia  forehead.) 


BLANDING. 

If  sire  or  shackle  bind  your  hand 
Break,  break,  oh  break  the  cursed  band ! 

CRUMB. 

He  suggests  elopement,  on  my  word. 


BLANDING. 


illegro, 


And  fly — ^too  slow — and  fly — allegro- 
Andfly  with  m«.    Prestissimo. 

CRUMB.    (Breaking  in.) 

Heigh-ho  !  how  is  this,  sir — are  you  trying  to 
set  a  runaway  match  to  music  ? 

BLANDING. 

I  beg  your  pardon  sir — but — 


You  may  well  do  that,  and  the  pardon  of 
the  whole  city  council,  if  you  please.  Medita- 
ting a  rhym'd  elopement  with  Miss  Brisk, 
daughter  of  John  Brisk,  candidate  for  alderman 
of  the  ward  !  Why  this  is  an  audacious  breach 
of  ordinance. 

BLANDING. 

I — I — beg  to  be  excused,  sir — but  her  name 
was  hot  mentioned  by  me  ;  it  was  a  fancy  piece 
that  I  was  preparing  for  an  opera. 


Yes,  very  pretty,  and  very  fanciful,  and  would 
answer  as  well  as  another  for  an  opera — if  there 
were  such  a  thing  as  an  opera  of  real  life. 
(Mimics  him.)  "  Oh  fate,"  « sweet  Kate"— 
"  your  hand,"  and  "  break  the  cursed  band." 
I  thought  you  had  promised  me  you  would  not 
think  of  marriage,  much  less  marriage  with  the 
heiress  of  an  alderman,  without  my  consent ; 
and  the  first  news  I  hear  is,  that  that  young 
scapegrace,  Blanding,  hath  a  snare  set  at  the 
house  of  goodwife  Gudgeon,  for  Miss  Kate 
Brisk. 

BLANDING. 

To  tell  the  truth,  my  kind  friend,  my  calcu- 
lations have  been  thwarted  by  an  impudent, 
meddling,  presumptuous  hussy,  who  took  the 
liberty  to  blot  out  all  my  resolves  and  put  her 
own  handwriting  in  their  place. 

CRUMB. 

Now  1*11  warrant  you  will  say  this  busybody 
was  Nature,  for  we  father  on  her  all  the  chil- 
dren of  our  fancy,  that  good-sense,  the  rugged 
overseer,  refuses  to  provide  for.  If  a  lawyer 
cozen  a  young  orphan  of  his  patrimony,  people 
never  think  to  lift  their  hands  for  a  curse  upon 
the  dark  rascal— for  it's  nature,  nature  I  If  a 
stout  young  fellow  knock  down  a  weak  old 
man,  and  filch  his  purse  and  papers,  the  shrewd 
world  exclaims — what  could  be  more  natural  ? 
Or  if  a  sly  young  dog,  like  yourself,  play  the 


Scene  I.] 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


126 


incendiary  with  a  pretty  girl's  heart,  and  set  it 
all-a-blaze — oh !  it's  nature ;  if  you  have  any 
fault  to  find,  blame  her. 


BLANDING. 


And  if  a  kind  old  man  takes  an  undeserving, 
thriftless  young  knave  to  his  heart,  as  if  he 
were  his  own  child — whose  folly  is  that  ? 


Mere  whim — ^mere  whim — the  world  says. 
But  I  thought  you  were  not  to  be  a  rich  man, 
that  I  might  take  my  seat  in  the  pit  for  this 
many  a  long  year,  and  always  hear  you  play 
those  touching  old  tunes,  which  I  am  sure  you 
will  never  play  as  well  when  you  become  rich. 

BLANDING. 

I  shall  lose  none  of  my  success  on  that  score, 
for  not  a  penny  comes  with  Miss  Brisk,  unless 
she  marries  with  her  father's  consent,  and  that 
never  will  come  to  me. 


Well,  sir,  I  consider  this  a  high  misdemeanor 
— ^this  falling  in  love  against  my  will — a  serious 
ground  of  displeasure;  but — mark  me — you 
shall  have  them  both,  the  girl  and  the  fortune, 
or  I'm  an  old  fool.  Now  play  me  "  Oh,  live 
again,  sweet  time  of  youth" — (Sits  in  an  arm- 
chair, and  weeps  while  Blanding  plays :) 

I  am  an  old  fool,  after  all — an  old  fool ! 

[Exit   CRUMB. 
BLANDING. 

God  bless  the  kind  old  man !  His  promise  is 
as  sure  of  ripening  into  performance  (in  this 
case  I  know  not  how)  as  the  dawn  of  day  into 
a  true  and  glorious  meridian.  Of  all  the  thou- 
sands that  have  heard  me  play,  he  is  the  single 
one  in  whom  music,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  has 
performed  its  real  office,  of  begetting  generous 
thoughts  and  kindly  actions.  Kate  !  Kate  ! — 
thou  art  mine,  for  in  this  good  man's  promise  I 
am  no  infidel.  {Exit. 

END  OF  ACT  I. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I. 

jS  room  in  Chidgeon^s  house, 

Kate  Bbisk  and  Blanding. 


You  say  you  love  the  city,  and  would  always 
live  within  its  bounds  ? 

BLANDING. 

I  do,  Kate,  as  dearly  as  a  brown-thrasher 
loves  the  green  tree  that  sheltered  its  young ! 


Enter  Mrs.  Gudgeon. 


MRS.    gudgeon. 


Come,  come,  children,  you  have  been  long 
enough  in  the  orchard — the  paradise  orchard, 
as  I  call  it.  When  Robert  courted  me  by  the 
well,  or  the  big  walnut-iree  in  the  lane,  it  was 
always  "  Margery,  Margery,  you  are  a  while  fod- 
dering the  turkeys — is  the  Muscovy  gander  got 
among  them  agin,  and  troubling  you  ?"  from  fa- 
ther's house.  Or  it  would  be,  "  Where  are 
you  ?  Robert — Rob — ert,  I  wish  you'd  pen  that 
ewe,  or  stop  that  cackling  hen  !"  or  something 
of  that  sort  from  the  stone  house  across  the 
road,  where  Mr.  Gudgeon's  grandfather  lived — 
(he  was  a  sad  old  wag !)  and  then  we'd  flutter ! 
— Come,  come,  your  hourglass  is  fairly  out,  and 
I'm  looking  for  Mr.  Gudgeon  home  from  the 
meeting  every  minute.  But  what's  that  you 
were  saying  about  sheltering  your  young  ? 
Your  pin-feathers  grow  fast ! 

BLANDING. 

Not  our  own  progeny,  Mrs.  Gudgeon — it 
was  of  young  brown-thrashers,  and  not  young 
Charleses  or  Kates.  Our  fancies  are  not  quite 
so  rapid  travellers,  are  they,  Kate  ? 


But,  Blanding,  there  is  no  beauty  and  fresh- 
ness in  a  city,  I  am  sure,  like  that  of  the 
branching  tree  and  the  cloudless  air — the  spot- 
ted flower,  and  the  sweet,  silent  nook,  where 
the  mower  sits  at  noontide,  belong  not  to  the 
angry  Babel  that  you  love.  What  is  there  in 
a  duU  city  to  please  the  eye,  brighten  the  fan- 
cy, or  mend  the  heart  ? 

MRS.  gudgeon. 

Ah !  I  see,  you  are  disputing  the  old  question, 
whether  you  shall  live  in  town  or  out  of  town ; 
and,  if  you'll  allow  me  to  answer.  Miss  Kate, 
there's  the  parson  and  the  moral  reform — to 
mend  the  heart ;  the  City  hall  and  the  old  Bride- 
well, to  please  the  eye;  and,  as  to  kindling  up 
the  fancy,  I  defy  flesh  to  go  beyond  a  hundred-dol- 
lar Cashmere  shawl — in  that  particular.  Be- 
sides, there's  the  privilege  of  having  the  street 
sprinkled  twice  a-week,  that  keeps  the  dust  out 
of  the  parlor ! 

BLANDING. 

Yes,  and  there  are  the  fops,  Mrs.  Gudgeon, 
and  rogues,  sharpers,  and  money-lenders — all 
the  proper  children  of  the  city. 

MRS.    GUDGEON. 

And  a  very  precious  family  it  makes ! 

BLANDING. 

Here  I  take  my  seat  quietly  by  the  wayside, 
under  the  shelter  of  fresh  and  pleasant  thoughts, 
and  look  forth  upon  the  little,  busy,  knavish 
world,  and  see  it  bustling  and  hurrying  and 
fretting  itself  like  a  great  schoolboy  behind  his 
time,  and  filling  its  huge  green  satchel  with  all 


126 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  n. 


kinds  of  fruitless  rubbish,  and  teasing  its  heart 
with  thoughts  of  yesterday,  to-day,  and  to-mor- 
row. 


But  these  thoughts  may  be  had  in  green 
fields  as  well  as  in  crowded  streets. 

BLANDING. 

They  may — but  there  they  come  to  us  only 
like  the  sound  of  far-off  bells,  at  intervals; 
here  the  mighty  hum  of  life  continually  tolls 
us  on  to  musings  and  meditations  like  these. 
Here  every  man's  face  is  the  frontispiece  to  a 
history. 

KATE. 

Yes,  and  to  a  very  duU  one,  often. 

BLANDING. 

The  features  I  speak  of  need  no  interpreter, 
but  are  of  themselves  loud  as  an  organ,  in 
expounding  their  own  significance  or  insignifi- 
cance, as  it  may  happen.  There  is,  for  example 
Botch,  Mr.  Gudgeon's  assistant  in  the  present 
election — a  character  as  impossible,  in  the  coun- 
try, as  a  three-story  house  or  a  roaring  dema- 
gogue. He  must  have  a  hand  in  everything  that 
happens  in  the  city.  If  a  murder  occurs,  he  runs 
and  takes  minutes  for  his  own  satisfaction ;  he 
writes  paragraphs  for  the  newspapers,  about 
street-nuisances,  the  navy-yard,  and  city  finan- 
ces ;  and  signs  the  "  Old  Tar,"  "  Argus,"  and 
*'  One  that  knows."  If  he  hears  a  call  to  organize 
a  new  party,  he  is  on  the  spot  to  act  as  secretary. 
In  a  word,  he's  everywhere  and  everything,  and 
yet  he  remains  the  same  credulous  little  crea- 
ture that  the  Lord  made  him  at  first — in  spite 
of  his  scribblings,  juntos,  and  secretaryships. 


And  I  think  he  is  the  person  that  got  an  in- 
nocent butcher  hanged,  by  introducing  at  court 
a  memorandum  which  he  had  taken  from  the 
hat  of  the  accused,  at  the  time  of  the  fray,  of  a 
method  of  slaughtering  a  bullock,  instead  of 
his  proper  notes  of  the  homicide. 

BLANDING. 

Although  he  was  a  bosom-friend  of  the  pris- 
oner, and  had  boasted  out  of  doors  he  could 
and  would  save  his  life  with  a  word,  as  easily 
as  hem-stitch  a  navy-jacket ! 

KATE. 

That's  a  city  character,  and  no  other  place 
on  the  earth  could  confuse  a  man's  brains  to 
auch  a  pass  as  to  have  his  friend  hanged,  by 
way  of  saving  his  life. 

BLANDING. 

Then  we  have  politicians  quarrelling  who 
shall  be  crowned  with  most  dust  and  honor ; 
packet-captains  contending  which  shall  run  the 


closest  chance  of  shipwreck,  that  he  may  soon- 
est make  a  jeweller's  shop  of  his  parlor  with 
presentation-pitchers,  mugs,  and  goblets  ;  men, 
monkeys,  and  monsters,  sent  as  representatives 
from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe;  a  snug 
berth  in  a  belfry,  with  the  power  to  enjoy  all 
these,  makes  an  illustrated  book  of  life,  where 
joy  and  sorrow,  power,  pomp,  death,  and 
laughter,  pass  us  in  a  perpetual  pageant.  Oh ! 
how  dull — how  tomb-like  dull,  are  your  fields 
and  turnpikes,  compared  with  this  ! — dull,  Kate, 
as  the  very  inhabitants  themselves,  that  talk 
from  October  to  August  of  the  last  camp-meet- 
ing or  the  next  new-moon. 


Well,  Blanding,  you  are  the  better  pleader, 
and  all  I  can  say  is,  that  your  cause  requires 
your  ingenuity,  but  the  country  still  has  charms, 
honest  hearts,  cheerful  faces,  simple  manners, 

BLANDING. 

Faces  uniform  as  sheep,  and  one  everlasting 
pair  of  linsey-woolsey  pantaloons.  The  man- 
ners are  simple  enough,  for  there  the  three  acts 
of  map's  life  are,  to  c\it  hay  in  summer,  fodder 
his  cattle  in  winter,  and  attend  a  town-meeting 
in  spring,  to  elect  overseers  of  the  poor.  The 
poor ! — they  are  all  poor  in  spirit,  if  not  in 
pocket,  and  deserve  nothing  better  to  look  out 
upon  than  one  huge,  green  page,  with  a  half- 
dozen  dreary-looking  trees,  by  way  of  inter- 
jections ! 

MRS.    GUDGEON. 

There,  go — go,  children — I  hear  Mr.  Gud- 
geon's hem  down  the  street ;  I'm  sure  it's  his, 
for  he  has  a  hem  of  his  own,  like  our  preacher. 
Kate,  this  way — Mr.  Blanding,  that,  if  you 
please,  for  you  mustn't  be  seen  in  the  street 
any  nearer  together  than  the  two  sides  of  a  pond, 
or  my  character's  ruined,  and  Mr.  Gudgeon 
would,  as  like  as  not,  lose  his  election. 

[Exemdy  blanding  and  kate,  severally. 


Enter  Mk.  Gudgeon. 

GUDGEON. 

Well — ^well — I  am  satisfied,  this  is  certainly 
the  proudest  hour  of  my  life. 

MRS.    GUDGEON. 

What  now  !  what  now  ! 

GUDGEON. 

You  may  well  ask  what  now — it  will  aston- 
ish you,  woman.  Go  up  stairs  and  get  your 
best  cap  on,  and  I'll  tell  you. 

[3fr«.  Gudgeon  retires  and  returns. 

MRS.    GUDGEON. 

Well,  now,  Mr.  Gudgeon,  (I'm  afraid  to  call 
him  Robert,  he  looks  so  grand — aside,)  don't 
overwhelm  a  body. 


Scene  I.] 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


121 


GUDGEON. 

No — I'll  not  overwhelm  you,  but  I'll  aston- 
ish you  furiously. — they  have  appointed  a  com- 
mittee to  have  my  portrait  taken ! 

MRS.    GUDGEON. 

Your  own  portrait  ? 

GUDGEON. 

Yes,  my  own  portrait,  of  my  individual  self— 
Kobert  Gudgeon. 

MRS.    GUDGEON. 

And  what's  to  be  done  with  it  ? 

GUDGEON. 

What  do  you  suppose  is  to  be  done  with  it — 
give  it  to  you  for  a  fire-screen,  or  use  it  to  wrap 
cheese  in  ?  Eh  !  No,  it  goes  into  the  great 
hall,  where  ^ve  hold  our  meetings,  and  it  only 
costs  me  fifty  dollars. 

MRS.    GUDGEON. 

,    Dog-cheap — but  do  you  pay  for  it  yourself  ? 

GUDGEON. 

Not  altogether — but  I  headed  the  subscrip- 
tion-list in  gallant  style,  and  they  were  all  so 
well-pleased  with  my  promptness,  they  laughed 
outright  with  joy.  That  must  be  a  thorn  in  Brisk's 
side.  How  do  you  think  the  election's  going  now, 
Mag  ?      Am  I  safe,  do  you  think — quite  safe — 

MRS.    GUDGEON. 

I  hope  so — I  truly  hope  so ;  and,  to  make  a 
short  matter  of  it,  I  have  felt  a  sort  of  present- 
iment that  it  must  be. 

GUDGEON. 

And  so  have  I.  Some  great  event  is  clearly 
at  hand.  We  have  had  a  meteor  the  other 
night,  that  whizzed  round  the  sky  like  a  large 
Catherine-wheel — then  there  has  been  a  school 
of  sixty  whale  cast  ashore  off  Barnegat — and 
the  rain-king,  only  last  week,  caught  a  storm 
on  a  lightning-rod,  and  held  it  there  two  daj^s, 
notwithstanding  the  entreaties  of  the  neighbor- 
ing county  that  was  suffering  soiely  under  a 
drought. — What  do  these  things  mean  ?  what 
do  they  refer  to  ?  The  approach  of  the  comet, 
foretold  in  the  Farmer's  almanac — or — it  may 
be  so — (for  I  recollect  the  birth  of  my  father's 
five-legged  calf,  in  Danbury,  was  brought  on  by 
an  early  sunrise) — the  election  of  Robert  Gud- 
geon as  alderman.  I  think  I  shall  sleep  sound 
to-night,  unless  disturbed  by  that  vexatious 
dream  again. 

MRS.    GUDGEON. 

That  dream,  if  it's  the  same  you  told  me  of, 
is  lucky.  If  it  comes  to  you  again,  encourage 
it — give  it  welcome,  and,  in  order  to  provide  a 
substantial  welcome  for  it,  you  had  better  fin- 
ish the  cold  turkey  and  the  other  half  of  the 
goose-pie  before  you  retire,  lExeunt. 


SCENE  II. 

jin  apartment  in  Brisk's  house. 
Old  Crumb  and  Brisk. 


OLD  crumb. 


Perhaps  the  young  man  is  my  equal  or  yours, 
sir! 


My  equal !  Sir,  he  is  a  paltry  flute-player  at 
the  theatre — a  twelve  shilling  a-week  whistler 
and  inspirer  of  dead  wood  ! 


But  he  is  a  man.  (In  an  under-tone.)  I  will 
strive  to  restrain  myself,  although  human  pa- 
tience is  a  frail  thing. 


A  man,  not  he  ;  I  will  warrant,  now,  though 
I  have  never  seen  his  person,  he  is  a  tall,  lank, 
thin-chopped  fellow,  that  hath  blown  his  brains 
out  with  his  flageolet,  as  effectually  as  if  he  had 
applied  a  pistol  to  his  scull. 

CRUMB. 

You  are  exceedingly  happy  in  your  illustra- 
tions. (Under-tone.)  I  rise  fast — I  am  already 
at  blood-heat. 

BRISK. 

That  he  goes  simpering  about  like  a  feeble 
oysterman,  sliding  out  his  quavers  and  crotch- 
ets, and  tapping  on  tables  and  hat-crowns  with 
his  fingers  by  way  of  rehearsing  his  next  new 
part,  and  saving  the  wear  and  tear  of  instru- 
ments. 


Well,  sir  !    (Under-tone.)  Summer  is  coming 
upon  me  swiftly. 


And  when  he  talks  to  you,  he  drops  his  breath 
and  sighs,  as  if  it  were  a  pity  to  rob  his  dog's- 
pipe,  the  flute,  of  so  much  good  inspiration. 
Now  of  what  use  can  such  a  fellow  make  him- 
self as  my  son-in-law  ?  Can  he  control  twelve 
votes  ?  Would  a  bUl-sticker,  or  even  the  dis- 
tributor of  a  quack-doctor's  puffs,  change  his 
mind  to  pleeise  this  upstart  ? 


Now  hear  me,  sir !     (Under-tone.) 
the  torrid  zone ;  I  bum. 

BRISK.  ♦ 

You  show  me  no  consideration : 

CRUMB. 

You  deserve  none — 

BRISK. 

No  equivalent : 


I  am  in 


128 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  n. 


•  CRUMB. 

As  for  that,  I'll  furnish  you  forthwith.  This 
abused  young  gentleman,  then,  sir,  is  an  hon- 
est er  man,  in  my  poor  judgment,  than  your 
vile  office-seeker,  who  glides  about  before  he 
has  been  rewarded,  from  porter-house  to  porter- 
house, like  a  collector  of  tavern-rates ;  haunts 
bai'bers'  shops,  as  if  he  were  a  wig-block ;  plants 
himself  on  comers  and  kerbstones,  as  if  he  were 
fixed  there  to  supply  citizens  with  light  at  noon- 
day— and  at  length — 

BRISK. 

Yes,  at  length  !    What  at  length  ? 

CRUMB. 

When  he  is  berthed  in  an  office,  the  poor 
rascaPs  heaven,  he  fattens  like  a  dull  young 
bullock  on  grass  wet  with  the  precious  night- 
dew  ;  rents  a  whole  pew  on  Sunday ;  allows 
his  wife  to  keep  two  servants  and  to  wear  three- 
shilling  calico.  Pah !  the  fellow  smells  odious 
of  tobacco ! 


With  all  this,  sir,  your  Mr.  Blanding,  I  re- 
peat, is  not  my  equal  nor  a  proper  suiter  for  my 
daughter.  He  is  not  in  the  same  rank — in  the 
same  station  with  me. 


No — no.  His  station  is  at  the  zenith,  where 
there  is  shining  virtue,  truth,  integrity,  honor ; 
yours,  in  the  nadir  of  the  earth — the  base,  dull 
nadir,  where  knavery,  fraud,  cozenage,  and 
double-dealing  abide.  He  is  a  zodiac,  a  living 
zodiac  of  many  manly  qualities  ;  you  a  mere 
wooden  imitation,  a  hollow  mockery  of  these 
true  planets  that  govern  man's  life.  He  has 
not  a  mercenary  particle  of  earth  about  him — 


No,  for  I  doubt  if  he  is  worth  a  shilling  in  the 
world. 


Yon,  sir,  since  you  have  forced  me  to  the 
truth,  if  coach-wheels  were  but  spoked  with 
gold,  would  be  an  active  running-footman  all 
%      your  life,  for  the  sake  of  enjoying  the  glitter. 


A  noble  object,  sir,  in  my  view,  a  coach  with 
pure  golden  wheels  j  at  mid-day  it  could  be  seen 
a  league  off. 

CRUMB. 

He,  sir,  looks  upon  nature  and  society  with 
the  eye  of  truth  and  fancy — gathering  out  of 
them  the  true  purposes  of  life,  and  food  to  feed 
those  purposes ;  you,  my  most  sagacious  and 
supple  sir,  make  a  traffic  in  the  credulity  of  the 
world,  set  your  follies  out  for  sale,  call  about 
you  gaping  chapmen,  who  are  in  the  market 
for  a  ranting  demagogue,  in  sound  mouthing 


condition  and  warranted  kind  in  harness  !  In 
a  word,  he  has  a  soul — because  he  is  a  man ; 
you  have  none,  because  the  cost  of  keeping  is 
too  high  in  these  trying  times  ! — So  good-day  to 
your  aldermanship  !  \^Exit  crumb. 


Well,  although  I  am  somewhat  astonished — 
this  old  Whirlwind  may  blow  as  much  as  he 
pleases,  but  he  can  not  blow  me  out  of  my  pres- 
ent opinion  of  this  fellow,  Blanding.  Presump- 
tion !  Brazen-faced  hardihood !  A  paltry  mu- 
sician, without  rank,  fortune,  or  title,  to  lift 
his  eyes  upon  my  daughter !  Why,  if  it  were  ut- 
tered in  the  open  air  at  night,  it  would  make 
the  very  man  in  the  moon,  who  has  outstared 
a  thousand  generations,  blush  deep  scarlet. 
My  equal !  my  superior  ! — I  am,  at  least,  good 
Master  Crumb,  the  proprietor  of  my  own  house 
and  controller  of  my  daughter's  motions ;  and 
if  he  crosses  the  threshold  of  the  one,  or  gets 
within  eyeshot  of  the  other,  why  he's  welcome 
to  her  hand,  I'll  assure  him,  and  I'll  lend  him 
my  ears  to  make  a  nice  satchel  of  to  carry  his 
flute  in  !  This  is  disposed  of,  and  now  I  must 
dress  for  the  supper.  {Exit. 

SCENE  HI. 

The  kitchen  of  Work's  hotel. 

A  table  spread,  lights,  ^c. 

Landlord,  Tom  Lug,  and  others.    To  them 
enters  Brisk. 

LANDLORD. 

Gentlemen,  here's  Mr.  Brisk  ! 

TOM  LUG. 

Where  ?  where  ? — Three  cheers  for  his  ex- 
cellency ! 

brisk. 

Ah,  Thomas,  it  does  toe  good  to  take  you  by 
the  hand,  you  hearty  old  fellow — William — 
James — Surge,  are  you  here,  too  ?  On  my  soul, 
it's  as  fine  for  the  eye  as  a  visit  to  the  museum, 
to  see  so  many  honest  friends  gathered  togeth- 
er. {Aside) — Kangaroos,  monkeys,  and  odor- 
ous mummies  are  as  pleasant ! 

TOM  LUG. 

How's  Mrs.  Brisk  ? 

BRISK. 

Dead  these  ten  years,  Tom.  '■■^ 

TOM  LUG.  ^^ 

Beg  your  pardon — then  she's  as  dead  as  old 
Adam  himself;  but  how's  your  daughter  ? 


Well,  I  thank  you,  Thomas.    How  is  your 
family,  Mr.  Surge  ? 


Scene  IE.] 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


121 


SURGE.     (Laughing.) 

Your  honor's  jokin'  with  me  now — now  con- 
fess your  honor — playing  the  crab,  eh  ! — com- 
in'  the  Wind  eel  over  us  ? — How's  your  family  ? 
now  that's  too  good  ! 

BRISK. 

Well,  how  is  your  family  ? 

LANDLORD. 

You  must  excuse  him  from  answering  that 
question — any  other,  I  have  no  doubt,  he  would 
with  pleasure — but  (whispers)  he's  been  in  the 
penitentiary  ever  since  he  was  of  marriageable 
age. 


Oh  !  (Aside) — I  thought  as  much ;  it's  a  dis 
grace  to  be  born  in  the  same  century  and  on 
the  same  continent  with  such  a  fellow.  He  is 
enough  to  infect  an  entire  hemisphere,  lil^e  the 
plague. 

LANDLORD. 

Mr.  Brisk,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  take 
the  head  of  the  table,  with  the  respects  of  the 
company  ? 

BRISK. 

No — no — ^you  must  excuse  me,  if  you  will ; 
let  one  of  these  worthy  gentlemen  preside,  if 
you  please.  (Aside) — And  save  me  from  neigh- 
borhood to  Mr.  Surge. 

LANDLORD. 

Well,  Tom  Lug,  come  this  way.  Here,  put 
your  face  between  these  two  bottles  of  porter, 
and  keep  your  eye  steadily  on  the  water-cresses, 
and  you  may  hold  sober  till  we  are  through. 

[They  take  their  places  at  the  table,'] 


Alderman,  what  do  you  think  of  this  alis- 
tockincy  that's  agin  us  at  the  Polls  ? — They 
say  I  aint  fit  to  be  governor  of  the  state,  be- 
cause I'm  out  at  elbows,  and  have  had  a  little 
quarrel  with  the  haberdasher  and  his  second 
cousin,  the  hosier.  Haven't  I  seen  figureheads 
of  Romans  and  other  gentlemen  in  the  bows  of 
as  big  ships  as  ever  floated  out  of  this  port  ? 
and  wasn't  they  naked,  excepting  a  little  roll 
of  linen  over  their  breasts,  and  a  sprig  of  pop- 
lar in  their  hand  ? 

BRISK. 

j.^  You  i<ot  fit  for  governor!  that's  a  pretty 
joke.  Tou  are  fit  for  anything.  (Aside) — 
Among  others,  from  a  peculiar  conformation  of 
neck,  for  the  gallows. — The  man  that  says  a 
pauper-— yea,  a  vagabond,  Tom — is  not  suit- 
able to  hold  the  highest  dignities  in  the  gift  of 
the  people,  is  a  traitor  and  a  scoundrel. 

TOM  LUG. 

That's  a  noble   sentiment — a  high-minded 
I 


sentiment.  Let's  have  his  health — Gem'men, 
the  health  of  our  next  alderman,  Mr.  John 
Brisk.     Drunk  standing,  boys.    \They  drink  it. 

BRISK.     (Rising.) 

In  return,  gentlemen,  for  this  flattering  toast, 
let  me  offer  you,  "  The  ragamuffins  and  pau- 
pers of  the  ward  :  they  conceal  more  genuine 
honor  and  virtue  beneath  their  rags,  than  King 
Solomon  in  his  Sunday  clothes,  or  a  Fourth -of- 
July  orator  in  his  new-bought  ruffle  and  wrist- 
bands !" 

SURGE.  (Maudlin  drunk.) 

They  call  me  names,  alderman — they  abuse 
poor  Joe  Surge — and  one  of  the  Gudgeon  gen- 
try called  me  a  tadpole.  [  Weeps. 

BRISK. 

Why  did  he  call  you  tadpole,  Joseph  ? 


Because — because — your  honor,  I  haven't 
had — a  clean  shirt  on  these  three  year.  Tad 
poles  lives  in  mud,  your  honor  knows. 

BRISK. 

And  what  do  they  call  you,  Tom  ? 


Why,  your  honor,  one  of  the  canvassers  re* 
turns  me  as  a  resident  turkle ! 


How  is  that  ? 

TOM  LUG. 

'Cause  I  never  comes  out  of  this  old  cordu- 
roy jacket  of  mine. 

BRISK. 

What  name  have  these  worthy  gentlemen  ? 
I  suppose  you  are  all  christened. 


These  are  the  men  in  the  moon,  because 
they  always  have  dirty  faces. — ^Now,  alderman, 
give  us  a  song  for  answering  all  these  ques- 
tions. 

BRISK. 

One  more — Has  your  worthy  landlord  no 
title  ? 

COOK.     (Speaks  up.)  ' 

Yes,  an  it  please  Alderman  Brisk,  your  honor 
— we  call  him  the  chimbly-swallow,  for  he's 
for  everlasting  poking  about  the  hearth  and 
smelling  the  smoke  and  the  dishes. 


Now  for  the  song ! 

ALL. 

Yes,  now  for  the  song ! 


130 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  III. 


How  many  stevedores  and  wharfingers  do 
you  know,  Tom  ? 


Let  me  see,  there's  Zeke  Oakum,  tarpaulin 
Tom — two  ;  Bill  Baffin ;  but  poor  Bill's  deadly 
sick — I  doubt  whether  he'll  get  up  to  vote  ;  say 
a  score  and  a  half.  But  give  us  the  song,  if 
you  please.  {Aside) — Hark'e,  my  boys,  if  he 
doesn't  come  down  with  his  song,  we'll  pitch 
our  votes  on  the  other  side — that's  all. 

BRISK.    {Aside.) 

I  hear  that,  and  although  I  would  as  lief  sing 
in  a  musty  fish-keg,  I  must  try  it. 

The  Song. 

Were  mine  a  head  as  high  as  is  the  highest 
steeple, 
A  tongue  as  loud  as  its  far-sounding  bell. 
The  one  I  would  raise  to  the  sky  for  the  peo- 
ple— 
The  other  would  echo  of  tyrants  the  knell ! 
{Aside) — Oh,  wouldn't  1  raise  a  devil  of  a  yell  ! 

"Were  my  arm  but  as  long  as  the  great  Missis- 
sippi, 
My  bosom  as  broad  as  the  Prairie-du-Chien, 
With  the  one,  for  their  sake,  how,  ye  tyrants  ! 
I'd  whip  ye, 
And  breast  with  the  other  your  torrents  of 
spleen ! 
{Aside) — Blast  my  eyes  !  Jack  Brisk,  if  I  know 
what  you  mean ! 

If  my  legs  were  as  long  as  the  tall  AUeganies, 
Like  Barclay,  I'd  walk  the  wide  world  round- 
about— 
And  rescue,  wherever  I  found  them,  poor  royal- 
ist zanies. 
And  put  with  my  vigor  their  rulers  to  rout ! 
{Aside) — Don't,  for  Heaven's  sake,  gentlemen, 
make  such  a  shout ! 

Oh,  give  me  a  breast  that  expands  like  the 

ocean,  ' 

And  eyes  like  the  vigilant  planets  above, 

Then,  oh  then,  to  my  heart  I  will  hug  with 

emotion 

The  people  I  smile  on — the  people  I  love  ! 

{Aside) — Provided  the  perquisite  pay,  I  approve. 

TOM  LUG.     {Aside.) 

Now  he  must  give  us  the  hornpipe  he  danced 
at  the  fancy  ball,  with  Aunt  Peggy  on  his  back. 
Cook  will  do  for  Aunt  Peggy,  if  she  brushes  up 
a  little. — Come,  alderman,  another  favor  to 
your  constituents ! 


What's  that,  Tom  ?    Anything  you  can  ask 
— you  know  I  am  the  servant  of  the  people. 

TOM  LUG. 

Nothing  much :  I'm  a'most  ashamed  to  ask 


you,  it's  such  a  mere  trifle. — Joe,  you  ask  him, 
you  ain't  afraid  of  the  penitentiary  keepers. 
Why,  Uncle  Brisk,  to  make  a  plain  story  of  it, 
you  must  give  us  your  fancy-baU  hornpipe 
around  the  table  with  cook  on  your  back. 

BRISK.     {Feigns  sudden  sickness.) 

Landlord,  what  have  you  put  in  these  lob- 
sters ?    They  have  made  me  sick  as  death — 
Give  me  fresh  air — There,  so ;  now  lead  me 
to  the  door  :  I  shall  be  well  in  a  minute. 
{Is  conducted  to  the  door,  and  makes  off.^ 

TOM  LUG. 

What  a  kind  good  man  Mr.  Brisk  is — he's 
broke  his  constitution  working  at  dinners,  and 
suppers,  and  cold  collations  for  the  people ! 
That  was  a  capital  song,  as  good  as  the  quiris- 
ter  himself  could  give  us ;  but  I'm  afraid  the 
idea  of  cook  and  he  in  a  hornpipe  was  too  much 
for  his  nerves  !  Any  how,  three  cheers  and  our 
votes  to  a  man  for  little  Jack  Brisk  ! 

END  OF  ACT  II. 


ACT  IIL 

SCENE  I. 

Gudgeon's  house. 

Gudgeon  and  Glib. 


I  begin  to  feel  the  anxieties  of  a  candidate. 
Last  night  I  was  harassed  with  a  vision  of  six 
constables  standing  around  me  with  staves, 
and  with  their  hats  in  their  hands,  bowing  to 
to  me — thus.  After  this,  a  fellow  in  a  white 
apron  came  in  with  a  large  green  turtle,  which 
seemed  to  be  lying  on  its  back,  and  struggling 
with  its  hands  and  feet  to  turn  itself  over.  I 
suppose  the  poor  thing  was  troubled  with  indi- 
gestion. 


You  shouldn't  give  way  to  these  feelings, 
Mr.  Gudgeon  :  they  will  unman  you  before  the 
election. 

gudgeon. 

Not  they  f  I  was  no  more  scared  by  the 
sight  of  the  six  constables  and  their  staves, 
than  if  I  had  been  an  alderman  all  my  life,  or 
if  they  had  been  so  many  plain  farmers,  with 
ox-gads,  viewing  a  prize-bullock,  in  my  own  na- 
tive town  of  Danbury. 


I  think  it  would  have  a  good  effect  to  men- 
tion that  in  my  address  to  the  citizens  at  one 
of  the  meetings  :  they'll  call  you  the  fearless 
Gudgeon — What  is  your  opinion,  sir  ? 


^&4>* 


Scene  I.] 


THE  POLITICUNS. 


131 


GUDGEON. 


It  might — yes,  it  might.  Well,  sir,  you  may 
try  it — but  not  as  if  it  came  from  me.  You  can 
state,  for  instance,  that  my  man  William  over- 
heard me  talking  in  my  sleep,  as  he  came  in 
for  my  boots  this  morning. 

GLIB. 

And  the  remark  about  the  ox-gads  ? 


You  might  add,  that  William  thought  I  lay 
as  proud  and  unconcerned  as  if  the  constables 
had  been — had  been — what  would  occur  to 
him  ? — so  many  puffed  bladders  ! 

GLIB, 

And  you  one  of  them. 

GUDGEON. 

And  I  one  of  them. 

GLIB. 

That  will  produce  a  sensation  in  the  meet- 
ing? 

GUDGEON. 

Unquestionably — I  expect  it.  Hadn't  I  bet- 
ter be  present,  so  that  they  can  come  up  and 
shake  hands  with  me,  after  the  allusion.  I 
don't  see  how  I  can  avoid  it. 


Perhaps  it  would  be  more  proper  for  you  to 
remain  at  home,  looking  out  of  a  second  story 
window  to  address  the  people,  when,  in  their 
enthusiasm,  they  shall  adjourn  to  meet  in  front 
of  your  house. — That's  always  a  great  stroke 
of  policy,  to  make  a  speech  to  people  in  the 
streets,  when  the  boys  are  hooting,  and  the 
carts  rattling  up  and  down,  and  the  engines 
puffing  by  with  trumpets  ! 

GUDGEON. 

But  how  will  my  voice  answer  ?  It's  hardly 
a  two-story  voice. 


Capitally,  capitally :  you  have  a  good  round 
bass,  and  if,  when  you  see  a  ragged  fellow 
shivering  in  the  farthest  edge  of  the  crowd, 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  you  address 
your  remarks  to  him,  as  if  you  were  stand- 
ing in  a  cold  entry,  and  calling  for  your  over- 
coat, you  will  succeed  in  making  a  happy  effort 
of  it. 

GUDGEON. 

With  a  nightcap  on,  as  if  I  had  rushed  straight 
from  my  bed,  to  meet  my  constituents  ? 

GLIB. 

Without  a  nightcap.  Positively  without  a 
nightcap — That  is  aristocratic  j  but  you  might, 


if  you  choose,  in  your  shirt  sleeves — they  are 
republican. 


GUDGEON. 

That's  a  mystery. 


So  it  IS — and  so  is  the  connection  between 
democratical  principles  and  threadbare  indispen- 
sables  ; — but  that's  the  ground  on  which  they'll 
beat  us,  if  any :  Brisk  dresses  shabbier  than 
you. 

GUDGEON. 

But  then  consider,  my  dear  sir,  Brisk  hasn't 
my  form,  arm,  leg,  my  back  and  bust. 

GLIB. 

Allow  me  to  suggest,  sir,  that  during  an  elec- 
tion, we  none  of  us  have  backs  or  busts  to  be 
thought  of.  I  entreat  you,  as  I  have  before,  to 
abandon  these  fancies  :  I  ask  it  as  the  greatest 
favor  you  can  confer  on  me,  on  your  party,  on 
the  community,  to  put  on  corduroys  at  least, 
my  own  wishes  are  for  fustian,  during  the  con- 
test. Wear  a  pea-jacket  with  a  few  rents  in 
it,  and  an  appearance  of  being  soiled  with 
cigar  smoke  and  tar. 

GUDGEON. 

I  will  do  my  uttermost. 


And  I  think  you  had  better  send  your  coach 
into  the  country,  darken  your  astral  lamp,  and 
take  down  your  damask  curtains. 


Well,  sir, — I  will  consider  of  it.  In  the 
mean  time,  I  trust  you  will  exert  yourself  in 
your  harangues  at  our  public  meetings.  Ride 
high,  sir — ride  high.  Express  your  willingness 
to  die  for  your  country — in  the  last — the  deep- 
est ditch — 

GLIB. 

I  shall  do  my  endeavor. 

GUDGEON. 

Sternly  and  fearlessly. 

GLIB. 

I  will. 

Enter  a  Boy. 

BOY. 

Tom  Lug,  sir,  the  bully's  round  the  corner, 
and  says  he'll  drop  Mr.  Glib,  if  he  catches  him, 
like  a  shot  hawk — and  he'll  curry  him,  he  says, 
like  a  bull's  hide — and  he'll  skin  him  like  a 
weasel ! 

GUDGEON. 

This  is  unpleasant  news. 


■fe' 


13Z 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  III. 


GLIB. 


I  wonder  if  I  could  get  out  by  the  back  fence, 
■without  being  observed  ? — It's  unpleasant  to 
meet  that  man  in  the  face,  his  breath  smells  so 
of  brandy  and  oakum. 


There's  nothing  but  a  clothes-line  and  a  cis- 
tern, sir,  on  the  other  side. 


I'd  rather  run  the  risk  of  drowning  and  hang- 
ing combined,  than  encounter  that  barbarous 
fellow.  [Retiring. 


I  believe  you  address  the  proscribed  lamp- 
lighters to-night  ?  [Calling  after  him, 

GLIB. 

The  proscribed  watchmen  and  lamplighters. 

GUDGEON. 

Give  it  to  them  vigorously,  if  you  please. 

GLIB. 

I  shall. 

GUDGEON. 

Don't  spare  words  1 

GLIB. 

Depend  upon  me:  I'U  lay  the  dictionary 
waste!  I'll  ravage  it !  lExit  qjah, 

SCENE  n. 
Blanding's  jipartments-. 

BLANDING. 

My  mistress  might  as  well  be  at  Kova  Zem- 
bla  or  the  North  Pole,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned ; 
she  is  as  much  to  the  cham  of  Tartary  (now 
that  I  am  forbidden  her  presence)  as  she  is  to 
me.  Where  is  the  difference,  I  would  like  to 
know,  between  a  lady  and  a  whale  or  a  walrus, 
if  one  is  not  permitted  to  enjoy  her  society :  to 
smile  with  her,  muse,  meditate,  and  talk. — Now 
if  I  were  in  the  country,  I  should  hang  myself; 
— but  the  city,  the  glorious  city,  warms  one's 
brain  like  a  November  sun,  and  sets  it  all  in  a 
ferment  with  contrivance  and  strategy — I  am 
not  to  see  Kate  Brisk  any  more — ha !  ran  it 
so?  at  the  penalty  of  a  chastisement.  Now 
see.  Master  Brisk,  how  soon  your  rod  of  chas- 
tisement turns  into  a  serpent  of  revenge,  and 
your  bully  is  cozened  by  a  gentler  man  in  his 
wits.  Here,  ye  old  badges  of  obscurity,  I  throw 
ye  off !  I  disdain  the  name  and  the  vocation  of 
Charles  Blanding,  and  am,  henceforth,  at  least 
to  this  threatening  father,  Mr.  Jefferson  Goss, 
grandnephew  to  the  United  States  senator,  by 
the  mother's  side — I  think  this  weak  fish  will 
run  into  this  net,  and  while  he  is  floundering. 


we  will  get  far  enough  out  at  sea,  I  trust,  to 
make  a  more  certain  cast.  [Exit. 


SCENE  m. 


.4  public  room. 
The  Committee  and  Crowder. 


CROWDEK. 

I  agree  with  you,  as  to  the  muscular  arm  on 
the  banner,  with  a  hammer  aloft ;  I  think  the 
addition  of  a  stout  leg  would  be  judicious : 
there  are  many  cordwainers  in  the  ward,  that 
would  be  won  over  by  the  device.  A  stout 
leg  in  a  neat  pump,  and  no  stocking,  to  show 
the  calf  distinctly.  This  will  please  the  butch- 
ers too,  who  are  proud  of  their  legs. 

FIRST  COM.  MAN. 

The  stout  leg,  then ;  shall  it  be  set  down  ? 

ALL. 

Agreed. 

CROWDER. 

But,  mind  me,  mark  it  down  to  cost  not  more 
than  one  dollar  and  a  half. 

SECOND  COM.  MAN.     (Writing.) 

One  stout  leg,  naked  and  in  a  pump,  twelve 
shillings. 


We  must  be  economical  this  campaign,  for 
the  freeholders  begin  to  complain  that  the  taxes 
of  the  party  to  meet  the  expenses  of  an  elec- 
tion, are  getting  to  be  as  bad  as  the  plunder- 
ings  of  the  corporation — What  noise  was  that 
above  ? 

FIRST  COM.  MAN. 

I  heard  nothing. 

CROWDER. 

They  say  to  run  a  sewer  through  a  man's 
pocket  and  drain  it  to  the  last  cent,  is  as  bad 
as  to  cut  a  street  through  his  domicil  and  leave 
him  the  rubbish  to  pay  damages. 

SECOND  COM.  MAN. 

How,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  can  an  elec- 
tion be  conducted  without  money  ?  Joe  Surge 
must  be  hired  to  fight,  and  must  be  paid  his  fists' 
worth. — Tom  Lug  must  make  himself  a  nuis- 
ance, to  keep  decent  voters  of  the  other  side 
back ;  and  he  must  have  a  percentage  on  the 
disgust  he  excites.  We  must  have  Blaster  to 
blow  the  tnmipet  and  to  brow-beat  and  be  scur- 
rilous when  he's  off  duty,  and  I'm  sure  he ' 
should  be  handsomely  remunerated  for  the  use 
of  his  person.  He  works  as  cheap  as  any  bully 
we  ever  had — besides  the  trumpeting. 


Scene  III.] 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


133 


CROWDER. 


Very  true — every  word ; — but  we  can  dimin- 
ish our  committee  expenses  a  little,  at  least,  for 
the  sake  of  appearances.  We  can  smoke  half 
a  box  and  carry  none  away :  we  can  leave  the 
candle-ends  for  next  evening,  and  not  throw 
them  at  any  clean  person  we  may  see  passing 
in  the  street :  a  quart  of  beer  apiece  should 
satisfy  us,  and  we  can  be  more  strict  with  our 
landlord,  and  have  him  render  a  nightly  account 
of  charges.  I  hear  that  noise  again — what  can 
it  be  ?    Eaves-dropping  ? 

FIRST  COM.  MAN. 

I  hear  it  this  time — it's  overhead. 

SECOND  COM.  MAN. 

Let's  hunt  the  rascal,  and  if  we  capture  liim, 

we'll  have  a  roasted  goose  to  insert  in  the  biU. 

IThe  Commitiee  go  out  and  return.} 

CROWDER. 

Strange — that  we  could  find  nothing,  not  so 
much  as  the  tip  of  a  nose  or  an  ear  to  levy  on ; 
but  a  political  spy  during  a  warm  election, 
shrinks  like  a  plant  in  a  tropical  climate,  and  I 
believe  could  even  hide  himself  in  the  knot  of  a 
pocket  handkerchief,  or  the  crack  of  a  wain- 
scot. 

SECOND  COM.  MAN. 

I  saw  Botch  in  the  shadow  of  a  house  over 
the  way  as  we  came  in. 

CROWDER. 

When  I  sounded  the  chimney  to  ascertain  if 
he  might  be  ambushed  there,  I  heard  some  frail 
thing  crash,  which  might  have  been  Botch's 
skull.  It  yielded  like  a  hollow  thing,  whatever 
it  was. — To  avoid  any  further  chance  of  listen- 
ers, let's  call  in  the  landlord's  bill  and  adjourn 
till  to-morrow. — Landlord !  landord  ! 

LANDLORD.   (From  without.) 

Coming ! 

CROWDER. 

We  want  your  bill.  That  will  bring  him  up 
with  it,  short  and  quick. 

LANDLORD.    (FrOVfl  wUhout.) 

It's  e'en  a'most  made  out — only  a  few  items 
to  add. 

ji.  ^Enter  landlord. 

CROWDER. 

Come,  read  it  off,  jolly  Job  Works,  in  a  good 
clear  half-price  voice — by  particulars,  and  it's 
cash  on  the  nail. — Begin  ! 

landlord. 

That  I  likes — "  four  sperm  candle" — Nothing 
like  the  ready  metal — "  Two  quarts  beer,  with 
snufiers." 


CROWDER. 


^  nvrot. 


Well ;  he  has  a  fine  throat  of  his  own — it 
smacks  of  the  spigot. 

LANDLORD. 

Room-hire,   cigars,   and    two   julaps,  with 
benches. 

CROWDER, 

Well. 

LANDLORD. 

A  small  pig  with  lemon. 

CROWDER. 

A  pig  with  lemon ! 

LANDLORD. 

Two  plates  pickled  beans,  two  roUs  twisted 
bread,  and  beer  extra, 

CROWDER. 

Beans,  bread,  and  beer ! 

LANDLORD. 


Six  lobster  and  two  pound  sage  cheese 
wise  a  splendid  pork  pie  made  of  chops. 

CROWDER. 

A  splendid  pork  pie  made  of  chops  ! 

LANDLORD. 

And  a  suet  pudding. 


like- 


Nothing  else  ? 


Nothing  else. 


CROWDER. 


LANDLORD. 


CROWDER. 


We  have  seen  none  of  these  things.  Have 
you  ?  {Turning  to  one  Com.  Man.)  Lobster 
and  sage  cheese — Have  you?  (To  another.) 
Pig  with  lemon,  bread,  beans,  and  beer — pork 
pie,  and  suet  pudding ! 


LANDLORD. 

This  may  be  as  it  may,  Mr.  Crowder ;  but 
you  sent  down  for  the  things — 

CROWDER. 

Sent  down  for  the  things ! 

LANDLORD. 

Yes,  sir,  in  a  very  unpleasant,  and,  begging 
the  committee  gentlemen's  pardon,  a  very  un- 
civil way — you  might  have  found  a  better  mes- 
senger nor  a  stone  bottle  as  big  as  my  two  fist. 

CROWDER. 

Ah !  I  begin  to  see  how  it  is — that  cursed 
experiment  of  mine. 

LANDLORD. 

Yes,  sir,  that  experiment  of  yours — it  came 


m 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  Iir. 


bouncing  down  the  cliiinney  like  mad,  and  first 
it  strikes  my  cook,  poor  hunchback  Jenny,  in 
the  small,  or  I  should,  say,  in  the  big  of  the 
back,  as  she  was  stooping  over  a  dish  of  prawns 
for  Tom  Lug. 


riBST  COM.  MAN. 


Bad  enough ! 


LANDLORD. 


Yes,  gentlemen,  bad  enough  you  may  say, 
for,  springing  from  Jenny's  hump  an  it  had  been 
a  horsehair  cushion,  away  it  flies  on  to  the  ta- 
ble where  the  alderman  had  been  sitting  just  a 
minute  before — it's  a  mortal  mercy  his  life  was 
spared — and  smash,  smash  it  goes,  like  artillery, 
till  every  living  dish  on  the  board  was  frag- 
ments and  scatterings. 

FIRST  COM.  MAN. 

We  must  practise  economy,  Crowder. 

SECOND  COM.  MAN. 

We  must  be  prudent  this  campaign,  for  the 
freeholders  begin  to  complain — sewer  through 
the  pocket — segars  and  candle-ends,  and  we 
must  be  a  little  frugal  in  our  beer. 

CROWDER. 

Mr.  Works,  you'll  be  good  enough  to  charge 
your  biU  to  the  ward,  as  usual ;  and  you'll 
oblige  me  by  smothering  this  unhappy  break- 
age under  the  general  expenses. 

SCENE  IV. 

Crumb's  house. 
Old  Crumb  and  Citizens. 

FIRST  CITIZEN. 

But,  sir,  it  is  the  wish  of  a  large  body  of  the 
people  of  this  ward,  that  you  should  become  a 
candidate ;  they  are  tired  of  these  squabbling 
oflEice-seekers,  and  wish  to  have  for  their  alder- 
man, once  more,  a  plain,  honest  citizen. 

CRITMB. 

I  am  plain,  I  know,  and,  I  believe,  honest ; 
but  I  have  no  other  claims  for  this  honor.  I 
have  never  harangued  at  public  meetings,  giv- 
en charity  at  noonday,  clutched  the  skirts  of 
great  men,  sat  on  midnight  caucuses,  walked 
prominently  in  processions  or  at  celebrations ; 
nor  have  I  been  seen  at  public  dinners,  thun- 
dering out  toasts  and  sentiments  that  sounded 
loud  with  patriotism  and  the  name  of  the  peo- 
ple. How  can  I  be  your  candidate  ?  You  had 
better  look  elsewhere,  the  creature  grows  in 
ever}'  street. 

FIRST  CITIZEN. 

You  are  a  plain,  true  citizen,  as  we  said  be- 
fore, and  for  that  we  choose  you.  We  are  sat- 
isfied with  your    private  acts,  your  wayside 


charities  to  the  sick,  the  orphan,  and  the  op- 
pressed ;  some  of  us  have  seen  you,  in  the 
storm  and  at  the  dead  of  night,  performing  your 
offices  of  kindness  and  humanity.  The  light  of 
a  single  star  upon  a  good  deed,  dear  sir,  is  worth 
more  than  the  blaze  of  the  sun  or  the  approval 
of  a  thousand  eyes.  We  will  take  you  as  you 
are,  and  for  what  you  are,  if  you  will  allow  us. 


Give  a  moment,  and  I  will  answer  you. 

{Citizens  retire. 


I  care  not  for  the  honor,  that  is  certain ;  I 
have  no  private  end  to  answer,  that  is  certain ; 
nor  will  it  suit  my  habits  to  wrangle  by  the 
hour,  or  to  sit  at  late  feasts,  where  man  shows 
but  as  a  creature  of  one  sense — mere  appetite. 
Again,  the  city  needs  friends  ;  her  revenues  are 
wasted,  her  foundations  sapped  with  unthrift 
and  neglect ;  an  old  man's  voice  may  be  lis- 
tened to  when  younger  tongues  would  sound 
idle ;  the  grayhaired  pilot  may  be  heard  and 
heeded,  when  he  attests  that  the  rock  is  at  hand, 
and  the  ship  fast  foundering.  Ah !  another 
thought,  deeper  than  all  these,  I  will  be  the  candi- 
date ! — the  honest  enthusiasm  of  the  ward  shall 
elect  me — our  Master  Brisk's  tone  will  change 
when  I  am  in  the  council.  He  will  seek  my 
influence,  and  hope  to  get  it,  and,  perchance, 
will  yield  to  my  old  wish  about  Blanding  and 
his  daughter.  That  perchance — that  happy, 
bright-omened  perchance,  fixes  me.  (Aloud.) — 
Gentlemen,  come  in ! 

Enter  Citizens. 

FIRST  CITIZEN. 

Your  answer? 


I  wiU  act ! 


FIRST  CITIZEN. 


And  so  will  we !  We  thank  you  sir,  and  when 
the  sun  rises  on  Thursday  morning,  read  our 
thanks  in  our  recorded  voices.  Good  day,  good  sir. 


I  bid  you  all,  good  men,  good  day.  [They  re- 
tire.}  And  an  early  sun  thereafter  shall  shine 
upon  a  happy  bride  and  groom,  if  old  Zachary 
Ciumb  is  a  true  man  and  an  alderman  ! 

SCENE  V. 

Jin  apartment  in  Brisk's  house. 
Brisk,  alone. — Enter  Servant. 

SERVANT. 

A  gentleman,  with  great  black  whiskers,  is 
below,  sir.  He  swells  and  ruffles  an  he  were 
the  governor's  son. 


Scene  V.] 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


135 


Ask  him  up,  immediately.  [Exit  Servant.^ 
It's  Jefl'erson  Goss,  from  the  description  ;  my 
heart  flutters  like  a  young  pigeon's.  I  am  in 
the  same  house,  under  the  same  roof  with  the 
grand-nephew  of  a  senator.  I  hear  the  creak- 
ing of  his  boots  !  Hark — he  coughed  !  He  is 
on  the  stairs.  Was  I  entitled  to  expect  this  ? 
"What  weight  and  character  this  will  give  to 
my  canvass,  that  I  have  been  closeted  with  a 
functionary's  near  relative  !  Besides,  my  daugh- 
ter Kate,  now  that  that  fellow,  Blanding,  is  out 
of  the  way — but  I  must  be  prepared  to  address 
him  formally.  [  Walks  up  aiid  down  reciting — 
*'  Sir,  it  affords  me  much,"  &c. —  When  Bland- 
ing enters,  advances,  and  addresses  him  :] 

Enter  Blanding,  as  Jefferson  Goss. 


Sir,  it  affords  me  great  happiness  to  see  you 
— unmixed  happiness.  I  will  not  disguise  the 
pleasure  it  gives  me  to  receive,  under  my  hum- 
ble roof,  so  near  a  connexion  of  so  distin- 
guished a  character. 

BLANDING. 

(Jside — Now  a  little  figurative  impudence, 
for  the  great  man's  nephew — who  may  be 
supposed  to  have  been  reared  in  pot-houses 
at  the  capitol.)  Sir,  you  do  me  proud  !  Proud, 
sir,  as  if  I  sat  on  Chimborazzo,  with  a  bald 
eagle  in  my  lap. 


(^Aside — what  a  ward-meeting  orator  he  would 
make  !)  Be  good  enough  to  be  seated — this 
way,  sir,  if  you  please,  and  condescend  to  par- 
take of  these  humble  viands. 

BLANDING. 

Thank  you,  sir,  I  will  gorge. 


{Aside — What  a  happy  style  of  expression!) 
I  keep  this  table  spread  for  my  friends  during 
the  election.  You  will  find  this  beePs-tongue 
exceeding  nice.  It  is  sound  policy,  it  strikes 
me,  this  of  overpowering  a  man's  understand- 
ing with  detachments  of  roast-beef  and  blackber- 
ry-pudding. 

BLANDING. 

But  don't  you  think  it  best  to  skirmish  a  lit- 
tle at  first,  about  the  outskirts,  with  bottled-ale 
and  cogniac  ? 

BBISK. 

Decidedly,  sir ;  this  shakes  the  outer  walls. 
Then  you  come  up  with  your  heavy  troops, 
Turkey  and  the  Porte,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
you  have  possession  of  the  man. 


BLANDING. 


Between  ourselves.  Brisk,  this  mutton  of 

your's  is  d d  nice.    It's  almost  as  fine  as 

I  have  ever  known  to  be  raised  on  the  old  sen- 
ator's farm.  Were  these  cranberries  reared  in 
the  hothouse  or  in  beds  ? 


In  beds,  I  think;     they    are  Long  island 
berries. 

BLANDING. 

They  make  an  excellent  sauce  with  wood- 
cock— I  believe  this  is  woodcock. 


Yes,  sir,  that  is  woodcock,  and  considered 
very  choice;  it's  from  the  Jersey  meadows. 
{Aside — the  young  man  has  a  keen  appetite — 
but  what  penetration,  what  insight  he  betrays 
in  his  dishes  !  the  true  senatorial  blood.  I  have 
no  doubt  he'd  appreciate  Kate  at  once.  I'll  call 
her.)     Kate !     Daughter— 

BLANDING. 

I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  I  hope  there  are 
no  ladies  about  the  house — I'm  excessively 
timid,  timid  as  a — rhinoceros. 

Enter  Kate  Brisk. 


My  daughter,  sir;   Kate,  let  me  introduce 
you  to  Mr.  Goss,  the  senator's  nephew. 


{Aside,  not  looking  at  him) — Some  disgusting 
politician,  no  doubt,  with  his  tariffs  and  curren- 
cies, high  rates  and  low  rates,  and  scurrilities 
both  high  and  low. — I  wish  he  would  carry  his 
conversation  among  the  Hottentots  and  other 
heathen,  rather  than  bring  it  into  this  house. 

{Pouts.) 


Kate,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  observe — 
it's  Mr.  Goss,  Mr.  Jefferson  Goss. 

BLANDING.    {Aside.) 

I  can  advise  her  better  who  it  is.    {Hums  a 
tune  in  a  low  voice.) 


{Looking  at  him — aside) — As  I  live,  it's 
Charles  Blanding. — Ah,  I  understand  the 
knave !  {Aloud,  and  in  a  different  tone) — 
Good  evening,  Mr.  Goss — you  are  welcome. 
What  is  the  pleasant  news,  sir  ? 

BRISK.    {Aside.) 

I  knew  she  must  change  her  line  of  behavior, 
the  moment  she  obtained  a  glimpse  of  his  fine 
person ! 


136 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  III. 


BLANDING. 


Nothing,  madam,  stranger  or  pleasanter,  than 
that  a  soland  goose  was  seen  crossing  the  sound 
yesterday  in  pursuit  of  an  eagle  who  fled — 


This  way — nearer,  if  you  please,  sir— and 
give  me  the  nicer  particulars  of  this  singular 
history.  [Draws  him  apart. 

BLANDING. 

The  eagle  fled,  Kate,  till  hegot  as  near  heav- 
en as  he  thought  proper,  when  he  turned  and 
struck  his  talons  into  the  thin  pate  of  the  stupid 
bird,  and  it  fell  out  of  the  sky,  a  leaden  fool,  as 
it  was.     (jiside)— This  way,  farther. 


Oh  the  assurance  of  the  thing  called  man  ! 
How  could  you  venture  to  practise  in  this  way 
on  my  good  father. 

BLANDING. 

Venture,  Kate  !  there  is  no  venture  in  it :  he 
expends  his  industry  in  contriving  bars  to  his 
garden  ;  I  employ  my  agility  in  leaping  them ; 
and  the  mutual  operation  is  aided  by  our  being 
cits  and  strangers. 

KATE. 

How  will  you  make  that  appear  ? 

BLANDING. 

Easily.  Now,  if  we  had  lived  in  your  favor- 
ite rural  vicinity,  where  every  boor  and  plough- 
man is  classed  in  the  memory  of  his  neighbor- 
hood, like  so  many  bugs  and  beetles  in  the  Lin- 
naean  system,  I  might  have  as  well  attempted 
to  borrow  your  father's  head  of  hair,  with  his 
eyes  open,  for  a  fancy  wig,  as  to  get  access  to 
you  without  his  knowledge. 


Then  you  ride  your  old  packsaddle,  the  city, 
still ;  making  that  a  carry-all  for  your  tricks 
and  stratagems,  your  knavish  doings  and  impu- 
dent disguises. 

BLANDING. 

In  truth,  I  do :  and  now  confess,  Kate,  that 
the  town  is  the  place  for  lovers — their  true  and 
natural  hive. 

KATE. 

What  they  lose  in  simplicity,  is  not — 

BLANDING. 

Is  gained  in  quickness  of  wit  and  variety  of 
expedients  for  their  mutual  enjoyment;  the 
lecture  to  be  criticised  ;  the  mountebank  to  be 
stared  at ;  the  theatre  to  be  dazzled  with ;  the 
concert  of  sweet  sounds  heard  together. 

KATE. 

Ah,  if  you  knew  my  honest  father's  preju- 


dices just  now  against  sweet  sounds,  you  would 
scarcely  venture  to  remain  here,  even  in  your 
disguise.  His  prejudices  show  themselves 
dreadfully. 

BRISK.     (Aside.) 

Love  at  first  sight,  I  verily  believe.  They 
are  already  as  intimate  as  a  pair  of  assembly 
men.     Just  what  I  could  desire. 

BLANDING. 

Dreadfully  : — see  what  faces  he  is  making  at 
me  this  very  minute  !  But  in  what  ways,  I 
pray  ?  A  politician  that  takes  all  the  world  to 
his  bosom,  should  scarcely  have  prejudices. 


From  his  sudden  horror  of  your  occupation, 
he  has  sold  my  piano  to  a  lady  going  into  the 
country,  at  half  price. 


Well. 


BLANDING. 


KATE. 


He  has  had  lids  put  upon  all  the  key-holes, 
because  they  whistle. 


BLANDING. 


Well. 


And  the  chimney  pots  taken  down,  because 
they  sing. 


BLANDING. 


And  further  ? 


He  has  sacrificed  the  old  tortoiseshell  cat, 
because  he  was  told  her  purr  was  a  musical 
concord  in  A. 

BLANDING.  *• 

What  a  passion  for  music  the  pleasant  old 
gentleman  must  enjoy !  Shades  of  Bethooven 
and  Mozart,  look  upon  the  melodious  old  crea- 
ture kindly  ! — I  should  like  to  have  his  opinion 
of  the  disputed  solo  in  Handel's  Creation. 
[Takes  his  flute  from  his  pocket  arid  sounds  a 
stave, 

BRISK.     (Rushing  forward,) 

Good  God !  did  you  hear  that,  Kate  ?  Did 
you,  Mr.  Goss  ?— The  sound  of  a  flute ;  there 
must  be  incendiaries  about  the  house.  After 
all  the  pains  I  have  taken  to  escape  that  odious 
player — to  shut  him  from  my  ears  and  my 
house — I  am  afraid  he  has  obtained  an  en- 
trance— It  seemed  as  if  he  was  in  this  very 
room.  Let's  search  every  nook,  corner,  and 
cranny.  Be  good  enough  to  assist  us,  Mr. 
Goss ;  for  this  is  reaUy  a  serious  matter. 
[They  search  under  chairs,behind paintings,  ^c] 


Scene  V.] 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


13" 


— Why,  sir,  the  trouble  I  have  taken  to  silence 
that  fellow  and  his  cursed  serenading  flute,  is 
really  astonishing.  Sir,  (panting)  I  have  planted 
two  approved  bull-dogs  in  my  yard;  I  have 
employed  a  private  watchman,  with  a  club  of 
double  the  ordinary  dimensions  in  front ;  I  have 
had  a  vacant  ground  to  the  northeast,  in  which 
he  practised  his  discordant  stick,  declared  a 
nuisance  by  the  corporation  ;  and,  moreover,  I 
have  ordered  my  servants,  sir,  if  they  detected 
a  squinting,  limping,  awkward  fellow,  loitering 
about  the  house,  to  assail  him  from  the  upper 
stories,  without  remorse,  with  such  vessels  as 
might  be  at  hand. 

BLANDING. 

Why,  sir,  your  benevolence  is  unbounded,  for 
you  have  offered  him  every  variety  of  death — 
drowning,  throttling,  and  knocking  in  the  head. 
An  ungracious  scamp  he  must  be,  if  he  doesn't 
accept  your  kindness  in  one  shape  or  the  other ; 
an  ungrateful,  pudding-headed  villain ! 


Extermination  is  the  best  he  deserves  :  if  I 
had  my  way,  I  would  annihilate  the  brood,  and 
make  room  for  men  of  merit,  like  yourself,  Mr. 
Goss. 

BLANDING. 

The  devil  blast  my  stars,  but  you  flatter  me, 
Mr.  Brisk,  beyond  my  merits,  entirely  beyond 
my  merits.  But  I  must  bid  you  good  day,  Mr. 
Brisk — good  day,  sir — I  shall  be  with  you  early 
again.     Good  day.  Miss  Brisk. 

[Exit  Blanding. 

BRISK. 

A  charming  young  man  ! 

KATE.     (Dtibiously.) 
Charming  indeed ! 

BRISK. 

What  a  contrast  to  that  odious  Blanding ! 
You  must  confess  a  vast  distance  between  the 
two. 

KATE. 

It's  too  palpable,  sir. 

BRISK. 

Do  you  think  you  could  love  him,  Kate  ? 

KATE. 

I  think  I  might,  if  I  had  time.    I  am  not 
I"*?  sure. 

BRISK. 

Well,  Kate,  strive  hard:  turn  your  thoughts 
diligently  that  way — and  perhaps  I  will  for- 
give the  old  offence ;  perhaps — recollect ! 

END  OF  ACT  III. 


ACT  IV. 
SCENE  I. 

The  open  street. 

Kate  Brisk  and  Mrs.  Gudgeon,  meeting, 

MRS.  gudgeon. 

Well,  Kate,  poultry  flies  high  in  the  market, 
this  morning,  and  eggs  are  only  four  to  the  doz- 
en. I  really  believe  the  times  have  reached  our 
roosts  and  henhouses,  and  that  hens  and  tur- 
keys have  become  so  dissolute  and  idle,  with 
long  holding  of  warm  nests  and  abundance  of 
good  feeding,  that  they  care  not  a  straw  for  the 
public  interest !  However,  this  is  a  large-built 
and  fine-looking  pullet  that  I  have  bought,  and 
if  it  makes  the  dish  it  ought  to  make,  we  shall 
know  what's  what  in  three  days  from  this  time. 


It's  certainly  a  noble  bird ;  and  these  pigeons' 
eggs,  where  did  you  purchase  them  ? 

MRS.    GUDGEON. 

From  my  old  one-and-elevrenpence,  the  fat 
huckster,  who  says  that  twelve  pigeons'  eggs, 
made  into  an  omelet  with  four  strips  of  bacon, 
bring  health  and  luck  to  the  man  that  eats 
them  :  what  will  Mr.  Robert  Gudgeon  say  to 
that  ?  Here's  a  sheep's  gizzard,  too,  to  be  taken 
at  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening,  made  into  a  pie. 

KATE. 

What  is  that  for  ? 

MRS.    GUDGEON. 

To  make  Mr.  Gudgeon  amiable  during  the 
election.  And  here  are  two  peacock's  feath- 
ers to  lay  under  his  pillow  to  make  him  digni- 
fied. The  boy  is  coming  on  with  two  rounds  of 
beef  and  a  dozen  strings  of  Bolognas  to  feed 
his  friends  with,  to  keep  them  in  good  humor ; 
and  I've  told  him  to  buy  some  fresh  chickweed 
and  goosegrass  to  carry  in  his  pocket ;  they  say 
it  draws  voters — at  least,  Charles  Blanding  told 
me  so.  Poor  boy !  I'm  afraid  you'll  see  him  no 
more,  Kate. 


No  more,  Mrs.  Gudgeon  !  Well,  I  shall  pre- 
serve my  senses,  I  hope,  if  I  do  not,  now  that  I 
have  seen  Mr.  (Joss.  Sweet,  sweet  young 
man! 

MRS.  GUDGEON. 

Who  is  he  ?    Who  is  this  Mr.  Goss  ? 

KATE. 

This  Mr.  Goss— Mrs.  Gudgeon,  I  am  aston- 
ished—Mr. Jefferson  Goss,  the  grand-nephew 
of  the  senator. 


138 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  1  ♦ . 


MKS  GUDGEON. 


What  look  has  this  young  man  ?    I  think  I 
know  the  Gosses. 

KATE. 

Firstly,  a  blue,  smiling  eye. 

MRS.  GUDGEON. 

Well,  aU  young  men  have  smiling  eyes. 

KATE. 

Arched  brows,  hair,  auburn  and  gentle,  with 
the  light  glancing  from  it  every  way. 


MRS.  GUDGEON. 


His  nose  ? 


Straight  and  spirited— a  pale,  thoughtful 
cheek,  and  a  sweet  chin,  with  a  mole  on  it. 
{Aside — The  foolish  old  owl !  she  must  know 
it's  Charles.) 


MRS.  GUDGEON. 


I'll  warrant  by  that  mark  and  my  sunflower- 
coverlid,  he  belongs  to  the  Gosses  of  Cross  riv- 
er.   Auburn  hair,  you  said. 


Yes. 


MRS.  GUDGEON. 


And  a  mole  on  his  chin  ? — I  know  the  Gosses 
as  if  they  were  blood-relations — what  is  the 
young  man's  gait  and  aspect  ? 


Gentle — and  he  sometimes  looks  up  ana  some- 
times down.  ^ 

MRS.    GUDGEON. 

The  very  marks  !    And  his  height  ? 

KATE. 

Middling,  you  might  say,  neither  tall  nor 
short. 

MRS.    GUDGEON. 

True,  again.  There  can  be  no  doubt  he 
is  one  of  the  Cross  river  Gosses.  But  you 
have  not  given  him  your  heart,  Kate,  as  you 
seem  to  say  by  sighing  ? 

KATE. 

I  must  confess  a  partiality,  Mrs.  Gudgeon. 

MRS.  GUDGEON. 

What !  and  desert  Charles  Blanding,  for  this 
fellow  ? 


Willingly,  and  I  think  Blanding  would  sec- 
ond it,  for  Goss  is  his  particular,  in  fact,  his 
bosom  friend.  However,  have  one  or  the  other  of 
0^:       them  I  am  determined.  I  think  it  will  be  Goss ;  at 


least,  father  wishes  it  to  be  so.  You  shall  come 
to  the  wedding,  Mrs.  Gudgeon,  and  be  pleased 
with  the  bridegroom,  too  !     [^Exit  kate  brisk. 

MRS.  GUDGEON. 

Pleased  with  a  cross  child,  or  a  horse  in  over- 
alls sooner !  Foolish,  fickle  thing  !  Kind  Charles 
Blanding  must  be  abandoned  for  this  lacquered 
upstart,  that  professes  to  be  his  friend  for  the 
purpose  of  seducing  his  mistress.  That  Goss 
is  a  rascal,  I'll  warrant,  for  the  Gosses  always 
was  said  to  have  bad  blood  in  their  veins  from 
their  grandfather,  the  tory  quartermaster. 
We'll  see  whether  poor  Blanding's  to  be  cast 
off  in  this  way,  like  so  much  foul  linen.  I'll 
have  Mr.  Gudgeon  in  this  business  in  foui'-and- 
twenty  hours,  or  my  name  shall  be  taken 
from  the  family  record  as  Margaret  Cox,  now 
Gudgeon. 


SCENE  II. 

The  street. 
Botch  avd  Gudgeon. 

BOTCH. 

Oh  !  this  is  dreadful  news  :  support  yourself 
against  the  wall,  Mr.  Gudgeon — you  had  better. 
Shocking !  shocking ! 

GUDGEON. 

What  is  it  ?  For  mercy's  sake  what  is  it. 
Botch  ? 

BOTCH. 

They've  got  Old  Crumb  up  for  a  candidate. 

GUDGEON. 

What  for,  alderman  ? 

BOTCH. 

Yes,  sir. 

GUDGEON. 

Against  me  ? 

BOTCH. 

Yes,  sir,  and  he's  as  popular  as  the  baker 
before  breakfast,  or  the  brewer  after  dinner. 
Whole  flocks  of  people  are  winging  their  way 
to  the  polls,  like  so  many  pigeons  in  autumn. 

GUDGEON. 

This  must  be  put  a  stop  to. 

BOTCH. 

They  come  out  of  the  houses  by  hundreds  ; 
all  the  carriages  have  got  Zachary  Crumb 
on  them,  and  the  minister  has  voted  for  him 
already. 

GUDGEON. 

There  must  be  an  end  to  this. 


Scene  II.] 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


139 


BOTCH. 

I  doubt  whether  there  be  such  a  thing  as  an 
end  to  it. 

Enter  Glib. 

GLIB. 

I  have  just  halted  to  tell  you  that  the  whole 
lower  section  of  the  ward  has  gone  for  Crumb, 
in  a  body. 

GUDGEON. 

You  know  that's  a  poor  part  of  the  ward. 


It's  rumored  that  the  Quakers  are  moving  in 
his  favor,  and  I'm  afraid  the  plague  will  get 
among  the  lamplighters  and  watchmen,  for 
these  bodies  lie  near  each  other,  and  the  Qua- 
kers chiefly  furnish  for  the  public  lamps.  So  look 
to  yourselves — I  am  off,  to  address  the  meeting 
of  proscribed  citizens  of  this  class.  [Exit  glib. 


I  forgot  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  they  have  plant- 
ed a  great  liberty-pole  on  one  of  the  corners. 

GUDGEON. 

Thank  Heaven !   that  hasn't  a  vote. 

BOTCH. 

No,  sir,  that's  not  a  citizen,  although  it  car- 
ries its  head  so  high.  And  they've  got  flags  dis- 
played from  a  thousand  private  houses,  with 
Crumb's  name  on  in  large  letters — twice  as 
big  as  ours. 

GUDGEON. 

Who  could  have  done  that?  Our  painter 
was  ordered  to  put  my  name  in  the  very  largest 
possible  capitals. 

BOTCH. 

Besides  this,  sir,  they  have  brought  out  two 
immense  wagons,  that  carry  twenty-four  deep, 
and  they  are  both  hurrying  voters  up,  five  in  a 
row,  breast- wise,  like  so  many  fish  packed  in  a 
firkin  for  market. 

GUDGEON. 

Botch,  this  is  certainly  the  most  astonishing 
thing  I  have  ever  known.  I  have  heard  of  wild 
buflaloes  rushing  down  rocks  a  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  high  ;  but  for  human-kind,  why,  it's 
sheer  madness.   Was  it  a  full  moon  last  night  ? 


It  was. 


GUDGEON. 


It  must  be  that — their  brains  are  turned.  I 
consider  the  city  is  ruined ;  it  never  can  recov- 
er from  this  shock.  I  shall  have  no  documents 
to  sign  for  the  corporation — that's  clear.   I  am 


sorry  I  sat  up  last  night  to  address  the  voters, 
for  it  was  a  great  inconvenience. 

BOTCH. 

Don't  despair,  sir,  I  beg  you  not  to  despair. 

GUDGEON. 

I  must  despair,  Botch ;   there's  no  other  en- 
joyment left  to  me. 


Can't  you  walk  between  the  two  men  drunk, 
as  we  agreed  ? — that  might  cheer  you  up. 

GUDGEON. 

Thank  you  for  the  suggestion.  I'll  do  it.  It 
must  have  an  exhilarating  effect,  and  may  turn 
the  tide.  Get  the  men  ready.  iBotch  retiring.^ 
But,  Botch,  be  good  enough  not  to  have  them 
overdone  ;    not  too  drunk,  if  you  please. 

lExeunt  gudgeon  and  botch  severally. 

SCENE  III. 

The  same. 
Brisk  and  Crowder. 

CROWDER. 

We  must  carry  this  election,  or  I  am  undo^ 
They  have  levied  on  the  liberty-pole  in  fri^^' 
of  my  door  as  personal  property ;  and  the  glo- 
rious cap,  with  all  those  mottoes  that  please 
the  mob  so  much,  will  be  struck  off  with  the 
greatest  rudeness,  by  the  hammer  of  some  ten- 
penny  auctioneer. — Foolish  love  of  civil  liberty ! 
I  had  better  have  clothed  my  back,  or  lined  my 
belly,  than  have  spent  my  substance  in  planting 
liberty-trees  that  are  as  barren  as  crabs. 


Poh  !  Crowder — you  know  better ;  it's  a  per- 
fect bread-plant  to  the  office-seeker ;  and  more 
poor  Christians  have  gained  a  living  by  shaking 
it,  and  opening  their  mouths  and  throwing 
up  their  caps  under  it,  than  all  the  peach, 
plum,  apricot,  and  greening  trees  in  Christen- 
dom. Forty  thousand  worthy  gentlemen,  in 
this  noble  republic  of  ours  alone,  climb  this 
tree  annually,  and  furnish  their  families  a  very 
pretty  livelihood.    Think  of  that 

CROWDER. 

I  do  think  of  that ;  and  if  I  only  had  a  snug 
government  birth  during  one  president's  term, 
I'd  whistle  at  Fortune,  and  rattle  my  silver 
with  the  best  men  in  the  land. 


If  we  succeed,  as  we  must — look  at  the  pros- 
pect, it's  almost  enough  to  bring  tears  into  one's 
eyes — you  shall  be  made  a  contractor  for  the 
almshouse,  and  have  a  nice  little  profit  on  every 
morsel  that  goes  into  a  pauper's  mouth :  a  per- 
fect prince  of  a  contractor :  and  not  a  candle 


140 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  IV. 


shall  be  snuffed  in  the  establishment,  nor  an 
eyelid  dropped,  without  your  having  clipped 
the  tallow  and  discounted  the  drug  for  both. 


I  am  then  to  have  the  furnishing  of  physic  as 
well  as  food  to  my  poor  children  on  the  island  ? 


Of  course,  for  medicine  is  a  natural  part  of 
the  diet  of  a  pauper.  He  requires  scouring  as 
much  as  pewter  pots,  and  takes  sulphur  as 
freely  as  if  he  had  been  educated  in  a  match 
factory. — The  very  poorhouse  dog,  Crowder, 
shall  not  dare  to  shake  himself  in  the  yard 
without  your  permission,  and  a  collar  of  your 
providing,  to  make  it  known  that  he's  the  slave 
of  King  Crowder,  and  owes  him  a  per-centage. 
And  so  we  will  reward  you. 

CROWDER. 

And  how  will  you  reward  yourself? 


Very  simply. — You  have  heard  of  Greenwich 
lane  ? — Well ;  my  great-uncle,  the  bachelor, 
owned  a  small  plot  of  ground  there,  in  the 
heart  of  a  block,  which  he  used  as  a  circus, 
and  made  a  tolerable  income  therefrom,  with  a 
bear  and  fiddle,  two  stunted  shetlands,  and  a 
loafer  clown ;  but,  since  that  lively  period,  and 
a  different  current  of  population,  the  ground 
hasn't  paid  taxes,  and  has,  in  fact,  been  a  dead 
weight  at  the  end  of  my  pocket.  Now,  mark 
me,  when  I  become  alderman,  we  will  have 
that  same  Greenwich  lane  broadened  into  an 
avenue,  which  wDl  just  take  the  short  front 
lots  away,  and  bring  my  pretty  plot  of  ground 
upon  the  street,  without  a  penny's  assessment. 
All  this  shall  be  done  for  the  good  of  the  peo- 
ple, the  health  of  the  neighborhood,  or  any 
other  patriotic  and  high-minded  considerations. 

CROWDER. 

Nobly  contrived!  But  here's  a  new  diffi- 
culty— Old  Zachary  Crumb,  who  has  been 
started  by  the  citizens,  you  know,  is  said  to  be 
making  great  headway. 


Poh !  A  weak  old  man,  who  will  make  about 
as  much  headway  as  a  superannuated  race- 
horse brought  out  upon  the  course  ten  years 
after  he  has  lost  his  natural  heat  and  powers  of 
motion. 

CROWDER. 

The  people,  they  say,  are  gathering  for  him 
in  great  numbers. 


Have  no  fears !  it's  only  a  device  of  our 
own  friends  to  blind  the  enemy.  Two  thirds  of 
the  votes  that  go  in  the  boxes  for  Gudgeon  and 
Crumb,  will  come  out,  mark  my  word,  for  John 
Brisk,  and  no  other !  lExeunt  severally. 


SCENE  rv. 

.4  public  room. 


Glib,  discovered  on  a  platform,  speaking^  with 
citizens  before  him. 


Ay  !  fellow  citizens,  I  dare  avouch. 

And  call  star-spangled  heaven  to  witness  it, 

Posterity  shall  know— be  proud  to  know. 

Ye  gallant  band  of  watchmen,  thus  proscribed, 

And  lamplighters  of  eighteen  thirty-five — 

To  know  that  ye  your  caps  thrust  back,  your 

coats 
Threw  off,  and  down  your  ladders  cast,  despi- 
sing 
The  power  that  took  your  offices  away. 
How  in  their  cradles   will  your  grandbabes 

thriU. 
Thinking  that  they  are  yours ! — sons  of  men 

that  dared 
To  blow  a  blast  of  stern  defiance 
On  the  trump — 

CITIZEN.    (To  his  neiglibor.) 

Now  we'll  have  something  nice ;  he's  always 
good  on  trumpets. 

GLIB. 

Of  patriotic  fire  that  shook 
These  soup-fed  tyrants  in  their  chairs  of  pow- 
er:— 
That  you  it  was,  who  raised  the  bloody  flag — 

CITIZEN.  ^ 

His  flags,  if  such  a  thing  be  possible,  is  bet^ 
ter  than  his  trumpets. 


Far  up  on  high,  where  still  it  shall  be  held. 
Until  to  fibres  heaven's  winds  have  whistled  it 
No  larger  than  the  small  spool-cotton  threads. 
Yes,  yes,  my  fellow-citizens,  inspired 
With  large  and  noble  thoughts,  and  in  a  cause 
That  sun-lit  planets  might  be  jealous  of— 
The  cause  of  lamplighters  extinguished. 
Of  watchmen  wakened — burst  beneath  the  feet 
Of  these  stern  men,  like  to  an  earthquake 
Underneath  a  factory  of  earthenware,       ^'^. 
And  into  fifty  thousand  fragments  break  ,, 
Their  fragile  power.  ^^  ' 

CITIZEN. 

Good !    I  told  you  his  earthquakes  was  nice. 

SECOND  CITIZEN. 

That  earthquake,  it  strikes  me,  burst  rather 
too  much  like  an  overdone  eg^. 

CITIZEN. 

Earthquakes  is  more  like  melons,  and  re- 
quires a  nice  hand  and  strong  fire  to  get  'em 
up  to  the  true  pitch.  I  never  heard  a  speaker 
that  did  earthquakes  better  than  Glib. 


m,  .:.,: 


Scene  v.] 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


141 


GLIB. 

Lo  !  Freedom's  temple,  now- 


Now  listen,  neighbor  :  if  this  ain't  the  best- 
built  thing  you've  ever  known,  call  me  a  ground- 
mole. 


Begirt  with  peril !    Yea,  that  edifice 
Reared  on  the  bones,  cemented  by  the  blood 
Of  all  our  grandsires  and  their  wives. 
Hewed  by  their  swords,  and  with  their  shields 

roofed  in 
With  scabbards  lathed : — To  hostile  dire  as- 
saults 
This  holy,  sacred  temple  'gins  to  yield. 
Beleaguered  round ;   but  hope,  my  countrj'men. 
Dawns,   through    the    darkness    dawns,    and 

'gainst  the  walls 
I  see  large  ladders  planted  fearlessly. 
Yours  they  are,  ye  agile  lamplighters  ! 
The  alarum-rap  I  hear — it  calls  aloud 
The  friends  of  civil  liberty  together. 
Ye  vigilant  guardians  of  the  night, 
That  solemn  summons  from  your  clubs    as- 
cends.— 
Now,  from  this  huge  height  of  rhetoric  to  fall : 


See  how  gracefully  he  comes  down ;  never 
flew  from  a  house-top,  a  turtle  dove  gracefuller. 

SECOND  CITIZEN. 

In  truth,  my  friend,  he  went  up  like  a  heavy- 
winged  fowl,  and  I  doubt  not  he  will  come 
down  like  a  night  hawk  by  daylight. 

CITIZEN. 

WeU,  listen — listen,  and  no  disparagements. 

GLIB. 

I  say  the  lamplighters,  upon  th'  alert. 

Have  sprung  with  all  their  'customed  nimble- 
ness. 

The  watchmen,  I  repeat,  the  watchmen  are 
awakef 

Quite  wide  awake,  (great  cheering,)  and  if  the 
foe  survive 

Beyond  the  four-and-twenty  hours  now  next 

Ensuing,  gauged  by  town-clock  time,  I  pray 
you 

Call  Slickson  Glib,  thenceforth,  with  my  con- 
sent. 

An  owl,  a  blind  bat,  and  no  true  prophet ! 

SCENE  V. 
The  street. 

Various  citizens,  meeting. 

AN  OLD  CITIZEN. 

This  almost  makes  me  young  again,  neigh- 


bor.   It  looks  like  twenty  years  ago— this  en- 
thusiasm for  a  citizen'!  candidate. 

SECOND  CITIZEN. 

Did  you  mark  when  the  sky  was  overcast 
this  morning,  how  the  sun  shone  on  Crumb's 
name  on  the  banner,  while  all  the  rest  was  in 
darkness  ? 

OLD  CITIZEN. 

I  did,  and  it's  a  sight  I  saw  but  once  before 
in  my  life,  and  that  was  when  this  old  soldier 
that  voted  to-day,  was  baptized — the  sun  fell 
through  the  upper  church  window  on  his  white 
old  head,  as  he  went  down  into  the  baptistry, 
making  a  single  golden  spot  in  the  midst  of  the 
congregation. 

SECOND  CITIZEN. 

He  deserves  the  heavenly  approval. — He  is 
too  pure-hearted  to  be  made  a  tool  of  politi- 
cians; and  I  was  glad  to  see  the  old  man, 
when  he  approached  the  poll,  cast  off  the  ban- 
dages and  patches  they  had  thrust  upon  him, 
pretending  to  draw  down  respect  for  his  vet- 
eran services,  by  these  signs,  from  the  people. 
When  he  learned  there  was  a  third  ticket,  he 
exchanged  his  ballots  at  once,  and  voted  for 
Zachary  Crumb. 

THIRD  CITIZEN. 

I  entered  with  a  crowd  of  thirty,  and  when 
they  were  asked,  "  What  ticket  do  you  vote  ?" 
they  all  answered,  like  a  corporation  of  dea- 
cons on  a  grant  for  new  pew-cushions,  "  Old 
Crumb,"  and  shook  hands  as  if  they  had  met 
at  a  wedding. 

OLD  CITIZEN. 

Yea,  and  I  have  seen  old  men  like  myself  here 
to-day,  that  have  not  cast  a  ballot  before  for  the 
last  fifteen  years.  I  have  seen  sick  men,  that 
apparently  tarried  in  the  world  but  to  deposite 
a  vote  for  Crumb,  and  young  lads  just  of  age, 
(but  who  have  been  smiled  on  by  this  good  man 
when  they  have  borne  satchels  at  their  sides) 
hurry  up  as  eagerly  as  if  it  were  a  holiday 
business. 

^  SECOND  CITIZEN. 

They  say  that  when  Brisk  entered  to  give 
his  own  vote,  the  eagle  that  his  friends  had 
perched  on  a  staff  above  the  door,  shrieked  and 
dropped  his  wings  ;  but  this  I  can  scarcely  be- 
lieve, although  I  know  of  my  own  eye-knowl- 
edge, that  a  parrot  which  a  sailor  brought  up 
with  him,  when  his  master  was  solicited  to  vote 
for  Gudgeon,  exclaimed,  in  answer  for  the 
sailor,  "  Not  so  green  !" 

OLD  CITIZEN. 

The  bird  was  figurative,  of  course,  for  I 
marked  the  creature,  and  of  a  deeper  literal 
green  was  no  parrot's  jacket  that  I  ever  beheld. 
That  sailor,  I  think  I  was  told,  was  one  of  a 
crew  of  fifty  that  came  in  only  last  n-ght  from 


142 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  IV. 


the  Friendly  islands  of  the  Pacific,  and  not  one 
failed  the  true  ticket. 

Enter  a  Fourth  Citizen. 

FOURTH  CITIZEN. 

Cheerly,  friends,  cheerly :  the  Brisk  men 
and  Gudgeonites  begin  to  give  way,  and  it's 
said  about  the  poll  that  Crumb  has  the  day  thus 
far  by  a  hundred  ! 

OLD  CITIZEN. 

Let's  hasten  to  the  ground,  and,  while  we 
gather  the  rumor,  give  countenance  to  our 
friends.  \Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI. 

Blanding's  apartments. 
Old  Crumb  and  Blanding. 

CRUMB. 

Well,  Charles,  how  fares  your  wooing  ? 

blanding. 

Strangely  enough :  the  more  my  proposed 
father-in-law  dotes  on  me  as  Jefferson  Goss, 
the  more  he  detests  me  as  Charles  Blanding. 


So  you  are  likely  to  succeed  as  a  pretender, 
and  to  come  off  poorly  as  a  man  of  merit  ? 
Isn't  that  the  way  of  the  world  ? 

blanding. 

I  think  it  is — and  while  I  am  allowed  to  eat 
his  cranberries  and  woodcock  as  the  nephew  of 
a  senator  that  has  no  existence,  I  am  regaled 
with  curses  as  the  child  of  my  own  mother. 

CRUMB. 

You  are  then  faring  admirably,  I  think,  for 
in  either  event,  you  will  have  your  mistress  : 
if  she  marries  you  in  the  name  of  one  of  the 
logical  postulates,  what  matters  it,  so  long  as 
she  gets  the  person  she  likes. 

blanding. 

But  I  imagine  she  would  scarcely  be  pleased 
to  open  house  with  me  in  an  upper  cell  of  the 
city  prison,  and  receive  her  wedding  calls  in 
the  character  of  an  indicted  impostor's  wife 
with  an  alias  ! 


Have  no  fears  of  that ! — Do  you  rehearse  the 
character  you  have  assumed,  carefully  ?  An 
error  in  the  keeping  might  be  disastrous. 

blanding. 

I  believe  I  am  doing  myself  justice  there,  for 
I  read  the  Washington  letter-writers  every 
morning  for  politics,  and  visit  Delmonico's  and 


bully  the  waiters,  to  acquire  the  right  style  of 
manners,  in  the  afternoon. 


Do  you,  as  the  hypothetical  great  man's 
nephew,  disparage  American  institutions  stead- 
ily when  you  are  at  Brisk's  ?  .  „  .  . 

BLANDlJfG. 

No,  I  haven't  brought  myself  to  that  perfec- 
tion yet ;  bnt  I  speak  contemptuously  of  Amer- 
ican habits,  intellect,  society,  commerce,  liter- 
ature, and  American  things  generally,  which  I 
thought  would  answer  the  same  purpose. 


Of  course,  you  have  not  omitted  a  minute 
biography  of  the  imaginary  senator  ? 

BLANDING. 

By  no  means;  for  although  I  treat  every 
other  native  production  with  contempt,  I  al- 
ways speak  of  the  senator  with  the  utmost 
reverence.  I  have  given  Brisk  a  particular 
history  of  his  early  life  and  struggles,  his  labors 
on  a  semi-weekly  country  newspaper,  with  a 
circulation  of  nineteen  paying  subscribers — 

CRUMB. 

Didn't  you  overstate  the  matter  a  little  there  ? 

BLANDING. 

His  first  speech  on  the  occasion  of  a  sheep- 
shearing  in  the  waters  of  a  private  pond,  with 
the  great  questions  involved  therein,  which 
were  destined  (as  usual)  to  shake  our  institu- 
tions and  jeopard  the  Union  itself.  Then  I 
described  to  him  the  style  of  the  senator's  con- 
gressional oratory — and  how  one  day  he  came 
into  the  senate  chamber  without  an  idea,  and 
spoke  six  hours  on  the  establishment  of  a  col- 
lege for  young  Indians  in  Michigan — and  how, 
when  he  was  through,  the  audience  were  so 
astonished  at  his  fluency,  they  didn't  recollect 
a  word  he  had  said. 


This  must  have  made  a  vast  deal  of  dry  talk- 
ing for  you. 

BLANDING. 

Not  at  all ;  for  it  was  constantly  moistened 
with  gentle  showers  of  Madeira  and  perfect 
love,  and  sustained  by  more  solid  supplies.  In 
fact,  I  relied  on  my  appetite  more  than  any 
other  single  point,  to  establish  my  character  ; 
and  the  more  I  devoured,  the  more  Brisk's  eyes 
dilated  with  admiration  of  my  supposed  con- 
nexion with  the  distinguished  senator. 


Well,  brave  it  out,  Charles,  with  a  bold  face 
— it  pleases  me  to  have  this  shrewd  politician 
outwitted  so  cheaply.  All  will  end  well,  for 
the  charm  is  now  brewing — this  very  hour — 


Scene  VIL] 


THE  POLITICLINS. 


143 


that  shall  give  us  the  magician's  voice  over 
the  issues  of  this  business.     [Exeunt  severally. 


SCENE  VII. 


^  street  near  the  poll. 
Gudgeon  and  Glib,  meeting, 

GUDGEON. 

As  I  told  you,  you  will  find  a  house  in  Cherry 
street — 


Very  likely — you  will  find  houses  in  every 
street  in  the  city,  except  the  new-fangled 
streets  that  are  no  streets,  but  two  parallels  of 
speculative  kerbstone. 

GUDGEON. 

But  listen  to  me,  Mr.  Glib — time  presses. 
It's  a  lodging-house  (I  forget  the  number), 
with  an  exchange  office  at  one  side  of  it,  and  a 
toy  shop,  a  shop  where  they  vend  masks  at  the 
other. 

GLIB. 

Why,  this  must  be  the  church  that  you  are 
directing  me  to  ! — for  there  you  will  find  false 
faces  enough  I'll  warrant,  and  money-changers 
too,  at  times.  And  I'm  sure  there's  sufficient 
sleeping  done  there  to  earn  for  it  the  character 
of  a  lodging-house.  So  I  have  your  direction.— 
What  next  ? 


If  it  were  a  church,  it  would  not  be  a  wrong 
place,  at  a  suitable  season,  to  look  for  the  man 
to  whom  I  send  you  :  in  a  word,  you  must  go 
immediately  and  secure  the  vote  of  Bill  Baffin, 
the  stevedore.  He  is  sick,  and  I'd  have  you 
treat  him  kindly. 


It  shall  be  done,  sir ;  the  old  whale  shall 
flounder  his  vote  in,  if  it's  his  last  act. 

GUDGEON. 

Kindly,  I  say,  Mr.  Glib ;  but  bring  him  by 
all  means.     One  vote  may  make  or  ruin  us. 


Oh,  he  shall  come  sir,  if  it's  on  crutches,  and 
if  I  am  obliged  to  be  as  persuasive  as  Patrick 
Henry.    He  shall  come. 

GUDGEON. 

And  after  that,  you  will  be  good  enough  to 
come  to  me  at  the  public  room,  where  I  shall 
be  engaged  buoying  up  our  friends,  and  eating 
burnt  crackers  and  old  cheese  with  the  voters, 
for  effect.  lExeunt  severally.  J 


SCENE  vm. 

^  sick  chamberf  Baffin  in  an  armchair^  ^c. 

BILL  BAFFIN. 

I  am  afraid  my  last  hour  is  at  hand ;  and  the 
old  keel  will  have  to  be  sunk  in  the  earth  for 
ever,  and  left  there  to  decay,  like  a  dead  root. 
The  sun  goes  fast ;  I  begin  to  lose  my  reckon- 
ing, and  with  the  next  round  of  the  time- 
keeper, I  shall  be  counted  with  the  ships  that 
have  foundered.  Well,  well — we'll  trust  yet 
to  the  old  Commander  aloft. — Who  knocks  ? 
In!— 

Enter  glib. 

GLIB. 

Ah  !  Mr  Baffin,  this  is  a  sad  pass  for  one  of 
your  mould ! — the  stoutest  stevedore  on  the 
river ! 

BAFFIN. 

Ay,  and  the  weakest  on  the  deathbed. 


Not  so  bad — not  so  bad,  I  trust.  But  now 
that  I  look  in  your  eye,  there  is  something  that 
shines  like  the  next  world.  Anyhow,  you  car- 
ry a  free  heart  out  of  this. 


BAFFIN. 


So  I  humbly  hope. 


GLIB. 


Is  there  nothing  on  your  mind  ?  No  single 
act  to  be  performed  ?  No  little  duty  undis- 
charged ? 

BAFFIN. 

None  that  my  memory  wots  of.  So  help  me 
God,  not  one ! 


Nothing  that  you  owe  to  your  family — your 
fellow-citizens— your  country  ? 


BAFFIN. 


Nothing ! 


Bethink  yourself— think  of  the  present  day — 
the  present  hour.  Have  you,  for  example,  de- 
posited your  ballot  ? — a  sacred  duty,  remember. 


Yes,  with  the  sexton — as  a  candidate  for  the 
other  world.  Another  knock — who  can  it  be  ? 
— Come  in !— my  friends  increase  toward  the 
extremity. 

Enter  Crowder. 

CROWDER. 

Don't  listen  to  that  man,  Mr.  Baffin  !  I  have 
the  true  ticket — Human  rights,  sir  !  ^ 


14(1 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  V. 


GLIB. 

Have  at  you,  sir !   mine  is  civil  liberty  ! 

CHOWDER. 

An  unlimited  democracy ! 

GLIB. 

No  taxes,  pew-rents,  ground-rents,  assess- 
ments— 

CROWDEB. 

Sumptuous  accommodations  for  paupers. 

GLIB. 

A  bill  of  special  privileges  for  stevedores  ! 
(In  Buffings  ear) — Gudgeon  has  a  job  for  you. 

CROWDER .     (  Whispers.) 
The  office  of  dockmaster. 

Baffin.   (^Springs  up,  and  with  his  crutch 
drives  them  from  the  room.) 

Out,  ravens  and  sharks  !    Away  with  you, 
and  let  me  yield  my  breath  in  peace. 
Glib.   (Returning.) 

Your  vote  is  all-important ;  if  your  health 
should  improve  before  sundown,  send  us  word, 
and  you  shall  have  a  coach  to  bring  you  to  the 
Doll.  lExit  glib. 

Crowder.     (Looks  in.) 

Poor  creature,  he  begins  to  flush ! — D n 

me,  it's  a  vote  lost.  \_Exit  crowdek. 

SCENE  IX. 

The  open  street. 

Brisk  and  Crowder,  meeting,  in  haste. 
brisk. 
Have  you  brought  up  the  shabby  volunteers  ? 

CROWDER. 

I  have,  sir ;  and  they  all  discharged  their 
oath  like  a  drilled  company  of  riflemen. 

brisk. 

The  wollopers  and  tag-end  ragamuffins  ? 

CROWDER. 

Ay,  sir ;  and  they  came  into  the  poll  like  the 
ghosts  of  so  many  pawnbrokers,  with  all  their 
stock-in-trade  at  their  heels. 

brisk. 

The  man  with  the  smallpox  ? 

CROWDER. 

No,  but  he  is  hard-by. 

BRISK. 

I  think  we  had  better  throw  him  in.  Mat- 
ters look  desperate,  and  a  wholesome  panic  may 


relieve  us  of  superfluous  voters  on  the  other 
side — for  it  would  surely  have  the  eflect  to  scat- 
ter Gudgeon's  friends.  They  have  prejudices 
against  contagion,  whereas,  our  men,  you  kntDW, 
are  smallpox-proof.    You  have  not  neglected 


CROWDER. 

Hardly ;  we  have  depopulated  two  taverns 
stt  the  Wallabout ;  a  naval  force  of  six  oyster- 
boats  has  landed  from  Staten  island.  We  have 
scoured  Newtown  creek  and  taken  captive  four 
brace  of  honest  countrymen,  who  are  pledged 
to  swear  their  tickets  through,  with  flying  ex- 
cursions, from  time  to  time,  into  Queens  county 
and  the  Jeiseys. 


There's  a  one-eyed  man,  that  tends  the  shot- 
tower  at  Kipp's  bay ;  I  hope  he'll  not  be  for- 
gotten. He's  generally  overlooked  on  account 
of  his  forlorn  situation. 

CROWDER. 

Hadn't  we  better  open  a  few  fresh  brandy- 
bottles  at  Works's  ?  There's  a  danger  of  faint- 
heartedness coming  on  them  toward  night,  un- 
less some  such  thine  is  done. 


By  all  means ;  and,  if  necessary,  broach  a 
new  barrel  of  beer.  The  chief  of  our  work  is 
to  be  done  in  an  hour.  Strike  swiftly,  and  let 
every  spigot  tell  on  the  canvass  !  In  the  mean- 
time I'll  go  and  talk  Dutch  with  the  German 
voters,  and  O'hone  a  little  with  the  Hibernians. 
lExeunt  severally. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I. 

jin  old  Citizen  and  others,  rneeting  in  front  of 
Crumb's  house. 

SECOND  CITIZEN. 

Well,  the  day  is  ours,  and  a  brighter  hasn't 
left  the  sky  since  this  island  was  parcelled  into 
wards ! 

OLD  CITIZEN. 

Only  one  brighter,  I  admit,  and  that  was  the 
day  George  Washington  crossed  the  river  to 
take  the  chief  magistrate's  oath.  This  is  a  true 
and  joyful  day.  I  shall  not  scruple  to  put  it  in 
the  family-bible  as  a  memorable  day. 

SECOND  CITIZEN. 

My  girl,  Mary,  shall  work  it  in  a  sampler,  with 
evergreens  over  the  top,  and  a  great  lion  rush- 
ing out  of  a  corner  to  devour  the  sneaking  spot- 
ted zebra  that  I  will  have  her  figure  on  the  other 
side  of  the  sampler.  And  that  shall  denote  that 
the  foul  beast,  the  spotted  knave  of  politics,  is 


Scene  I.] 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


145 


■whipped  and  vanquished,  and  the  txue-hearted 
one,  honest  old  Crumb,  triumphant. 

OLD  CITIZEN. 

I  suppose  the  citizens  will  have  a  procession, 
and,  if  they  do,  111  lend  them  the  old  blade  my 
father  wore  at  Yorktown,  with  a  pair  of  Hes- 
sian boots,  captured  with  his  own  hands  from 
the  owner,  to  carry  as  trophies  above  their 
banner ! 

THIRD  CITIZEN. 

I  wonder  whether  Crumb  is  stirring  ? 

FOITRTH  CITIZEN. 

I  think  not ;  and  if  he  were,  he  is  but  little 
of  a  speaker,  and  would  thank  us  silently ;  so 
let  us  give  a  good  round  shout,  and  leave. 

ALL. 


Agreed ! 


[They  shout  and  retire. 


SCENE  II. 
In  front  of  Brisk^s  house. 

BRISK. 

Beaten  !— After  all  our  stratagems  and 
schemings,  the  supper  at  "Works's,  the  slan- 
der at  the  poll ;  after  enlisting  the  uttermost 
rank  and  file  of  the  earth,  invading  the  can- 
vass with  the  halt,  the  blind,  the  dumb,  and  the 
deaf,  and  threatening  the  inspectors  themselves 
with  infection — beaten  ! — this  is  the  very  con- 
densed abstract  and  story  of  the  whole  matter. 

'*   Enter  Crowder. 

BRISK. 

What  say  you  to  this,  Crowder  ? 

crowder. 

I  say  it's  the  greatest  damper  that  has  hap- 
pened since  the  flood. 

BRISK. 

I  suppose  it  hasn't  left  you  a  cinder  of  spirit 
to  contest  the  matter  further  ?  You  are  com- 
pletely quenched. 

CROWDER. 

Not  altogether ;  I  proposed  to  the  committee 
to  battle  it  before  the  canvassers,  but  they 
groaned  at  the  suggestion  like  whipped  hounds  ; 
and,  by  the  Lord,  they  are  no  better  than  curs, 
or  they  would  have  made  a  rush  for  the  ballot- 
box  last  night ;  the  inspectors  passed  through  a 
by-street,  and  it  might  have  been  as  easDy  done 
&s  kissing  a  wench. 


Fie,  fie,  Crowder!— we  must  move  gently; 
anything  but  a  misdemeanor  or  open  breach  of 
law.    You  may  scrawl  on  the  glass  as  hard  and 


as  hard  words  as  you  choose,  but  you  shall  not, 
with  my  consent,  make  a  flaw  in  it. 

CROWDER. 

The  liberty-pole  goes  to  the  hammer  at  noon. 

BRISK. 

If  that's  all,  let  it  pass  ;  it's  nothing  but  a 
stick  of  timber. 

CROWDER. 

That's  not  all,  for  there's  my  assortment  of 
trumpets  and  banners,  besides  my  extra  ward- 
robe of  electioneering  coats  with  false  pockets 
and  spread-eagle  buttons  ;  my  crutches  for 
lame  voters  ;  a  box  of  green  shades  for  blind 
ones,  and  my  little  book  of  facts  in  the  private 
history  of  politicians.  That's  the  most  cruel 
levy. 


How,  in  the  name  of  secrecy,  were  these  things 
discovered  by  the  officer  ? 

CROWDER. 

Why,  t  e  cursed  rascal's  a  Gudgeonite,  and 
instead  of  making  a  front-door  levy,  as  a  gen- 
tleman should,  the  villain  came  in  with  his  ex- 
ecution through  the  scuttle,  and  the  first  drag 
he  made  was  this  precious  cargo,  which  lay  in 
a  pantry  in  the  garret. 

BRISK. 

Unfortunate,  very  unfortunate,  Crowder. 

CROWDER. 

Barbarous  enough,  and  I'm  now  bankrupt ; 
for,  with  that  book  in  my  hand,  I  could  make 
myself  acceptable  to  any  set  of  politicians.  But 
my  day's  over  ;  and  now  that  I  have  exhausted 
my  lungs  and  my  ingenuity,  in  this  election,  to  no 
purpose,  I  think  I'll  return  to  my  original  vo- 
cation, of  manufacturing  bellows-snouts  and 
hoe-irons.  [Retiring, 


I  think  you  are  well-advised  in  that.  Politics 
is,  after  all,  a  poor  trade ;  but  you  shall  always 
have  my  custom,  Crowder.  I  need  a  new  snout 
a  year,  and  I  have  two  country-brothers  thai 
I  have  no  doubt  will  take  a  hoe  a-piece  annu- 
ally.    Good  day.  [Exit  crowder. 


Now  that  clamorous  Tom  Crowder  is  dis- 
posed of,  what  shall  we  do  with  cunning  Jack 
Brisk  ?  Is  he  on  his  back — flat  on  his  back, 
think  you  ?  Cudgelled  out  of  all  his  contrivan- 
ces, and  beaten  into  the  consistency  of  an  addled 
egg — have  his  wits  lost  their  saltness,  and  the 
nimble  blood  that  coursed  through  his  brain 
turned  into  ditch-water  ?  Not  exactly— not  alto- 
together  so.  Zachary  Crumb  is  alderman — old 
Zachary  Crumb,  and  if  I  do  not  cozen  his  venera- 
ble understanding  to  my  purpose,  call  me  a  stale 
herring.    Why,  hasn't  he  a  vote  in  the  couneQ- 


% 


46 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


fAcT    V. 


chamber?,  the  same  as  if  John  Brisk  himself 
had  been  chosen  ?  I'll  be  the  master  of  that 
vote,  and,  to  gain  that  mastery,  I'll  humor  the 
old  curmudgeon's  whims.  He  wishes  this  Bland- 
ing  to  marry  my  daughter  Kate ;  what  reason- 
able objection  can  there  be  to  that?  Kate  is 
rich  by  legacy,  and  is  destined  to  wed  some  poor 
fellow  without  a  farthing ;  and  why  not  this 
Blanding  as  well  as  another  ?  He  is  good-look- 
ing, they  say,  and  accomplished.  It  seems 
feasible — very,  extremely  feasible.  But  there's 
Mr.  Goss — hard  to  part  with  so  distinguished  a 
connexion;  but  the  gruff  dog,  self-interest, 
shows  his  teeth,  and  we  must  part :  I'll  be 
quits  with  him  by  a  plausible  letter. 

lExii  BRISK. 

SCENE  III. 

In  front  of  Gudgeon's  house. 
Gudgeon,  Glib,  and  Botch. 

GUDGEON. 

I  thought  it  ill-advised — extremely  ill-ad- 
vised, not  to  allow  me  to  exhibit  my  person 
more  prominently  during  the  canvass.  I  am 
satisfied  it  must  have  turned  the  tide. 

BOTCH. 

It  was  only  regard  for  your  personal  safety — 

GUDGEON. 

Regard  for  my  personal  safety,  Botch !  Stuff! 
Have  I  not  been  called  the  fearless  Gudgeon 
by  resolution  of  a  public  meeting — and  am  I  to 
be  prevented  from  throwing  myself  into  bold 
relief  at  a  critical  time  ?  Who  says  that  Rob- 
ert Gudgeon  should  not  have  shown  himself, 
like  a  man,  at  every  conspicuous  point,  instead 
of  being  mewed  up  like  a  sick  parrot,  in  a 
scanty  room  to  receive  hourly  reports  of  the 
election  ? 


If  we  had  known  that  so  much  evangelical 
spirit  was  in  you,  we  could  have  made  a  St. 
Stephen  of  you  in  a  few  minutes. 

GUDGEON. 

St.  Stephen,  St.  Paul,  and  St.  Book-of-the- 
Acts— what  are  they  to  me  ?  I  am  a  plain  man 
and  no  prophet,  and,  I  can  tell  you  this,  mat- 
ters would  have  had  a  different  ending  if  I  had 
had  my  way. 


Why,  sir,  j^ou  had  your  own  way  about  the 
walk  with  the  drunkards,  and  I  must  confess 
you  made  an  admirable  thing  of  it. 

GUDGEON. 

You  think  I  did— Eh  ? 


Most  admirable  :  first,  you  were  dressed  in 
capital  taste ;  your  glaring  buttons  made  you  a 


mark  a  hundred  yards  off,  and  you  shone  like 
Orion  with  his  stars  all  aljout  him;  then,  3'ou 
pitched  this  way  and  that  way  so  excellently, 
as  your  two  friends  swayed,  that  many  thought 
you  all  three  a  little  in  liquor. 

GUDGEON. 

That  was  good — very  good;  but  what  did 
they  say  of  my  mode  of  taking  snuff,  as  we 
turned  the  corner. 


Admirable  !  They  never  saw  a  point  more 
nicely  turned,  than  your  emptying  the  contents 
of  the  box  into  your  own  hand,  and  giving  the 
lid  to  one  and  the  bottom  to  the  other ;  it  was 
the  best  practical  joke  they  had  ever  witnessed. 

GUDGEON. 

So  I  thought  myself;  but  that  afiiair  of  the 
balcony  was  not  managed  as  it  should  have 
been.  When  they  cheered  for  Gudgeon,  I  should 
have  stepped  out  and  waved  my  hat ;  and  when 
they  sent  the  oranges  through  the  window,  it 
would  have  been  proper  for  me  to  pick  them 
up  and  say,  "  Thank  ye,  gentlemen,  I'll  pre- 
sent these  to  Mrs.  Gudgeon" — for  that's  the 
way  I  understood  it. 


It  was  a  mere  trick  of  the  enemy,  to  draw 
you  out  and  pelt  you. 


And  drench  you,  too  ;  for  I  saw  a  great  two- 
handed  feUow  with  a  huge  syringe,  loaded  with 
dyers'  stuff— 

GUDGEON. 

They  would  never  have  dared  to  do  it.  The 
moment  I  had  shown  myself,  they  would  have 
quailed  like  tame  rabbits.  Depend  on  it,  that 
neglect  at  the  balcony,  and  one  or  two  like 
points,  have  been  the  death  of  us ;  but  I'll  have 
satisfaction  of  Brisk,  in  one  way. 


Heavens  !  I  wish  that  could  be  done  ! 

GUDGEON. 

Botch,  it  shall  be  done.  I'll  have  Blanding 
marry  his  daughter  in  spite  of  his  teeth ;  and 
that  will  play  the  mischief  with  his  projects, 
or  I'm  an  ass  J     So  Mrs.  Gudgeon  says. 

lExeuni. 

SCENE  IV. 

Crumb's  house. 
Crumb  and  Brisk. 


This  is  certainly  an  age  of  miracles  ;   for  in- 
stance, there   is  the  old  lady,  my  neighbor. 


Scene  IV.] 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


a<7 


whose  eyesight,  that's  been  impaired  these  five 
years,  is  so  wonderfully  improved  by  one  of  the 
great  oculists  of  the  day,  that  she  can  now  even 
distinguish  a  bankrupt's  carriage  from  the  poor- 
house  hearse,  that's  carrying  his  creditor  to  the 
grave ;  an  attorney  from  a  tax-gatherer ;  an  of- 
ficer of  police  from  a  pickpocket,  and  a  physi- 
cian from  a  criminal  convicted  at  the  Oyer  and 
Terminer  of  a  murder !  And  now,  at  the  tail 
of  these  wonders,  comes  John  Brisk,  and  calls 
me  alderman,  and  gives  me  the  pleasure  of  his 
society  as  freely  as  a  twin-brother. 


I  admit  this  is  something  out  of  the  custom- 
ary line  of  things ;  but  it  is  as  a  brother,  a 
twin-brother,  if  you  please,  that  I  wait  upon 
you  to-day. 


Well,  here's  a  miracle  greater  than  them  all ; 
a  politician,  who  but  yesterday  was  as  busy  as 
a  pawnbroker's  clerk  putting  out  his  greasy 
boxcoats  after  the  first  cold  nip  in  November, 
and  as  noisy  as  the  square  a  week  after  quar- 
ter-day, when  all  the  old  furniture  in  the  town 
comes  under  the  hammer  to  pay  rent — this  self- 
same roaring  gentleman  subsiding,  to  day,  into 
the  twin-brother — was  it  the  twin-brotlier  ? — 
of  a  decayed  old  man  !  Oh  !  its  enough  to 
burst  one's  heart  with  melancholy  ! 


'  a  young  gentleman  of  great  respectability,  by 
the  name  of  Blanding. 

CRUMB. 

Are  you  assured  of  his  respectability  ? 

BRISK. 

Of  that,  th^re  can  be  no  question — not  the 

slightest.  * 


Of  what  family  of  Blandings  is  he  ?  There 
is  an  upper  family  of  that  name  and  a  lower,  I 
think.     With  which  does  he  class  ? 


Upon  my  word,  I  never  gave  that  a  thought. 
The  young  man's  merit  is  so  predominant,  I  en- 
tirely lost  sight  of  every  such  consideration, 
and  if  he  had  been  born  and  reared  in  a  cave, 
it  would  not  have  struck  me  v^ry  forcibly. 

CRUMB.     (Pretending  to  remember.) 

Blanding,  Blanding — is  his  Chiistian  name 
Charles  ? 

BRISK. 

It  is,  sir,  and  I  had  hopes  you  might  know 
him  ;  in  fact,  I  had  some  indistinct  recollection 
of  such  a  fact. 


I  hope  you  will  be  good  enough  to  delay  the  Yes,  yes— you  have  a  sprightly  memory,  and 

bursting  for  the  present,  for  1  wish  to  enlist  it's  you  should  cultivate  it.    But  what  kind  of  per- 

kind  services  in   a  business  that  I  have  very  son  has  this  young  gentleman  ?    Is  he  comely  f 
near  my  own  heart. 

Oh,  exceeding  comely. — A  picked  man  out  of 
a  thousand  :  a  broad  manly  chest,  a  clear  bold 
voice  that  rings  like  a  trumpet,  and  a  step  and 
gesture  full  of  majesty.  He  looks  like  one  of 
the  gods  in  the  old  painting. 


In  any  such  business,  if  you  could  satisfy  me 
of  these  conditions,  I  would  be  pleased  to  act. 


It's  a  business  of  a  delicate  nature,  sir,  and 
one  in  which  you  might  scruple  to  be  employ- 
ed. But  it  has  agitated  me  a  long  time,  and  I 
must  move  in  it,  or  be  miserable. 


If  the  difliculty  has  not  been  more  than  a 
century  growing,  and  be  not  larger  than  a 
mountain  in  size,  I  think  something  may  be 
done. 


May  I  depend  on  you,  sir  ? — as  brother  de- 
pends on  brother  ? 


Perhaps  you  may. 

BRISK. 

It  will  require  your  whole  ingenuity  and 
kindness  steadily  employed ;  in  a  word,  (whis- 
pering) I  am  anxious  to  bring  about  a  union  be- 
tween my  daughter,  Miss  Catharine  Brisk,  and 


Hath  he  accomplishments  ? 

BRISK. 

There  he  lacks  not — for  on  the  flute,  his  fa 
vorite  instrument,  he  plays  ravishingly ;  every 
breath  is  an  achievement,  and  as  you  listen, 
you  regard  his  stick  as  sacred,  like  a  fragment 
of  the  cross,  or  a  splinter  brought  from  King 
Solomon's  temple.  I  do  believe  if  he  had  been 
Noah's  grandson,  and  had  played  in  the  ark,  it 
would  have  gone  far  toward  assuaging  the  wild 
deluge. 


Now  that  you  describe  him  so  justly,  I  know 
the  young  man  well.  Iwill  move  him  to  second 
your  wishes. 

BRISK. 

I  shall  be  most  happy. — Be  urgent,  if  you 
please. 


148 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  V. 


I  shall  not  neglect  the  proper  means  to  im- 
press on  him  the  match  you  propose.  (Aside — 
Particularly  as  his  mind  is  already  unalter- 
ably fixed  in  its  favor.) 


I  shall  regard  it  as  a  personal  kindness  of  the 
highest  obligation. 


It  shall  be  speeded. 

BRISK. 

And  will  never  forget  the  debt. 


(Aside — If  I  vote  for  your  project  in  the  com- 
mon council.  I  shall  be  satisfied  if  he  pays  the 
debt  and  relieves  his  memory  of  the  burden  of 
recollecting  it !)  It  shall  be  looked  to  on  the 
instant ;  and  you  shall  be  freed  quickly  from 
your  state  of  painful  agitation.  Sons-in-law 
grow  on  every  bush,  and  I  will  out  at  once,  sir, 
and  pick  one  to  your  liking. 

[Exeunt  severally. 

SCENE  V. 

The  open  street. 
Gudgeon — to  him,  Enter  Botch. 


are  to  have  my  coach  about  the  corner  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Brisk's — the  corner  with  the 
yellow  front — precisely  at  eleven. 


Am  I  to  tell  William  to  grain  the  horses  be- 
fore he  comes  out  ? 

GUDGEON. 

Yes — let  them  be  well  filled  with  oats,  for 
speed  will  be  needful,  and  at  the  rendezvous 
punctually  as  the  hall  gives  out  eleven. — You 
will  be  stationed  in  the  baker's  yard,  and  when 
Mrs.  Gudgeon  shouts  from  Brisk's  window, 
you  wiU  rush  along  the  church  fence  and  order 
William  about  with  the  carriage  in  front  of 
Brisk's  door. 


This  will  be  fine  sport — something  should 
come  of  all  this  shouting,  ,^ 

GUDGEON. 

Something  shall  come  of  it,  for  I  will  rush 
instantly  up  stairs — but  after  that  I'll  be  pres- 
ent myself.  Do  you.  Botch,  be  true  to  your 
time,  and  you  shaU  see  the  upshot. 

[Exit  GUDGEON. 


I  think  it  will  be  worth  something  to  see  the 
upshot  of  all  this. — I  am  to  run  along  the 
church  fence  and  up  the  steeple — no,  not  up 
the  steeple,  Mrs.  Gudgeon  does  the  steeple, 
and  shouts  from  the  window  of  Brisk's  house  ; 
and  the  coach-horses  stuffed  with  oats  run  up 
stairs — or  is  it  William  that  grains  the  horses 
and  Mr.  Gudgeon  that  runs  up  stairs  ?  No 
matter,  I'll  see  the  right  of  it  before  it's  ended ! 

[Exit  BOTCH. 

SCENE  VI. 

Brisk's  house. 

Brisk  alone — Enter  Servant. 

SERVANT. 

The  gentleman  with  the  large  whiskers  is 
below  again,  sir. 


It's  all  arranged,  sir ;  Goss  is  to  marry  Miss 
Kate  Brisk  to-day  at  twelve  ;  Tom  Scissors,  the 
attorney,  is  to  be  trustee  of  the  estate  for  her 
benefit,  and  immediately  after  the  deed  is  drawn 
and  the  dinner  over,  they  start  for  the  capitol. 

GUDGEON. 

Mark  my  word,  if  I  am  Robert  Gudgeon,  and 
not  some  impostor  or  other  under  that  name,  it 
shall  all  be  disarranged,  and  not  a  particle  of 
the  whole  matter  shall  faU  out  as  you  have 
described  it. 

BOTCH. 

That  would  truly  be  a  marvel ! 

GUDGEON. 

I  grant  you  the  parties  shall  be  present  at 
Brisk's  house  as  you  have  said,  but  there  shall 
be  another  there  they  have  forgotten  to  invite ; 
and  that  will  be  Mrs.  Margery  Gudgeon,  my 
own  spouse. 

BOTCH. 

That  will  make  a  very  pretty  little  wedding 
of  it! 

GUDGEON. 

Yes,  a  very  pretty  little  wedding,  Botch,  but  Good  morning  to  you.  Brisk— Up  with  the 
not  exactly  such  a  wedding  as  they  contem-  lark— eh  !— That's  your  sorts.  I  wish  I  had  a 
plate.    The  manner  of  it  shall  be  thus  :  you ,  brace  of  the  sky-scrapers  broiled  for  a  luncheon. 


I   thought   I  had  told   you  to   reconnoitre 
through  the  side-light,  and  not  admit  him. 


We  did  sir;  but  he  took  us  by  surprise,  by 
ringing  like  the  penny-post ;  and  now,  sir,  he's 
making  his  way  up  stairs  like  the  colossus  of 
Rhodes  in  the  spelling-book.      [Exit  servant. 

Enter  Blandino,  as  Jefferson  Goss. 

blanding. 


Scene  VI.] 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


149 


BRISK. 

Why,  really,  sir,  this  is  an  unexpected  plea- 
sure, after  the  letters  I  sent  you.  You  must 
have  received  them,  sir,  for  I  sent  them  by  my 
attorney's  clerk,  and  he  carries  as  true  as  a 
rifle.  You  must  have  misapprehended  my 
meaning,  sir. 

BLANDING. 

Not  at  all,  sir — I  wish  to  marry  your 
daughter;  you  wish  your  daughter  to  marry 
me — and  she  agrees  with  both  of  us. 

BRISK. 

You  have  misread  my  letter,  sir.  I  there 
stated,  that  I  regretted  that  a  prior  engagement 
prevented  the  honor  of  an  alliance  with  you, 
and  that  I  wished  you  to  present  my  respects 
to  your  uncle,  the  senator,  and  name  to  him 
in  the  kindest  possible  way,  that  when  he  came 
in  town  to  his  public  dinner,  I  would  explain 
the  business  to  his  satisfaction.  Did  you  read 
me  so  ? 

BLANDING. 

Something  facetious  of  that  sort,  I  confess, 
was  handed  to  me — but  it's  all  a  joke.  Brisk. 
Now  confess,  Brisk,  you  wrote  under  the  in- 
fluence  of  excitement — the  bottle,  perhaps  ? 

BRISK. 

Under  the  influence  of  the  bottle,  sir  !  This 
is  too  much  for  you,  even  with  your  great  con- 
nexions. Am  I  a  dunghill  fowl,  that  you  fling 
your  spurs  at  me  in  this  way  ?  I'd  have  you 
know  the  Brisks  have  blood,  sir — yes,  blood — 
blood ;  the  Brisks  of  Bethpeg,  sir,  of  Babylon, 
Jerico,  and  Hempstead,  have  as  good  veins  as 
the  president  himself! — 

BLANDING. 

But,  sir,  the  fun  of  the  thing — 

BRISK. 

D n  the  fun  ! 

BLANDING. 

And  the  senator's  rage. 

BRISK. 

D n  the  senator's  rage  ! 

BLANDING. 

And  my  own  feelings — 

BRISK. 

Enter  Mrs.  Gudgeon  at  one  side,  Kate  Brisk 
at  the  other. 

MRS  GUDGEON. 

Bless  my  stars  !  here  they  are,  and  the  dia- 
bolical tragedy  will  be  perpetrated  in  a  cock- 
crow. What  a  ferocious  monster  this  Goss  is  ! 
I  know  him  by  the  description.  He  looks  for 
all  the  world  like  a  buflfalo  that  the  droviers 
kept  in  my  father's  woods,  and  fed  on  acorns 


and  heifers'  milk. — I'll  shout  to  Mr.  Gudgeon. 
(Puts  her  head  out  at  the  window  and  calls) — 
Gudgeon!  Quick,  or  it  will  all  be  over — 
Gudgeon ! 

Enter  Crumb. 

BRISK. 

Good-morrow,  Alderman  Crumb. 


Good-morrow,  sir. — Ah  !  a  happy  day  to  you, 
child.  Blessed  influences  are  abroad  this  morn- 
ing— and  depend  on  it,  they  will  shine  here  be- 
fore they  set. 


(jlside — I  wish  I  could  get  rid  of  this  fel- 
low, Goss — He  has  fixed  himself  upon  me  like 
the  stamp-act,  and  I'm  afraid  there'll  be  a  devil 
of  an  insurrection  before  he  will  quit  the  coun- 
try.) But  Where's  the  bridegroom?  He  travels 
slower  than  his  tribe,  not  to  be  here  by  this 
time. 

CRUMB. 

Oh,  sir,  he  will  be  here  in  good  season,  or 
there's  no  attraction  in  two  fair  planets.  As- 
tronomy is  at  fault  as  well  as  witchcraft,  if  he 
tarries  beyond  the  putting  on  of  a  glove-finger, 
or  giving  a  new  turn  to  his  wedding-day  smile 
in  the  looking-glass — (Blanding  removes  his 
whiskers,  ifc,  while  Brisk's  hack  is  towards 
him.)     Behold  him,  sir ! 


Ah,  son-in-law,  I  am  happy,  most  sincerely 
happy  to  see  you.  You  need  not  blush,  for  you 
have  not  come  about  a  business  that  we  do  not 
all  understand,  and  take  an  interest  in. 

BLANDING. 

Thank  you — My  old  friend,  here,  has  ex- 
plained, I  presume. 


Oh  yes,  he  has  explained  all.  Nothing  could 
more  exactly  meet  my  wishes.  From  this  day 
forth,  I  shall  write  myself  down,  "  the  content- 
ed man." 

CRUMB.    (Aside.) 

If  Greenwich  lane  cuts  into  the  proper  ave- 
nue !     Otherwise — the  baffled  manager  ! 

Enter  Gudgeon — after  him.  Botch. 
GUDGEON.  (Shouting.) 
I  forbid  the  match ;  I  forbid  the  match.  It's 
arson  and  burglary — He  has  broken  in  and 
stolen  your  daughter's  aflTections,  and  he  has 
set  fire  to  her  poor  heart  as  he  went  out.  Goss 
is  an  impostor,  sir ;  it's  a  case  for  the  police 
court.  Besides,  there  will  be  murder  added, 
for  aught  I  know,  for  Botch,  here,  says  poor 
Blanding  is  pining  this  very  minute  in  a  lone- 
some attic,  and  does  nothing  all  day,  but  wrap 
his  head  in  a  cotton  handkerchief,  and  write 
sonnets  and  madrigals  and  pennyroyals. 


150 


THE  POLITICIANS. 


[Act  V. 


BOTCH. 

And  I  heard  just  now,  as  I  came  along,  sir, 
that  the  neighbors  were  afraid  he  meditated 
something,  because  they  have  seen  him  several 
nights  looking  out  of  the  skylight  at  the  moon, 
and  then  running  down  the  ladder  and  putting 
his  quill  in  swifter  motion  over  foolscap  paper, 
than  it  ever  had  in  the  bird's  wing — even  when 
the  bird  itself  was  out  of  its  wits  with  fright 
from  a  double-barrelled  gun. 

BRISK. 

I  knew  something  must  come  out — I  was 
quite  sure  of  it. — Mr.  Gudgeon,  my  intended 
son-in-law,  Charles  Blanding. 

GUDGEON. 

Your  intended  son  in-law  !  That  was  just 
what  I  had  my  carriage  got  up  for — and  a  chap- 
lain waiting  at  St.  Thomas's — and  Botch  run- 
ning about  all  the  morning  to  effect :  that  very 
connexion  in  the  family. 

MRS.  GUDGEO.T. 

There's  witchcraft  and  petit  larceny  in  this 
business,  as  Mr.  Gudgeon  guessed ;  for  Goss 
was  here  a  minute  ago,  and  he  has  stolen  off 
with  himself;  and  Blanding  wasn't  here  a  min- 
ute ago,  and  he  has  come  out  of  the  earth,  like 
Seimuel's  ghost  for  the  witch  of  Endor. 

CRUMB. 

A  very  pretty  witch  of  Endor,  too,  you  must 
allow,  has  conjured  him  up  :  but  there's  no 
ghost  here,  Mr.  Brisk — so  don't  tremble — it's 
only  the  senator's  nephew. 

KATE. 

Nor  any  Charles  Blanding  :  one  of  the  Gosses 
of  Cross  River,  Mrs.  Gudgeon.  You  are  as 
familiar  with  him  as  a  blood  relation ;  but  it 
must  be  very  cold  blood,  for  he  has  almost 
petrified  you. 

MRS.  GUDGEON. 

Now,  Kate,  I  knew  all  the  time — there  was 
something  about  the  eyes  that  said  they  didn't 
belong  to  that  family.  I  suspected  it  was 
Charles  Blanding,  all  the  time. 

BLANDING. 

Will  it  be  worth  while,  Mr.  Brisk,  to  deliver 
this  letter  to  the  senator — when  I  see  him  ? 

BRISK. 

Yes — when  you  see  him  :  for  I  suppose  he  is 
as  imaginary  as  his  own  nephew. — I  deserve 
to  be  buried  in  lead  for  my  stupidity  in  not  see- 
ing through  this  before  ;  but  it  was  your  vora- 
city at  the  table  that  deceived  me — I  confided 
in  that  to  establish  your  character.  It  might 
have  deluded  any  one  into  the  belief  in  your 
congressional  connexions — might  it  not,  Mr.  i 
Crumb  ?  \ 

CRUMB.  I 

It  might  unquestionably  ;  particularly  if,  as  | 


Blanding  informs  me,  he  was  vociferous  about 
port  wine  and  canvass-backs. 

BRISK. 

Yes,  and  Long  Island  cranberries  in  the  bed 
or  in  hothouses  ?  and  mutton  raised  on  the 
senator's  farm.  That  overturned  my  sagacity, 
I  admit :  it  was  enough,  you  must  all  confess 
— for  was  there  ever  an  American  great  man, 
that  hadn't  his  flocks  of  Merinoes  and  Durhams 
and  Derbyshires — his  long  naps  and  short  naps, 
as  wellas  his  public  dinners  and  premeditated 
extemporaneous  speeches  ! 

MRS.  GUDGEON. 

Happiness  be  with  you,  children !  and  that 
you  may  start  with  the  true  principle  of  matri- 
mony— compromise — I  shall  make  Mr.  Gudgeon 
let  you  have  his  snug  two-storied  house  in  the 
suburbs,  where  you,  Kate,  can  look  out  upon 
green  fields,  grasshoppers,  and  chirping  birds, 
and  rivulets  ;  and  you,  Charles,  by  mounting 
to  the  upper  windows  or  the  roof,  can  catch 
frequent  glimpses  of  city  buildings,  citizens,  and 
gashouse  smoke,  and  can  even  steal  a  glance 
into  Broadway  and  its  fantastic  crowds.  On 
the  one  side  you  will  be  visited  by  the  farmer 
with  fresh  eggs  and  asparagus,  and  on  the  other 
by  the  taxgatherer  with  his  annual  demand,  and 
the  captain's  orderly  with  his  half-yearly  notice 
of  parade. 

BRISK.  f 

And  to  be  able  to  entertain  these  gentleman, 
and  others  of  their  fraternity,  such  as  duns  and 
milliners,  Kate  shall  be  invested  with  her  own 
property  forthwith.  Glib  shall  prepare  the 
papers. 

CRUMB. 

It  would  be  unkind  to  have  Mr.  Gudgeon's 
morning  industry  count  for  nothing,  so  with  his 
consent  we  will  call  his  carriage,  which  I  saw 
at  the  corner,  pack  our  party  in,  and  relieve 
the  chaplain  at  St.  Thomas's  from  the  painful 
state  of  suspense  which  he  must  be  in  by  this 
time ;  unless  the  fee  was  paid  in  advance. 

GUDGEON. 

I  took  that  precaution,  sir. 

BRISK". 

That  was  lucky,  and  we  shall  all  be  happy 
without  a  drawback. 

CRUMB. 

And  now  I  think,  we  are  all  agreed  on  one 
point ; — whatever  wranglings  or  differences 
may  distract  houses  of  congress  or  legislature, 
may  the  debates  of  this  young  house  be  always 
kindly,  and  have  happy  issues  !  Whatever  suf- 
frages may  be  cast  for  other  "  Politicians^^  out 
of  doors,  may  we  always  have  your  votes  {to 
the  audience)  at  the  end  of  the  evening's  can- 
vass in  favor  of  the  candidates  we  venture  to 
present. 


THE  END  OF  THE  POLITICIANS. 


POEMS    ON    MAN, 


IN  HIS  VAEIOUS  ASPECTS  UNDER 


THE    AMERICAN    REPUBLIC. 


POEMS    ON    MAN, 

IN  HIS  VARIOUS  ASPECTS  UNDER 

THE    AMERICAN    REPUBLIC. 


^ 


I 

THE  CHILD. 


Calm,  in  thy  cradle  lie,  thou  little  Child, 
Thy  white  limbs  smoothing  in  a  patient  sleep. 
Or,  gambolling  when  thou  wakest  at  the  peep 

Of  the  young  day — as  clear  and  undefiled 

As  thou  !     Around  thy   fresh  and  lowly  bed 
Look  up  and   see,  how  reverent  men  are 

gathered. 
In  wonder  at  a  babe  so  greatly  fathered 

Into  life,  and  so  by  influence  fed. 

They  watch  the  quiet  of  thy  deep  blue  eye — 
Where  all  the  outward  world  is  born  anew. 
Where  habit,  figure,  form,  complexion,  hue 

Rise  up  and  live  again  in  that  pure  sky ; 

At  every  lifting  of  thine  arms,  they  feel 

The  ribbed  and  vasty  bulk  of  Empire  shake. 
And  from  the  fashion  of  thy  features  take 

The  hope  and  image  of  the  common-weal. 

See !  through  the  white  skin  beats  the  ruddy  tide! 
The  pulses  of  thine  heart,  that  come  and  ^o, 
Like  the  great  circles  of  the  ocean-flow, 

And  dash  a  continent  at  either  side. 

Thou  wield'st  a  hopeful  Empire,  large  and  fair. 
With  sceptred  strength  :  about  thy  brow  is  set 
A  fresh  glad  crown,  with  dewy  morning  wet. 

And  noon-day  lingers  in  thy  flaxen  hair  ! 

Kingdom,  authority  and  power  to  thee 

Belong  ;  the  hand  that  frees,  the  chain  that 

thralls- 
Each  attribute  on  various  man  that  falls. 

Strides  he  the  globe,  or  canvass-tents  the  sea : 

The  sword,  the  staff,  the  judge's  cap  of  death. 
The  ruler's  robe,  the  treasurer's  key  of  gold. 
All  growths  the  world-wide  scope  of  life 
may  hold. 

Are  formed  in  thee  and  people  in  thy  breath. 

Be  stirred  or  still,  as  prompts  thy  beating  heart ! 

Out  of  thy  slumbering  calmness  there  shall 
climb. 

Spirits  serene  and  true  against  the  Time 
That  trumpets  men  to  an  heroic  part ; 
And  motion  shall  confirm  thee,  rough  or  mild 

For  the  full  sway  that  unto  thee  belongs. 

In  the  still  house  or  'mid  the  massy  throngs 
Of  life — thou  gentle  and  thou  sovereign  Child ! 


11. 

THE  FATHER. 

Behold  thyself  renewed  !   But  think  not  there 

A  slave  or  suppliant  lies ;  nor  on  him  bow 
Thy  curious  looks,  as  if  another  heir 

Had  sprung  to  bear  about  thy  civil  brow 
In  public  streets — thy  sober  suit  to  wear  : 

In  all  things  to  obey,  in  all  to  trust — 
And,  when  thy  time  has  past  and  his  ensues, 

Ape-like  to  track  thee  downward  in  the  dust. 

See,  rather,  from  the  little  lids  looks  out 

A  soul  distinct  and  sphered,  its  own  true  star, 
Shining  and  axled  for  a  separate  way. 

Be  its  young  orbit's  courses  near  or  far. 
His  little  hands  uplifted  for  his  right 

To  have  an  individual  life  allowed — 
Implore  of  men,  of  men,  from  thee  the  first, 

The  freedom  by  his  birth-right  hour  bestowed. 

Check  not,  nor  hamper  with  an  idle  chain, 

With  customs  harsh,  of  a  loose  leisure  grown, 
With  habitudes  of  craft,  of  health  or  pain 

The  youngling  life  that  asks  to  be  its  own : 
His  early  friend,  his  helper  and  his  guide 

To  stay  his  hold  upon  the  rugged  way — 
Turn  not  that  life-branch  from  the  sun  or  shade 
aside. 

But  in  heaven's  breezes,  rather,  let  it  go 
astray. 

Be  thou  a  Heaven  of  truth  and  cheerful  hope, 

Clear  as  the  clear,  round  midnight  at  its  full ; 
And  he,  the  Earth  beneath  that  elder  cope — 

And  each 'gainsteachfor  highest  mastery  pull: 
The  child  and  father,  each  shall  fitly  be — 

Hope  in  the  evening  vanward  paling  down. 
The  one — the  other  younger  Hope  upspringing, 

With  the  glancing  morning  for  its  crown. 

There  is  no  tyranny  in  truest  love. 

Nor  rightful  mastery  in  triumphant  force  ; 
And  gentleness  at  hearth  and  board  will  prove 

Felicity  is  born  of  their  divorce : 
Father  and  Child,  the  after  and  before, 

Latest  or  first,  whatever  matters  it  ? 
Of  mutual  hopes,  of  mutual  fears  and  loves. 

Rounded  and  firm,  their  strands  of  life  are 
knit. 


154 


MAN  IN  THE  REPUBLIC. 


III. 
*         THE  TEACHER. 

With  reverent  steps  approach  the  soul  that  lies 

Before  thee,  rude,  unformed  and  full  of  life; 
A  chaos  shrouding  up  a  future  world — 

To  order  born — yet  with  itself  at  strifci 
Peer  for  a  while  within  the  dark  domain. 

And  see  how  temples  mighty  spring  to  sight. 
Arks,  palaces — all  dead  or  living  things 

Doomed  to  climb  up  into  the  Heaven's  light. 
To  heap  the  Earth  or  sail  the  outward  Sea ; 

The  giant  mass  of  things  to  come  at  large. 
Hovering  about  and  shaping  silently 

Within  that  baby  souPs  unquiet  marge.* 

In  beauty  shall  that  fresh-girt  spirit  build  ? 

Shall  harmony  through  all  its  chambers  sing — 
While  rising  day  by  day,  and  pile  on  pile. 

Its  topless  worlds  of  heaven-ward  wonders 
spring  ? 
Say  thou — thatbroodest  on  its  infant  breast! 

Whose  eyes  cry  light  through  all  its  dawn- 
ing void — 
Or,  with  a  double  darkness  would  invest 

Young    thoughts,  on    labor  without    hope 
employed. 
'Tis  there  the  truest  work  Earth  knows  is  done — 

Each  hour,  each  instant  buys  the  world  an  age 
With  glory  bright :  knits  up  its  golden  peace. 

Or  rends  the  web  of  time  with  endless  rage. 

Bend  to  the  Teacher,  bend,  oh  world,  thy  knees! 

And  pray  him,  blessed  God's  name,  to  be  true ! 
Lest  he  for  ever  break  that  spirit's  precious 
peace. 

And  following  millions  in  its  fall  undo. 
A  consecrated  man — thou  man  of  thought — 

Keep  clear  thy  master-soul  in  every  act. 
And  be  thy  features  pure  as  early  light — 

Crossing  in  power  that  spirit's  undimmed 
tract. 
The  world's  dust  ever  shake  from  off  thy  feet, 

When  drawest  thou  to  that  white  temple  near, 
Nor  vex  its  amber  cope  with  words  unmeet 

Of  hate,  or  anger  harsh,  or  unblest  fear. 

Listen  the  way  the  spirit  seeks  to  go — 

And  watch  its  sacred  steps,  or  firm  or  frail; 
Haste  not  its  pace,  nor  hinder  it  the  path — 
Smiling  or  sad,  in  changeful  mirth  or  wail, 
Remember,  thou  art  standing  by  thy  God ! 
Ere  Earth  has  soiled  his  beauty,  touched  his 
strength: 
^Tis  there  th'  Almighty  makes  his  sweet  abode ; 
And  there,  if  undisturbed,  would  Heaven  at 
length 
Take  up  and  fix  its  everlasting  rest : 
Yea,  Heaven  with  these,  its  children,  fain 
would  dwell, 


And  in  such  ind«xe<  

tberejs  aeea 

The  baby  figure  of  the  giant  mass 

Of  things  to  come  at  large.    Trail  and  Creand. 


And,  far-withdrawn    within    their    stainless 
breast. 
Deliver  thence,  at  times,  a  blessed  oracle. 


IV. 
THE  CITIZEN. 

With  plainness  in  thy  daily  pathway  walk — 
And  disencumbered  of  excess  :  no  other 

Jostling,  servile  to  none,  none  overstalk. 
For,  right  and  left,  who  passes  is  thy  brother. 

Let  him  who  in  thy  countenance  looks. 
Find  there  in  meek  and  softened  majesty. 

Thy  Country  writ,  thy  Brother  and  thy  God  ; 
And  be  each  motion,  forthright,  calm  and  free. 

Feel  well  with  the  poised  ballot  in  thy  hand. 
Thine  unmatched  sov'reignty  of  right  and 
wrong — 

'Tis  thine  to  bless,  or  blast  the  waiting  land, 
To  shorten  up  its  life  or  make  it  long. 

Who  looks  on  thee,  not  hopeless,  should  behold, 
A  self-delivered,  self-supported  Man  ; 

True  to  his  being's  mighty  purpose — true 
To  a  wisdom-blessed — a  god-given  plan. 

No  where  within  the  great  globe's  skyey  round — 
Canst  thou  escape  thy  duty,  grand  and  high, 

A  man  unbadged,  unbonneted,  unbound — 
Walk  to  the  Tropic— to  the  Desert  fly. 

A  full-fraught  Hope  upon  thy  shoulder  leans, 
And  beats  with  thine,  the  heart  of  half  the 
world ; 
Ever  behind  thee  walks  the  shining  Past, 
Before    thee    burns    the    star-stripe,    higU 
unfurled. 


THE  FARMER. 

Full  master  of  the  liberal  soil  he  treads. 
With  none  to  tithe,  to  crop,  to  third  his  beds 
Of  ripely-glowing  fruit  or  yellow  grain — 
He  knows  what  freedom  is ;  undulled  of  pain 
Looks  on  the  sun  and  on  the  wheatfield  looks. 

Each  glad  and  golden  in  the  other's  view  ; 
Or,  on  the  meadow  listening  to  the  sky 

That  bids  its  grasses  thrive  with  starry  dew. 

To  him  there  come  in  such  still  places, 

Undimmed,  majestical  and  fresh  as  life. 
The  elder  forms,  the  antique  mighty  faces 

Which  shone  in  council,  stood  aloft  in  strife — 
When  went  the  battle,  billowy,  past ; 

When  high  the  standard  to  the  sky  was  raised ; 
When  rushed  the  horsemen  with  the  rushing 
blast, 

And  the  red  sword  through  shrouded  valleys 
blazed. 


MAN  m  THE  REPUBLIC. 


155 


When  Cities  rising  shake  th'  Atlantic  shore — 

Thou  mighty  Inland,  calm  with  plenteous 
peace, 
Oh  temper  and  assuage  the  wild  uproar, 

And  bring  the  sick,  vexed  masses  balmy  ease. 
On  their  red  vision  like  an  angel  gleam. 

And  angel-like  be  heard  amid  their  cries 
Till  they  are  stilled  as  is  the  summer's  stream, 

Majestical  and  still  as  summer  skies. 

When  cloud-like  whirling  through  the  stormy 
State 

Fierce  Revolutions  rush  in  wild-orbed  haste, 
On  the  still  highway  stay  their  darkling  course. 

And  soothe  with  gentle  airs  their  fiery  breast; 
Slaking  the  anger  of  their  chariot-wheels 

In  the  cool  flowings  of  the  mountain  brook. 
While  from  the  cloud  the  heavenward  prophet 
casts 

His  mantle's  peace,  and  shines  his  better  look. 

Better  to  watch  the  live-long  day 

The  clouds  that  come  and  go 
Wearying  the  heaven  they  idle  through. 
And  fretting  out  its  everlasting  blue — 

Than  prowl  through  streets  and  sleep   in 
hungry  dens 
The  beast   should  own,  though  known  and 

named  as  men's ; 
Though  sadness  on  the  woods  may  often  lie. 

And,  wither  to  a  waste  the  meadowy  land — 
Pure  blows  the  air — and  purer  shines  the  sky. 

For  nearer  always  to  Heaven's  gate  ye  stand  ! 


VI. 


THE  MECHANIC. 

O,  WHEN  thou  walkest  by  the  river's  brink. 

Thy  bulky  figure  outlined  in  the  wave. 
Or,  on  thine  adze-staff  resting,  'neath  the  ship 
Thy  strokes  have  shaped,  or  hear'st  thou 
loud  and  brave 
The  clangor  of  the  boastful  forge — Think  not 
To  strength  of  limb,  to  sinews  large  and  tough. 
Are  givenrightsmasterless  and  vantage-proof. 
The  sad,  pale  scholar  and  his  puny  hand 
Idling  his  thoughts  upon  the  idle  sand, 
May  not  possess  as  full :   oh,  maddened,  drink 

not 
With  greedy  ear  what  selfish  Passion  pours  : 
His  a  sway  peculiar  is,  no  less  than  yours. 

The  inner  world  is  his ;  the  outer  thine — 
(And  both  are  God's) — a  world,  maiden  and 
new. 
To  shape  and  finish  forth,  of  iron  and  wood, 
_  Of  rock  and  brass,  to  fashion,  mould  and 

hew — 
In  countless  cunning  forms  to  re-create — 
Till  the  great  Grod  of  order  shall  proclaim 
it  "  Good  I" 
Proportioned  fair,  as  in  its  first  estate. 


Let  consecrate,  whate'er  it  strikes,  each  blow — 
From  the  small  whisper  of  the  tinkling  smith, 

Up  to  the  big-voiced  sledge  that  heaving  slow 
Roars  'gainst  the  massy  bar,  and  tears 
Its  entrail,  glowing,  as  with  angry  teeth — 

Anchors  that  hold  a  world  should  thus-wise 
grow. 

In  the  First  Builder's  gracious  spirit  work. 
Through  hall,  through  enginery,  and  temples 

meek. 
In  grandeur  towered,  or  lapsing,  beauty-sleek, 

Let  order  and  creative  fitness  shine  : 
Though  mountains  are  no  more  to  rear. 
Though  woods  may  rise  again  no  more  ; 

The  noble  task  to  re-produce  is  thine  ! 

The  spreading  branch — the  firm-set  peak  may 
live 

With  thee,  and  in  thy  well-sped  labors  thrive. 

The  untried  forces  of  the  air,  the  earth,  the  sea, 

Wait  at  thy  bidding :  oh,  compel  their  powers 
To  uses  holy  !     Let  them  ever  be 

Servants  to  tend  and  bless  these  new-found 
bowers ; 
And  make  them  household  workers,  free  and 
swift, 

On  daily  use — on  daily  service  bent : 
Her  face  again  old  Eden  may  uplift. 

And  Grod  look  down  the  open  firmament. 


VII. 
THE  MERCHANT. 

Who  gathers  income  in  the  narrow  street. 
Or,  climbing,  reaps  it  from  the  roughening 
sea — 
His  anchor  Truth  should  fix — should  fill  his 
flowing  sheet, 
His  weapon,  helm  and  staff  the  Truth  should 
be. 
Wrought  out  with  lies  each  rafter  of  thine  house, 
Black  with  the  falsehood  every  thread  thou 
wearest — 
A  subtle  ruin,  sudden  overthrow, 
For  all  thy  household's  fortune  thou  preparest. 

Undimmed  the  man  should  through  the  trader 
shine, 

And  show  the  soul  unbabied  by  his  craft : 
Slight  duties  may  not  lessen  but  adorn. 

The  cedar's  berries  round  the  cedar's  shaft. 
The  pettiest  act  will  lift  the  doer  up. 

The  mightiest  cast  him  swift  and  headlong 
down; 
If  one  forget  the  spirit  of  his  deed. 

The  other  wears  it  as  a  living  crown. 

A  grace,  be  sure,  in  all  true  duty  dwells  ; 

Humble  or  high,  you  always  know  it  thus, 
For  beautiful  in  act,  the  foregone  thought 

Confirms  its  truth  though  seeming-ominous. 


r 


156^ 


MAN  IN  THE  REPUBLIC. 


Pure  hands  and  just,  may  therefore,  well  be  laid 
On  duties  daily  as  the  air  we  breathe  ; 

And  Heaven  amid  the  thorns  of  harshest  Trade 
The  laurel  of  its  gentlest  love  may  wreathe. 


VIII. 
THE  SOLDIER. 

With  grounded  arms,  and  silent  as  the  moun- 
tains, 

Pause  for  thy  quarrel  at  the  marbled  sea  : 
And,  when  comes  the  ship  o'er  the  curled  wave 
bounding. 

Remember  that  a  brother  jn  a  foe  may  be. 
Thy  battles  are  not  wars  but  self-defences, 

Girding  this  Universal  Home  about — 
Least  lion-wrong  and  subtle-fanged  pretences 

Pierce  to  its  heart  and  let  the  life-hope  out. 

Though  sleeps  the  war-blade  in  the  amorous 
sheath. 
And    the    dumb    cannon    stretches  at  his 
leisure — 
When  strikes  the  shore  a  hostile  foot — out- 
breathe 
Ye  grim,  loud  guns — ye  fierce  swords  work 
your  pleasure ! 
And  sternly,  in  your  stubborn  socket  set, 
For  life  or  death— your  hilt  upon  the  stead- 
fast land. 
Your  glance  upon  the  foe,  thou  sure-set  bayonet. 
Firm  'gainst  a  world's  shock  in  your  fast- 
ness stand ! 

This,  this,  remember  still,  thou  son  of  war — 

The  child  of  peace  within  his  doorway  seated 
Thine  equal  is — though  beats  the  luring  drum 
afar, 
Or  flies  the  meteor  column,  battle-heated. 
Lo,  in  the  calmness  of  that  silent  man, 

And    in    the    peaceful  sky-arch  o'er    him 
bending, 
A  pure  repose — a  more  triumphal  span 

Than  sees  the  death-field  'mid  its  storms 
ascending. 


IX. 


THE  STATESMAN. 

Up  to  the  Capitol  who  goes,  a  heart 

Should  bear,  state  tyranny  may  not  subdue  : 
Wakening  at  dawn  to  fill  its  ample  part. 

It,  ever,  day  by  day,  grows  fresh  and  new. 
Nor  sleeps  through  the  mid-watches  of  the  night, 

Though  there  the  thankless  world  has  left 
its  smart — 
Without  some  visions,  beckoning  and  bright, 

That  make  him  gladly  to  his  bedside  start. 


Accursed  who  on  the  Mount  of  Rulers  sits 

Nor  gains  some  glimpses  of  a  fairer  day ! 
Who  knows  not  there,  what  there  his  soul  befits. 

Thoughts  that  leap  up  and  kindle  far  away 
The  coming  time  !     Who  rather  dulls  the  ear 

With  brawling  discord  and  a  cloud  of  words ; 
Owning  no  hopeful  object,  far  or  near, 

Save  what  the  universal  self  affords. 

He  that  with  sway  of  empire  would  control 

The  various  millions,  parted  or  amassed. 
Should  hold  in  bounteous  fee,  an  ample  soul — 

Equal  the  first  to  know,  nor  less  the  last. 
At  once  whose  general  eye  surveys  as  well 

The  rank  or  desert  waste — the  golden  field ; 
Whose  feet  the  mountain  and  the  valley  tread. 

Nor  ever  to  the  trials  of  the  way  wiU  yield. 

Deeper  to  feel,  than  quickly  to  express — 

And  then  alone  in  the  consummate  act — 
Reaps  not  the  ocean,  nor  the  free  air  tills. 

But  keeps  within  his  own  peculiar  tract : 
Confirms  the  State  in  all  its  needful  right, 

Nor    strives  to    draw    within    its    general 
bound — 
For  gain  or  loss,  for  glory  or  distress. 

The  rich  man's  hoard,  the  poor  man's  patchy 
ground. 

Strip  from  the  trunk  that  props  the  empire  up. 

All  weeds,  all  flowers  that  hide  the  simple 
shaft : 
Plain  as  the  heavens  and  pure  as  mid-day  light 

Swell  up  its  ample  cope  :   nor  there  ingraft 
A  single  leaf  nor  draw  a  single  line 

To  daze  the  eye,  to  coax  the  grasper's  hand ; 
Simple  it  rose — so  simple  let  it  rise — 

For  ever,  changeless  simple  let  it  stand ! 


X. 

THE  FRIEND. 

In  fortune,  quality  and  temper  mated — 
Let  spirit,  spirit  choose — each  suited  best 
To  th'  other's  moving  mind  or  mind  at  rest ; 

In  kinship  nearer  than  red  blood  related. 

No  castled  shadow  falls  upon  the  heart, 

Darkening  two  faces  each  turned  unto  the 

other. 
No  lowly  roof  shuts  in  or  out  the  heart's 
true  brother : 
Life  deals  to  each,  with  egual  chance,  an  equal 
part.  f;^ 

With  mutualtalk— of  kingdoms  past  and  gone, 
Of   Rome   republic-strong,   and  emperored 

Rome, 
Of  "Venice  in  her  heart-struck  days  of  doom- 
Old  Israel  pure,  and  scarlet  Babylon ; 

Of  muniments  to  guard  a  free-born  State, 
And  ships  built  proof  against  the  world's 
worst  shock, 


MAN  IN  THE  REPUBLIC. 


157 


Of  battles  won,  white-handed  peace  to  rock 
The  coming  age, — they  share  a  mutual  fate. 

Sweet  is  the  counsel  of  two  noble  souls ! 

Where  sleeps  no  lie  of  thought  with  art 
concealed 

Beneath  the  blood,  nor  in  the  face  revealed : 
Friendship  goes  oftenest  down  on  secret  shoals  ! 


XL 
THE  PAINTER. 

A  SPIRIT  moving  through  the  Universe, 

On  Heaven's  errand  or  his  own  Nature's 
pure  behest, 

"Would  feed  the  beauty  of  his  living  wings 
On  the  free  air,  and  on  the  sunset  bright 

And  on  the  dawning  morn  ;  should  a  later  quest 
Detain  him  far  through  the  heart  of  night. 
Some  darker  tints  might  creep  across  the  light, 

Or  a  chill  splendor,  of  the  moonbeams  born, 

Dying  in  gloom  or  wakening  into  morn. 

Lighting  by  chance  amid  the  haunts  of  men — 
Though  yearning  to  get  purely  forth  again — 
Their  dusty  shouts  would  not  sully,  but  renew 
Rather,  the  glory  when  it  had  wandered  through. 
To  pause  beneath  a  mountain,  should  he  choose. 
Its    shadows  would  be   portion  of  the  many 
hues : — 
And,  up  returning  to  his  hearth-sky  post. 
And,    dwelling,    once    again,    within    his 
native  coast. 
The  mountain  and  the  sea,  the  setting  sun. 
The  storm,  the  face  of  men,  and  the  calm  moon 
Would  live  again  upon  the  pictured  vans  and 
in  the  glowing  crest 
Of  that  High  Spirit,  moving  or  at  rest. 

Be,  thou,  oh  Painter,  various,  pure  and  free. 

As    Heaven's  boundless   and  wide-winged 

"  minister : 

Moving  abroad,  thy  spirit  let  confer 
With  whispering   beauty,  born  of  Earth,  of 

Air  or  Sea. 
Look  on  the  earth  that  breaks  about  thy  feet. 

In  valleys  and  in  mountains  starry : 
Look  on  the  woods,  amid  whose  colored  bowers. 

The  dark  bright  seasons,  else  departed,  tarry. 
See  Heaven  shining  through  the  pale  blue  sky 

On  some  fair  day  of  dreamy  summer, 
Smiling  upon  a  gentle  hour  just  dead. 

Or  kindling  welcome  for  a  gentler  comer. 

Are  there  no  spirits,  kin  to  light  and  beauty, 
Springing  to  cheer  these  sweet  and  suited 
haunts  ? 
Faces  of  love  and  forms  of  eldest  duty, 

Which,    unexpressed,    the    soul    thereafter 
pants  ? 
Fill  tliou,  the  mansion  of  thy  Father-land 
With  hues  to  gladden  in  its  hours  of  need. 
With  glihcing  shapes  that  every  fairness 
breed. 
And  pour  a  larger  life  from  thy  creative  hand  ! 


xn. 

THE  SCULPTOR. 

Leap  up  into  the  light,  ye  living  Forms ! 

And  plant  'mid  men  your  birthright  feet ; 
Angry  and  fierce  as  the  maned  thunder's  storms, 

And  as  the  lightning  beautiful  and  fleet. 
Of  quick    and   thoughtful   souls    the    truest 
thoughts. 

Born  of  the  marble  at  Heaven's  happy  hour — 
Ye  blessed  Realities  !  who  strike  the  doubts 

Begot  of  speech,  dumb,  with  your  better 
power. 

Human  and  life-like  with  no  sense  of  pain. 
Come  forth,  crowned  heroes  of  the  early  age, 
Chieftain  and  soldier,  senator  and  sage — 

Benignant,  wise  and  brave  again  ! 
Would  the  soul  clothe  itself  in  elder  gloom — 

Let  stand  upon  the  cliflf  and  in  the  shadowy 
grove. 
The  tawny  ancient  of  the  warrior  race, 
With  dusky  limb  and  flushing  face. 
Diffusing  Autumn  through  the  stilly  place— 

For  battle  stern,  or  soothed  for  love. 

Or  should  a  spirit  of  a  larger  scope 
Seek  to  express  itself  in  sacred  stone : 

Cast,  life-long,  on  the  mountain-slope 
Or  seat  upon  the  starry  mountain-cone, 

Colossal  and  resigned,  the  gloomy  gods 

Eying  at  large  their  lost  abodes. 

Towering  and  swart  and  knit  in  every  limb, 
With  brows  on  which  the  tempest  lives. 
With  eyes  wherein  the  past  survives  ; 

Gloomy  and  battailous  and  grim. 

Think  not  too  much  what  other  climes  have 
done. 
What  otlier  ages :  with  painful  following, 
weary. 
Each  step  thou  takest  darkens  thy  natural  sun. 
And  makes  thy  coming  course,  thy  by-gone, 
dreary. 
Let  the  soul  in  thee  lift  its  awful  front, 

Facing  the  Universe  that  stands  before  it ; 
Beaten  by  day  and  night  and  tempests'  brunt, 
All  shapes — all  glorious  passions  shall  cross 
o'er  it. 
Forth  from  their  midst  some  forms  will  leap 

That  other  souls  have  never  disencumbered, 
And  up  shall  spring  through  all  the  broad-set 
land. 
The  fair  white  people  of  thy  love  unnumbered. 


xra. 

THE  JOURNALIST. 

As  shakes  the  canvass  of  a  thousand  ships, 

Struck  by  a  heavy  land-breeze,  far  at  sea- 
Ruffle  the  thousand  broad-sheets  of  the  land. 
Filled  with  the  people's  breath  of  potency  ; 


158 


MAN  IN  THE  REPUBLIC. 


A  thousand  images  the  hour  will  take, 
From  him  who  strikes,  who  rules,  who  speaks, 
who  sings ; 

Many  within  the  hour  their  grave  to  make — 
Many  to  live,  far  in  the  heart  of  things. 

A  dark-dyed  spirit  he  who  coins  the  time, 
To  virtue's  wrong,  in  base  disloyal  lies — 

Who  makes  the  morning's  breath,  the  evening's 
tide, 
The  utterer  of  his  blighting  forgeries. 

How  beautiful  who  scatters,  wide  and  free. 
The  gold-bright  seeds  of  loved  and  loving 
truth  ! 

By  whose  perpetual  hand,  each  day,  supplied — 
Leaps  to  new  life  the  empire's  heart  of  youth. 

To  know  the  instant  and  to  speak  it  true. 
Its  passing  lights  of  joy,  its  dark,  sad  cloud. 

To  fix  upon  the  unnumbered  gazers'  view, 
Is  to  thy  ready  hand's  broad  strength  allowed. 

There  is  an  in-wrought  life  in  every  hour. 
Fit  to  be  chronicled  at  large  and  told — ■ 

'Tis  thine  to  pluck  to  light  its  secret  power, 
And  on  the  air  its  many-colored  heart  unfold. 

The  angel  that  in  sand-dropped  minutes  lives. 
Demands  a  message  cautious  as  the  ages — 

Who  stuns,  with  dusk-red  words  of  hate,  his  ear. 
That  mighty  power  to  boundless  wrath 
enrages. 

Hell  not  the  quiet  of  a  Chosen  Land, 

Thou  grimy  man  over  thine  engine  bendins: ; 

The  spirit  pent  that  breathes  the  life  into  its 
limbs. 
Docile  for  love  is  tyrannous  in  rending.  * 

Obey,  Rhinoceros  !  an  infant's  hand. 
Leviathan  !  obey  the  fisher  mild  and  yoting. 

Vexed  Ocean !    smile,  for  on  thy  broad-beat 
sand 
The  little  curlew  pipes  his  shrilly  song. 


XIV. 

THE  MASSES. 

When,  wild  and  high,  the  uproar  swells 
Prom  crowds  that  gather  at  the  set  of  day  ; 
When  square  and  market  roar  in  stormy  play. 
And  fields  of  men,  like  lions,  shake  their  fells 
Of  savage  hair ;  when,  quick  and  deep,  call 
out  the  bells 

Through  all  the  lower  Heaven  ringing. 
As  if  an  earthquake's  shock 
The  city's  base  should  rock, 
And  set  its  troubled  turrets  singing  : — 
Remember,  Men !  on  massy  strength  relying, 
There  is  a  heart  of  right 
Not  always  open  to  the  light. 
Secret  and  still  and  force-defying. 


In  vast  assemblies  calm,  let  order  rule, 
And,  every  shout  a  cadence  owning, 
Make  musical  the  vexed  wind's  moaning, 

And  be  as  little  children  at  a  singing-school. 

But,  when,  thick  as  night,  the  sky  is  crusted  o'er. 
Stifling  life's  pulse  and  making  Heaven  an 
idle  dream. 
Arise  !  and  cry,  up  through  the  dark,  to  God's 
own  throne : 
Your  faces  in  a  furnace  glow, 
Your  arms  uplifted  for  the  death-ward  blow — 
Fiery  and  prompt  as  au2;ry  angels  show  ; 
Then  draw  the  brand  and  fire  the  thunder-gun  ! 
Be  nothing  said  and  all  things  done  ! 
Till  every  cobwebbed  corner  of  the  common- 
weal 
Is  shaken  free,  and,  creeping  to  its  scabbard 
back  the  steel,  ..^ 

Let's  shine  again  God's  rightful  sun  ! 


XV. 

THE  REFORMER. 

Man  of  the  Future  !   on  the  eager  headland 
standing. 
Gazing  far  off"  into  the  outer  sea. 
Thine  eye,  the  darkness  and  the  billows  rough 
commanding. 
Beholds  a  shore,  bright  as  the  Heaven  itself 

may  be; 
Where    temples,  cities,   homes  and  haunts 

of  men. 
Orchards  and  fields  spread  out  in  orderly 
array. 
Invite  the  yearning  soul  to  thither  flee. 
And  there  to  spend  in  boundless  peace  its 
happier  day, 

By  passion  and  the  force  of  earnest  throught. 
Borne  up  and  platformed  at  a  height. 

Where  'gainst  thy  feet  the  force  of  earth  and 
heaven  are  brought ; 

Yet,  so  into  the  frame  of  empire  wrought. 
Thou,  stout  man,  can'st  not  thence  be  severed, 

Till  ruled  and  rulers,  fiends  or  men,  are  taught 
And  feel  the  truths  by  thee  delivered. 

Seize  by  its  horns  the  shaggy  Past, 

Full  of  uncleanness  ;   Heave  with  mountain 

cast. 
Its  carcase  down  the  black  and  wide  abyss — 
That  opens  day  and  night  its  gulfy  precipice, 
By  faded  empires,  projects  old  and  dead 
For  ever  in  its  noisy  hunger  fed  : 

Bat  rush  not,  therefore,  with  a  brutish  blindness 
Against  the  'stablished  bulwarks  of  the  world; 

Kind  be  thyself  although  unkindness 

Thy  race  to  ruin  dark  and  suff'ering  long, 
has  hurled. 

For  many  days  of  light,  and  smootn  repose, 
Twixt  storm  and  weathery  sadness  inter- 
vene— 


MAN  IN  THE  REPUBLIC. 


169 


Tliy  course  is  Nature's ;  on  thy  triumph  flows, 
Assured,  like  hers,   though   noiseless   and 
serene. 

"Wake  not  at  midnight  and  proclaim  the  day, 
When  lightning  only  flashes  o'er  the  way : 
Pauses  and  starts  and  strivings  towards  an  end, 
Are  not  a  birth,  although  a  god's  birth  they 
portend. 
Be  patient  therefore  like  the  old  broad  earth 
That  bears  the  guilty  up,  and  through  the 
night 

Conducts  them  gently  to  the  dawning  light — 
Thy  silent  hours  shall  have  as  great  a  birth  ! 


XVI. 

THE  POOR  MAN. 

Free  paths  and  open  tracts  about  us  lie, 
'Gainst  Fortune's  spite,  though  deadliest  to 
undo  : 

On  him  who  droops  beneath  the  saddest  sky, 
Hopes  of  a  better  time  must  flicker  through. 

No  yoke  that  evil  hours  would  on  him  lay, 
Can  bow  to  earth  his  unreturning  look ; 

The  ample  fields  through  which  he  plods  his  way 
Are  but  his  better  Fortune's  open  book. 

hough  the  dark  smithy's  stains  becloud  his 

brow, 
His  limbs  the  dank  and  sallow  dungeon  claim ; 
The  forge's  light  may  take  the  halo's  glow, 
An  angel  knock  the  fetters  from  his  frame. 

In  deepest  needs  he  never  should  forget 

The  patient  Triumph  that  beside  him  walks. 

Waiting  the  hour,  to  earnest  labor  set. 

When,  face  to  face,  his  merrier  Fortune  talks. 

Plant  in  thy  breast  a  measureless  content. 
Thou  Poor   Man,  cramped  with    want   or 
racked  with  pain. 
Good  Providence,  on  no  harsh  purpose  bent. 
Has  brought  thee  there,  to  lead  thee  back 
again. 

No  other  bondage  is  upon  thee  cast        [hand ; 

Save  that  wrought  out  by  thine  own  erring 
By  thine  own  act,  alone,  thine  image  placed — 

Poorest  or  President,  choose  thou  to  stand. 

A  man — a  man  through  all  thy  trials  show  ! 

Thy  feet  against  a  soil  that  never  yielded 
Other  than  life,  to  him  that  struck  a  rightful  blow 

In  shop  or  street,  warring  or  peaceful-fielded ! 


XVII. 

THE  SCHOLAR. 

Bosomed  in  peace  and  far  apart  from  crowds — 
Who  sits  till  hands  grow  wan  and  eyes  grow 

dim. 
Pausing  his  pulse  and  stirring  not  a  limb. 
Though  paling  fast  toward  the  dead  man's 
shrouds?   . 


'Tis  thou,    'tis  thou — thou  foolish    scholar's 

heart —  [flows, 

Forgetting  round  thee  what  a  world  there 

How,  ever  in  and  out,  its  mighty  eddy  goes — 

And  yet  thou  sittest  on  its  edge,  so  still,  apart. 

Who  thinks  that  dull  dead  books  have  deepest 
life. 

Calls  them  by  names  of  awed  delight  or 
gladness,  [ness. 

With  one  or  other  argues  with  a  joyful  mad- 
And  with  the  tidiest  pillows  for  a  wife  ? 
Oh,  thou  poor,  idle  moon-struck  heart  of  youth — 

Has  the  keen  air  no  better  wit  brought  to  thee  j 

This  folly  m  this  land  will  sure  undo  thee — 
In  spite  of  nobleness  and  worth,  of  gentlest  truth ! 

Go  cast  these  follies  in  the  barren  sea  : 
Seal  up,  for  ever  seal,  the  hateful  leaves. 
And  turn  thine  eyes  where  light  no  more 
bereaves  [free. 

Their  orbs,  and  lift  thine  arms  up  strong  and 

Awaj^,  away  all  gentle  thoughts  shall  glide, 
All  happiest  fancies  night  or  morning  born; — 
It  may  be  thou  wil't  feel  awhile  forlorn. 

And  drop,  one  day,  unmissed,  beneath  the 
hurrying  tide ! 


XVIII. 
THE  PREACHER. 

Ever  aslant  the  sky  behold  a  shape, 

Leaning  at  length  upon  the  mastered  air ! 
,Man-like  in  form  and  yet  divinely  fair, 

About  his  head  a  golden  glory  glows. 

And  fair  as  morning  every  feature  shows. 
His  feet  are  toward  the  earth,  and  upward 
thrown 

His  stretched  and  yearning  arms  appeal  to  Gk)d ; 

With  God  he  talks^^at^  that  far  height— with 
God  alone. ~.,.. 

Athwart  all  troubles  of  the  day  or  night  or 

clouds,  [tempest's  shrouds — 

Athwart  eclipse  of  sun  or  moon,  or  the  dun 

Behold  that  radiant  figure  streaming, 

"^  'Twixt  Earth  and  Heaven,  and  Heaven  and 

Earth,  [infant  at  its  birth. 

An  angel  mighty-T-meek  as  the  swathed    J 

All  the  mid-region  from  its  gloom  redeeming. 

»Tis  Christ,  't  is  sacred  Christ  who  there  is 

beaming.  [pie-wall 

Oh,  ye  who  sentried  stand  upon  the  tem- 

Holy,  and  nearer  to  the  glor5''s  golden  fall — 

Moottrlike  possess  and  shed  at  large  its  rays — 
The  wide  world  knitting  in  a  web  of  light,     ^ 
Whose  every  thread  the  gladd'ning  truth    . 
makes  bright ;  /»/ 

Peace,  love  and  universal  brotherhood,  / 

Good  will  to  man  and  faith  in  God  the  good.. 
Withered  be  he,  the  false  one  of  the  brood. 
Who,  husbandman  of  evil,  scatters  strife, 
Brambling  and  harsh,  upon  the  field  of  life  : 
But  deeper  cursed  whose  secret  hand 


160 


MAN  m  THE  REPUBLIC. 


Plucks  on  to  doom  the  safeguards  of  the  land, 
Freedonij  and  civil  forms  and  sacred  Rights 
That  conscience  owns  :  he,  conscience-stung, 
•who  plights 
His  voice  'gainst  these,  should  sheer-down  fall 
From  off  the  glory  of  the  temple-wall, 
Smitten  by  God  as  false  to  truth  and  love 
And  all  the  sacred  links  that  bind  the  heavens 
above 
And  man  beneath :  a  withered  Paul, 
.  Apostleless,  beyond  recall ! 

Rather,  with  blessings  and  the  bonds  of  life 
Let  Heaven's  good  workman  bind  together 

The  house  that  roofs  us  on  this  dear,  dear  plot 
of  earth. 
An  arbor  in  the  genial  sun, 
A  stronghold  in  the  tyrannous  weather  : 

Kindly  and  loving  brothren  every  one. 
All  equal — all  alike  who  thither  tend. 
Where  all  may  dwell  together  without  end — 

And  as  our  course  must  be,  so  let  it  be  begun. 

But  shrink  not,  therefore,  from  the  coward  age. 

That  shows,  in  mockery  shows,  its  hideous 

face  at  times,  [sabbath-chimes  ; 

And  crosses  with  its  cursed  din   the  very 

0,  smite  and  buffet  with  a  holy  rage 
Its  brassy  cheeks  and  brow  of  icy  coldness — 
Dash  and  confound  it  with  the  storm-cloud's 
boldness  [trembles. 

That  frowns  and  speaks  till  every  house-roof 
And  face  to  face  no  more  dissembles 
The  God-fear  coiled  within  the  crusted  heart ! 
Brandish  the  truth  and  let  its  four-edged  dart 
Cut  to  the  quick,and,  cut  through  every  armor. 
Unbosom  to  the  light  the  Satan-charmer  ! 

Ye  holy  Voices  sphered  in  middle  air ! 
Lower  than  angels,  nor  as  they  so  fair. 
Yet  quiring    God's    behest  with    truth    and 
power —    ' 
Pitch  your  blest  speech,  or  high  or  low. 
That  angels  may  its  language  own  and  know. 
Through  the  round  Heaven  to  which  it  rises. 
And  ever  on  the  earth  may  fall  in  glad  surprises. 
The  spring-sweet  music  of  a  sudden  shower. 
Heaven  shall  bless  thee  and  the  earth  shall 
bless. 
And  up  through  the  close,  dark  death-hour 
thou  shall  spring  [wing — 

With  fragrant  parting,  and  heaven-cleaving 
To  ask,  nor  ask  in  vain,  thy  Christ's  caress  ! 


XIX. 
THE  POET. 

The  mighty  heart  that  holds  the  world  at  full, 
Lodging  in  one  embrace  the  father  and  the 

child, 
The  toiler,  reaper,  sufferer,  rough  or  mild. 

All  kin  of  earth,  can  rightly  ne'er  grow  dull ; 

For  on  it  tasks,  in  this  late  age,  are  laid 
That  stir  its  pulses  at  a  thousand  points  j 

Its  ruddy  haunts  a  thousand  hopes  invade, 


And  Fear  runs  close  to  smutch  what  Hope 
anoints. 
On  thee,  the  mount,  the  valley  and  the  sea. 
The  forge,  the  field,  the  household  call  on  thee. 

Men — bountiful  as  trees  in  every  field, 

Men — striving  each,  a  separate  billow,  to  be 
seen. 
Men — to  whose  eyes  a  later  truth  revealed 

Dazzling,  cry  outm  anguish  quick  and  keen. 
Ask  to  be  championed  in  their  newborn  thoughts, 

To  have  an  utterance  adequate  and  bold — 
Ask  that  the  age's  duU  sepulchral  stone 

Back  from  their  Saviour's  burial-place  be 
rolled : 
All  pressing  to  be  heard — all  lay  on  thee 
Their  cause,  and  make  their  love  the  joyful  fee. 

There  sits  not  in  the  wildernesses'  edge. 

In  the  dusk  lodges  of  the  wintry  North, 
Nor  crouches  in  the  rice-field's  slimy  sedge — 

Nor  on  the  cold,  wide  waters  ventures  forth — 
Who  waits  not  in  the  pauses  of  his  toil. 

With  hope  that  spirits  in  the  air  may  sing; 
Who  upward  turns  not,  at  propitious  times. 

Breathless,  his  silent  features  listening  :    ,: 
In  desert  and  in  lodge,  on  marsh  and  main, 
To  feed  his  hungry  heart  and  conquer  pain.' 

To  strike  or  bear,  to  conquer  or  to  yield, 

Teach  thou !  O,  topmost  crown  of  duty,  teach 
What  fancy  whispers  to  the  listening  ear. 

At  hours,  when  tongue  nor  taint  of  care  im- 
peach 
The  fruitful  calm  of  greatly  silent  hearts ; 

When  all  the  stars  for  happy  thought  are  set. 
And,  in  the  secret  chambers  of  the  soul. 

All  blessed  powers  of  joyful  truth  are  met. 
Though    calm   and  garlandless  thou  may'st 

appear. 
The  world  shall  know  thee  for  its  crowned  seer. 

Mirth  in  an  open  eye  may  sit  as  well. 

As  sadness  in  a  close  and  sober  face  : 
In  thy  broad  welcome  both  may  fitly  dwell. 

Nor  jostle  either  from  its  nestling-place. 
Tears,  free  as  showers,  to  thee  may  come  as 
blessed. 

As  smiling,  of  the  happy  sunshine  born. 
And  cloaked-up  trouble,  in  his  turn,  caressed 

Be  taught  to  look  a  little  less  forlorn ; 
Thy  heart-gates,  mighty,  open  either  way. 
Come  they  to  feast  or  go  they  forth  to  pray. 

Gather  all  kindreds  of  this  boundless  realm 

To  speak  a  common  tongue  in  thee !  Be  thou — 
Heart,  pulse,  and  voice,   whether  pent  hate 
o'erwhelm 

The  stormy  speech  or  young  love  whisper  low. 
Cheer  them,  immitigable  battle-drum  ! 

Forth,  truth-mailed,  to  the  old  unconquered 
field—  . 
And  lure  them  gently  to  a  laurelled  home. 

In  notes  softer  than  lutes  or  viols  yield. 
Fill  all  the  stops  of  life  with  tuneful  breath, 
Closing  their  lids,  bestow  a  dirge-like  death  J 


WAKONDAH,  THE  MASTER  OF  LIFE. 


"  We  have  already  noticed  the  superstitious  feelings  with  which  the  Indians  regarded  the 
Black  Hills;  but  this  immense  range  of  mountains  (the  Chippewyan  or  Rocky  Mountains) 
which  divides  all  that  they  know  of  the  world  and  gives  birth  to  such  mighty  rivers,  is  still 
more  an  object  of  awe  and  veneration.  They  call  it,  "  The  Crest  of  the  World,"  and  think 
that  Wakondah  or  the  Master  of  Life,  as  they  designate  the  Supreme  Being,  has  his  residence 
among  these  aerial  heights." — Astoria,  Vol.  I.,  p.  265. 


^  f^t 


WAKONDAH,  THE  MASTER  OF  LIFE. 


[The  following  stanzas  are  to  be  received  as 
the  incomplete  (and,  no  doubt,  very  imperfect), 
fragment  of  a  work,  which  opportunity  and  a 
mood,  equal  to  what  seems  to  tlie  author  the 
requirements  of  the  subject,  could  alone  con- 
clude. This  portion  is  published,  with  the  hope 
that  the  author  might  feel  himself,  in  its  further 
progress,  borne  forward  by  something  of  the 
friendly  impulse  that  grows  from  favor,  and 
should  not  turn  back,  heart-smitten,  to  find  that 
his  was  the  only  eye  which  dwelt  with  cheerful 
regard  upon  the  ample  look-out  of  its  Future.] 

I. 

The  Moon  ascends  the  vaulted  sky  to-night ; 
With  a  slow  motion  full  of  pomp  ascends, 
;But  mightier  than  the  Moon  that  o'er  it  bends 
A  JForm  is  dwelling  on  the  mountain  height 
^That  boldly  intercepts  the  struggling  light —   _ 
With  darkness  nobler  than  the  planet's  fire  : 
A  gloom  and  dreadful  grandeur  that  aspire 
To  miatch  the  cheerful  Heaven's  far-shining 
might. 

n. 

Great  God  !  how  fearful  to  the  gazing  eye  ! 
Behold  the  bow  that  o'er  his  shoulder  hangs, 
But  ah !  winged  with  what  agonies  and  pangs 

Must  arrows  from  its  sounding  bow-string  fly  ;— 

An  arc  of  death  and  warfare  in  the  sky. 

He  plants  a  spear  upon  the  rock  that  clangs 
Like  thunder ;  and  a  blood-red  token  hangs, 

A  death-dawn,  on  its  point  aspiring  high. 

HI. 

Upon  his  brow  a  garland  of  the  woods  he  wears, 
A  crown  of  oak  leaves  broader  than  their  wont; 
Above  his  dark  eye  waves  and  dims  its  brunt — 

Its  feathers  darker  than  a  thousand  Fears — 

A  cruel  eagle's  plume  :    High,  high  it  rears, 
Nor  ever  did  the  bird's  rash  youth  surmount 
A  pitch  of  power  like  that  o'ershadowed  front 

On  which  the  plume  its  storm-like  station  bears. 

IV. 

Filled  with  the  glory  thus  above  him  rolled — 
How  would  some  Chinook  wandering  through 

the  night 
In  cedern  helm  and  elk-skin  armor  dight 
Be  pierced  with  blank  amazement  dumb  and 
cold : 


How,   fear-struck,    scan    the   Spirit's    awful 
mould ; — 
The  gloomy  front,  the  death-dispelling  eye, 
And  bulk  that  swallows  up  the  sea-blue  sky — 

Tall  as  the  unconcluded  tower  of  old. 

V. 

Transcendant  Shape  !   But  hark,  for  lo  a  sound 
Like  that  of  rivers  and  of  mingled  winds 
Through  forests  raging  'till  the  tumult  finds 

Or  makes  an  outlet  free  from  hedge  or  bound, — 

Breaks  from  the  Holder  of  the  mountain-ground. 
Oh,  listen  sadly  to  the  urgent  cry  ! — " 
No  mightier  shadow  of  a  strength  gone  by 

Through  the  whole  perishable  Earth  is  found. 

VI. 

The  Spirit  lowers  and  speaks  :  "  Tremble  ye 
wild  Woods  ! 
Ye  Cataracts  !  your  organ-voices  sound  ! 
Beep  Crags,  in  earth  by  massy  tenures  bound. 
Oh,  Earthquake,  level  flat !     The  peace  that 

broods 
Above  this  world  and  steadfastly  eludes 

Your  power,  howl  Winds  and  break ; — the 

peace  that  mocks 
Dismay  'mid  silent  streams  and  voiceless 
rocks — 
Through  wildernesses,  cliflfs  and  solitudes. 

VIL 

"  Night-shadowed  Rivers — lift  your  dusky  hands 
And  clap  them  harshly  with  a  sullen  roar ! 
Ye  thousand  Pinnacles  and  Steeps  deplore 

The  glory  that  departs !     Above  you  stands 

Ye  Lakes  with  azure  waves  and  snowy  strands, 
A  Power  that  utters  forth  his  loud  behest 
Till  mountain,  lake  and  river  shall  attest 

The  puissance  of  a  Master's  large  commands !" 

VIII. 

So  spake  the  Spirit,  with  a  wide-cast  look 
Of  bounteous  power  and  cheerful  majesty  ; 
As  if  he  caught  a  sight  of  either  sea 

And  all  the  subject  realm  between : — Then  shooJc 

His  brandished  arms,  his  stature  scarce  could 
brook, 
Its  confine  ;  swelling  wide,  it  seemed  to  grow 
As  grows  a  cedar  on  a  mountain's  brow 

By  the  mad  air  in  niflling  breezes  took. 


164 


WAXONDAH ;  THE  MASTER  OF  LIFE. 


IX. 

The  woods  are  deaf  and  will  not  be  aroused — 
The  mountains  are  asleep,  they  hear  him  not, 
Nor  from  deep-founded  silence  can  be  wrought, 

Tho' herded  bison  on  their  steeps  have  browsed : 

Beneath  their  banks  in  darksome  stillness  housed 
The  rivers  loiter  like  a  calm-bound  sea ; 
In  anchored  nuptials  to  dumb  apathy 

Cliff,  wilderness,  and  solitude,  are  spoused. 


Then  shone  afar  Wakondah's  dreadful  eyes, 
With  fire  and  lurid  splendor,  like  the  stars 
That  dazzle  earth  belolding  them ; — the  wars 

That  noble  spirits  wage  with  enemies. 

Flash  in  his  aspect  through  its  cloudy  guise ; — 
His  tower-high  stature  quakes  in  all  its  parts, 
And  from  his  brow  a  mighty  sorrow  starts — 

A  sorrow  mightier  than  the  midnight  skies. 

XI. 

«  Oh,  wherefore  tremble  ?    Wherefore  should 
I  fear 
Because  these  creatures  now,  by  chance, 
are  dumb, 

"  Nor  longer  to  my  bidding  with  obeisance  come; 

As  when,  in  times  to  startle  and  revere, 

Templed  on  high  within  this  cloudy  sphere. 
With  wondering  worship  of  the  dusky  wood — 
The  quivered  stream,  the  dark-eyed  solitude — 

I  stamped  my  image  on  the  rolling  year. 

XII. 

'*•  At  eve  or  morn  whene'er  I  walked  these  hills 
From  ridge  to  ridge  they  shook,  from  peak 

to  peak ; 
A  thousand  warrior  tribes  that  dare  not  speak 
Lay  in  my  shadow  with  the  awe  that  chills, 
Dumb  with  the  fear  that  boundless  force  instils. 
Wakondah  was  a  god  and  thunderer  then, 
Nor  bent  his  bow  nor  launched  his  shafts  in 
vain — 
Lord  of  each  power  that  terrifies  or  thrills. 

xni. 

"  Your  dark  foundations  felt  my  framing  hand ; 
Nor  can  your  sun-smote  summits  e'er  forget 
By  whom  their  flood-resisting  roots  were  set — 

By  whose  clear  skill  their  skyey  power  was 
planned. 

Through  all  the  borders  of  the  lofty  land — 
Mountains  !     I  call  upon  you  to  attest 
Whose  habitable  wish  upon  your  crest 

Reared  up  his  throne  and  fixed  his  Godhead 
stand. 

XIV. 

HMy  spirit  stretched  itself  from  East  to  West, 
5    With  a  winged  terror  or  a  mighty  joy ; 
And,  when  his  matchless  bow-shafts  would 
annoy, 
I  urged  the  dark  red  hunter  in  his  quest 
Of  pard  or  panther  with  a  gloomy  zest, 


And  while  through  darkling    woods    they 

swiftly  fare — 
Two  seeming  creatures  of  the  oak-shadowed 
air, 
I  sped  the  game  and  fired  the  follower's  breast. 

XV. 

«  Outsounding  with  my  thunder  thy  loud  vaunt, 
Thou,  too,  hast  known  me,  mighty  Cataract ! — 
When  rocks  in  headlong  motion  thou  hast 
tracked. 

Like  some  huge  creature  goaded  from  his  haunt, 

Along  the  mountain  passes  rough  and  slaunt — 
Who  makes  his  foaming  way  while  all  around 
He  awes  the  circuit  with  a  shuddering 
sound : — 

So  rages  t  Thou  and  lift'st  Thy  sounding  front !" 

XVI. 

Power  crumbles  from  the  arm,  and  from  the  brow 
Glory  declines  with  surety  swift  as  light : 
Like  towers    that    loose    in    storms    their 
wondrous  might. 

Dark  principalities  of  air  must  bow 

And  have  their  strength  and  terror  smitten  low : 
The  hour  draws  nigh,  Wakondah,  when  on 

thine 
Yon  full  orbed  fire  unpaled,  shall  cease  to  shine 

Uplifted  longer  in  Heaven's  western  glow ! 

XVII. 

"  Lo  !  where  our  foe  up  through  these  vales 
ascends, 
Fresh  from  the  embraces  of  the  swelling  sea, 
A^glorious^  white  and  shining  Deity. 

Upon  our  strengtTi  his  deep  blue  eye  he  bends. 

With  threatenings  full  of  thought  and  steadfast 
ends, 
WhUe  desolation  from  his  nostril  breathes. 
His  glittering  rage  he  scornfully  unsheathes 

And  to  the  startled  air  its  splendor  lends. 

XVIII. 

«  The  nation-queller  in  their  length  of  days — 
The  slaughterer  of  the  tribes  art  thou  !  the 

rude 
Remorseless,  vengeful  foe  of  natural  blood 

And  wood-born  strength  reared  up  amid  the  maze 

Of  forest  walks  and  unimprisoned  ways  ; — 
The  dwellers  in  unsteepled  wastes ;  the  host 
Of  warriors  stark  and  cityless,  whose  boast 

Was  daring  proof  'gainst  torture  that  betrays." 

XIX. 

Oh  wrestle  not,  Wakondah,  with  the  Time  j 
The  Time  resistless  in  its  present  hour 
Of  rugged  force,  of  multitudinous  power 

To  make  itself  triumphant  o'er  the  clime. 

Where  streams  are  endless,  mountains  as  su  blime 
And  valleys  shadowy  and  calm  as  ever 
Yet  tasked  a  Godhead's  high  and  bright  en- 
deavor. 

Since  first  the  world  was  in  its  mighty  prime. 


WAKONDAH ;  THE  MASTER  OF  LIFE. 


im 


XX. 

Far  through  the  desert,  see  his  fiery  hoof 
Speeds  like  the  pale  white  courser  of  St.  John, 
With  rage  and  dreadful  uproar  thundering  on  ! 

At  every  step  old  shadows  fly  aloof, 

While  on  and  on  he  bounds  with  strength  enough 
To  master  valley,  hill  and  echoing  plain — 
Cheered  by  the  outcry  of  a  savage  train 

Of  white-browed  hunters  armed  in  deadly  proof. 

XXI. 

**  Through  the  far  shadows  of  the  gathering 
years 

I  see,  visions  denied  to  mortal  eyes ; 

Phantoms  of  dreadful  aspect  that  arise 
Cold  with  the  anguish  of  their  wintry  fears ; 
And  struggling  forth  from  out  a  gulf  of  tears 

And  blood  by  banded  nations  vainly  shed, 

Above  them  all  a  single  Wo  its  head 
Lifts  high  and  awes  its  customary  peers. 

XXII. 

"  I  say  not  now  what  name  that  Wo  shall  bear. 
What  mournful  omen  on  its  front  is  written. 
What  pillared  glories  by  its  sad  rage  smitten — 

Shall  fall  to  earth,  and  all  th'  embracing  air 

With  its  dread  sound  of  wasting  tumult  tear; 
These  are  the  future's — voiceless  let  them  rest 
Deep  in  the  shadow  of  her  silent  breast, 

'Till  vengeance  bid  the  sons  of  men— Prepare  !" 

XXIII. 

So  spake  the  Spirit ;  but  I  deemed  I  saw 
That  in  the  lansuage  of  his  gloomy  eye, 
That  made  a  falsehood  of  his  augury. 

I  know  that  Heaven  is  true  to  its  great  law ; 

I  know  how  deep  and  damnable  a  flaw 
Has  through  its  righteous  code  of  truth  been 

rent 
By  erring  swords  and  hands   with    blood 
besprent — 

And  this  it  is  that  fills  my  soul  with  awe. 

^XXIV. 

And  yet,  oh  God  !  I  dare  to  ask  of  thee 
Pardon  and  palmy  days  for  this  dear  land ; 
The  glory  of  thy  sun,  thy  shadowing  hand. 

In  mercy  spread  abroad  from  sea  to  sea. 

That  all  its  wide  vast  empire  so  may  be, 
From  loud  Atlantic  unto  Oregon 
An  orb  of  power,  and  never  to  be  won 

Nor  yielded  «ip,  a  home  and  fortress  to  the  free  ! 

XXV. 

«  The  past  is  past !"  Wakondah  spoke  "  the  past 
Is  past :  to  others  lifeless,  cold  and  dumb 
Beyond  repeal,  I  bid  it's  shadows  come 

Swiftly  before  me,  nor  care  I  how  vast 

That  which  I  gendered  shall  appear  at  last 
As  when  at  first  it's  dim  colossal  form. 
Huge,  rude,  mis-shapen,  noisy  as  a  storm — 

Rose  up,  by  me  called  upward  and  amassed. 


XXVI. 

"  Falling  or  rising  through  the  azure  air — 
Green  dells  that  into  silence  stretch  at^ray  j 
Ye  woods  that  counterfeit  the  hues  of  day 
With  colors  e'en  the  day  could  not  repair 
From  his  wide  fount  of  morning  dyes  and  fair 

Evening  or  noon  ;  innumerous  rampant  life 
With  which  this  waste  or  verdant  world  is  rife — 
As  yet  were  not;  the  oflTspring  of  a  god-like  care. 

xxvn. 

"  Oh,bact£warclhow  that  youthful  glory  gleams — 
Ye  creatures  of  my  undiminished  arm. 
When  shadowing  hills  were  lifted  like  a  charm, 

And  at  a  word  their  duly  measured  beams 

Sprung  to  their  chambers  in  the  mountain  seams. 
This  was  no  task- work,  nor  a  toil  of  joy 
Thus  an  immortal  puissance  to  employ 

In  building  worlds  and  pouring  ocean-streams. 

XXVIII. 

«  Oh  !  might  and  beauty  of  the  forming  earth — 
Shaped  hy  a  hand  upholding  and  divine, 
For  such  was  then  Wakondah  even  thine  !-^ 

With  hill  and  mountain  masses  bursting  forth, 

And  struggling  all  along  the  blue-aired  North — 
With  smiling  valleys  winding  far  between, 
And  rivers  singing  all  aloud,   though  yet 
unseen : 

While  I,  their  sire,  hung  joyous  o'er  their  birth. 

XXIX. 

"  A  fearful  and  a  perilous  joy  was  mine. 
When  brooding  thus  above  the  seething  world 
I  saw  the  striving  giants  swiftly  hurled. 

With  thunderous  noises  to  and  fro ;  a  constant 
line 

Of  furnaced  lightnings,  ever  forced  to  shine 

Quick,  fierce  and  kindling  through  the  shape- 
less gloom. 
Made  the  dull  void  some  creature  disentomb, 

And  cheered  its  birth-pangs  with  a  fiie  benign. 

XXX. 

«  What  voice  of  portent  shook  the  gulf  that  held 
The  uncreated  majesty  of  woods. 
The  calm  deep  beauty  of  the  solitudes 

Of  boundless  fields ;  and  from  the  deep  compelled 

That  Behemoth,  whose  roar  has  lately  quelled 
Nations  in  panoply  of  arms  arrayed  ? 
Amid  the  sounding  mass  and  undismayed 

By  striving  rivers,  shock  of  hills  impelled 

XXXI. 

«  'Gainst  hills  and  wild  beasts  raging  into  light, 
•Wakondah  stood,  and  o'er  the  tumult  bent, 
It's  Ruler  and  it's  steadfast  firmament. 

He  breaks  the  bondage  of  the  cruel  Night 

That  wraps  them  in  its  folds,  and  like  a  blight 
Of  storms  that  rage  and  thunder  but  to  save 
And  purify,  he  burst  your  rock-ribbed  grave— 

The  matchless  Master  of  redeeming  might.  -- 


166 


WAKONDAH;  THE  MASTER  OP  LIFE. 


xxxn. 

The  Spirit  ceased  and  all  along  the  air, 

From  where  in  speechless  majesty  he  stood — 
On  either  hand  through  all  the  solitude 

Of  glittering  peaks  and  dusky  vales,  to  where 

The  wild  beasts  held  afar  their  anxious  lair — 
A  sudden  silence  like  a  tempest  fell ; 
A  silence  and  a  gloom  that  none  can  tell — 

A  calm  too  dread  for  mortal  things  to  bear. 

xxxni. 

No  cloud  was  on  the  moon,  yet  on  His  brow 
A  deepening  shadow  fell,  and  on  his  knees 
That  shook  like  tempest  stricken  mountain- 
trees, 

His  heavy  head  descended  sad  and  low : 


Like  a  high  city  smitten  by  the  blow 

That  secret  earthquakes  strike  and  toppling 

faUs 
With  all  its  arches,  towers  and  cathedrals, 

In  swift  and  unconjectured  overthrow. 


XXXIV. 

Thenceforth  I  did  not  see  the  Spirit  lift 
Again  that  night  his  great  discrowned  head, 
Nor  heard  a  voice :  He  was  not  with  the  dead 

Nor  with  the  living,  for  the  mighty  gift 

Of  boundless  power  was  passing  like  a  rift 
Of  stormy  clouds  that  still  will  have  a  tongue 
Ere  yet  the  winds  have  wafted  them  along 

To  endless  silence,  whitherward  they  drift. 


THE  END  OF  WAKONDAH. 


-1^ 


THE    CAREER    OF 


PUFFER    HOPKINS. 


# 


a 


^ 


THE   CAREER   OF 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


PREFACE. 

It  was  the  hope  of  the  author  when  he  began  the 
following  work,  that  he  might  be  able  to  produce  a 
book,  in  some  slight  degree,  characteristic  and  na- 
tional in  its  features.  Now,  that  it  is  completed,  he 
fears  it  may  be  found  far  short  of  that  hope,  and 
unequal  even  to  his  own  feeble  purposes.  He  had 
a  design  which  seemed,  in  some  of  its  circumstan- 
ces, to  partake  a  little  of  utility  and  truth,  but 
which,  he  is  afraid,  is  not  made  quite  so  clear  to 
.  the  reader. 

/  Where  he  has  attempted  to  shade  and  soften,  he 
/  may  have  blurred  ;  and  where  he  would  have  cut 
sharp  lines  and  effected  contrasts,  it  may  prove 
that  he  has  merely  mangled  character  and  story. 
V  Imperfect  as  is  his  own  judgment  in  such  a  case, 
Tie  thinks  he  can  discover  one  or  two  places  at 
least,  where  more  sliould  have  been  said  and  less 
done  ;  or  more  done  and  less  said.  He  wishes  only 
that  he  had  sufficient  influence  with  the  reader  to 
persuade  him  to  guard  against  a  single  false  alarm 
Irequently  raised  against  works  of  this  class.  The 
constancy  with  which  the  charge  of  caricaturing 
Nature  is  brought  against  writers  who  attempt  the 
humorous,  should  lead  us  to  suspect — particularly 
as  Cervantes,  Smollett,  Fielding,  and  Scott,  to  sav 
nothing  of  more  recent  eminent  examples,  have  all, 
at  one  time  or  another,  been  included  in  the  accu- 
sation— that  there  is  less  justice  and  more  assump- 
tion in  the  charge,  than  seems  at  first  possible. 

These  authors  all  wrote  from  a  sure  instinct,  a 
profound  knowledge  of  their  art.  They  knew  very 
well,  or  must  have  early  learned,  that  the  spirit  of 
the  accusation  v/oidd  drive  all  literature  upon  a  ser- 
vile transcript  of  every-day  objects,  and  most  ef- 
fectually stifle  every  work  claiming  to  be  a  work 
of  art.  It  was  their  province,  they  knew,  to  dis- 
cover in  nature  the  germe  of  character,  and  to  ex- 
pand it  by  processes  of  which  genms  is  master,  in- 
to a  livelier,  truer  development  than  nature,  in  her 
,/  ordinary  moods,  presents.  To  group,  to  separate, 
{  to  soften  and  elevate  nature,  is  allowed  to  the  au- 
'  1  thor  as  well  as  the  painter  ;  and  the  charge  of 
\  caricaturing  should  be  brought  only  where  Nature 
^is  lost  sight  of  and  fails  to  furnish  the  original  sta- 
pie  out  of  which  the  product  is  wrought. 

It  happened  to  the  author,  during  the  progress  of 
the  early  parts  of  this  Tale  through  the  pages  of  a 
magazine  (Arcturus),  to  be  engaged  in  the  advo- 
cacy of  a  law  of  International  Copyright ;  a  cause 
which  he  will  not  fail  to  urge  at  all  proper  oppor- 
tunities. As  it  was  not  found  altogether  conveni- 
ent to  answer  what  he  advanced,  an  attack  was 
made,  by  a  new  sort  of  evasive  logic,  upon  the  pres- 
ent work.  What  kind  of  generalship  it  would  be 
to  set  out  with  the  valiant  purpose  of  the  conquest 
of  Mexico  and  proceed  to  its  execution  by  march- 


/ 


ing  a  couple  of  thousand  miles  in  directly  the  op. 
posite  course,  and  opening  a  brisk  cannonade  upon 
the  Heights  of  Abraham,  for  example — the  reader 
may  determine.  The  author  only  expresses  a 
wish  that  the  work  may  be  judged  by  itself, 
apart  from  collateral  issues  and  distracting  person- 
alities. In  that  spirit  he  believes  it  will  be  judged 
by  all  fair-minded  and  capable  critics.  Whatever 
the  issue  may  be,  he  can  not  altogether  regret  that 
he  has  written  it,  since  it  has  afforded  him  an  op- 
portunity to  serve,  in  a  very  humble  way,  objects 
of  which  he  ought  not  to  be  ashamed. 
New  York,  Oct.  28th,  1842. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  PLATFORM. 


To  say  that  the  townspeople  of  this  mighty 
metropolis  were  in  a  state  of  greater  excitement 
and  activity  on  a  certain  night  in  a  certain 
month  of  November — which  it  is  not  necessary 
more  particularly  to  define — than  they  are  on 
certain  other  nights  of  periodical  recurrence, 
would  be  to  do  the  said  townspeople  arrant  in- 
justice, and  to  establish  for  the  chronicler  of 
the  following  authentic  history,  at  the  very 
outset,  a  questionable  character  for  truth  and 
plain  speaking.  On  this  immediate  occasion, 
however,  there  was,  it  must  be  confessed,  a 
commendable  degree  of  agitation  and  enthu- 
siasm visible,  in  almost  every  quarter  of  the 
city.  Crowds  were  emerging  from  lane,  alley, 
and  thoroughfare,  and  pouring  into  the  central 
streets  in  the  direction  of  the  Hall ;  sometimes 
in  knots  of  three,  four,  or  more,  all  engaged  in 
earnest  conversation,  in  a  loud  key,  with  vehe- 
ment gesture,  and  faces  considerably  discolored 
by  excitement.  The  persons  composing  these 
various  peripatetic  and  deliberative  groups, 
could  not  be  said  to  be  of  any  single  class  or  pro- 
fession, but  mingled  together  indiscriminately, 
much  after  the  fashion  of  a  country  storekeeper's 
stock,  where  a  bale  of  fourth-price  flannel 
neighbors  a  piece  of  first-quality  linen,  and 
knots  of  dainty  and  gallant  wine-glasses  are 
brought  into  a  state  of  sociable  confusion,  with 
a  gathering  of  hard-headed  plebeian  stone  bot- 
tles. Although  all  tending  the  same  way  and 
on  the  same  errand,  let  no  man  be  so  rash  and 


170 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


intemperate  as  to  imagine  that  no  distinctions 
were  observed ;  that  certain  lines  and  demar- 
cations were  not  maintained  ;  and  that  broad- 
cloth was  not  careful  here,  as  usual,  not  to  have 
its  fine  nap  destroyed  by  the  jostling  of  homespun. 

The  knot  of  tough-fisted  mechanics  kept  its 
course,  roaring  out  its  rough  sarcasms  and  great 
gusts  of  invective,  while  the  company  of  well- 
dressed  gentlemen  bound  for  the  same  harbor, 
glided  more  quietly  along,  their  talk  scarcely 
disturbed  by  the  extravagance  of  a  rippling 
phrase  or  an  oath. 

Here  a  substantial  citizen  advanced  in  great 
state  and  dignity,  alone,  toward  the  place  of 
gathering,  unless  his  horn-topped  walking-stick 
might  be  held  as  suitable  company  for  so  grave 
and  dignified  a  personage  ;  and  again  a  thought- 
ful jx)ung  gentleman  might  be  discovered,  stri- 
ding along  with  his  hands  thrust  deep  in  his 
pockets,  conning  a  few  common-places  for  a 
speech. 

This  various  crowd  has  at  length  reached  its 
destination,  and  scampering  up  the  stairs  of  a 
large  mis-shapen  building,  with  no  little  heat 
and  racket,  finds  itself  landed  in  a  spacious 
saloon,  facing  a  raised  platform,  protected  in 
front  by  a  rough  railing,  with  some  score  of 
vacant  chairs  occupying  the  floor  of  the  same, 
and  as  many  stout  candles  ranged  against  the 
rail.  Beneath  the  platform  is  a  small  square 
table,  holding  a  capacious  inkstand,  ornamented 
with  two  or  three  huge  gray  goose-quills. 
Abreast  of  the  table  are  stretched  a  number  of 
rude  benches,  to  afibrd  accommodation  for  such 
infirm,  ease-loving,  and  sedentary  individuals, 
as  may  see  fit  to  take  possession  of  them ;  and 
taken  possession  of  they  are  at  a  very  early 
stage  of  the  proceedings,  first  by  a  squad  of 
precocious  shipwrights'  'prentices,  secondly  by 
a  broad-bottomed  dairyman  who  was  left  at  the 
Hall  in  the  afternoon  by  one  of  his  own  wagons 
from  Bloomingdale,  and  thirdly  by  a  rout  of 
scrambling  fellows,  from  no  place  in  particular, 
who  push  and  jostle  and  clamor  their  best  for 
the  occupancy.  The  meeting  is  on  the  eve  of 
being  organized,  when  in  marches  a  well-fed 
uppish  man — the  very  citizen  that  was  alone 
with  his  cane  in  the  street — who,  contempla- 
ting the  crowd  with  an  air  of  austere  regard, 
urges  himself  toward  one  end  of  the  platform, 
where  he  meets  a  scraggy  man,  smartly  dressed, 
and  displaying  from  the  pillory  of  a  sharp-edged 
clean  shirt-collar,  a  very  knowing  countenance 
extended  to  the  audience,  and  engages  in  a 
whispered  conversation,  the  concluding  clause 
whereof  embodies  this  sterling  sentiment  (en- 
forced by  the  thrusting  of  a  roll  at  the  same 
time  into  the  open  hand  of  the  scraggy  gentle- 
man) :  "  There's  a  current  ten — make  me  a 
vice,  will  ye  ?"  The  scraggy  man  thereupon 
cocks  his  eye  significantly,  and  the  stout  citi- 
zen, slipping  away,  gets  into  the  outskirts  of 
the  crowd,  where  he  stares  at  the  platform  and 
the  caudles — the  political  heaven  of  ambitious 
stout  gentlemen — as  if  they  were  the  most  re- 
markable objects  in  creation,  and  as  if  he  was 


perfectly  unconscious  of  the  objects  for  whicA 
the  meeting  was  then  and  there  convened. 

In  due  time  the  meeting  was  called  to  order, 
and  the  innocent  stout  gentleman  established 
himself,  with  five  others,  upon  the  platform,  as 
an  assistant  presiding  officer — a  vice — of  the 
same.  Silence  was  proclaimed,  and  a  dwarfish 
little  man,  with  one  of  the  oddest  countenances 
in  the  world,  was  lifted  upon  a  high  stool  by 
the  mob,  and  commenced  reading  a  manuscript, 
which  he  dignified  with  the  name  of  the  "  Re- 
port of  the  Anti- Aqueduct  Committee,  appoint- 
ed by  the  citizens  of  New  York,  at  a  large  and 
respectable  meeting  held  at  Fogfixe  Hall,"  &c., 
&c.,  in  which  was  furnished  a  certain  amount 
of  statistics  (taken  from  the  'Cyclopedia)  :  a 
decoction  of  mouldy  jokes  (from  the  news- 
papers) :  and  a  modicum  of  energetic  slang — a 
direct  emanation  from  the  inventive  genius  of 
the  reader  of  the  report. 

This  was  a  great,  a  tremendous  question — 
suggested  the  Anti-Aqueduct  manuscript — a 
question,  to  come  to  the  point  at  once,  invol- 
ving the  rights  of  mankind,  the  interests  of 
universal  humanity.  If  this  principle  was  al- 
lowed to  pass  unopposed — this  pernicious  prin- 
ciple of  setting  up  pure  water,  democratic 
Adam's  ale,  the  true  corporation  gin,  for  pur- 
chase— where  would  we  land?  The  commit- 
tee that  drafted  the  report  could  tell  'em ! — 
in  tyranny,  despotism,  bloodshed,  and  debauch- 
ery. Individuals  would  get  drunk  at  the  pump, 
as  soon  as  the  price  was  made  an  object :  there 
was  a  consideration  for  them !  The  people 
had  their  rights — here  the  reader  wagged  his 
head  vehemently,  and  grinned  like  a  demon 
just  going  out  of  his  senses — he  could  tell  them, 
and  the  people  could  take  care  of  'em. 

A  general  dissemination  of  genuine  gin  cock- 
tails among  the  hearers,  could  have  scarcely 
produced  greater  excitement  than  did  this  most 
apposite  and  thrilling  sentiment :  caps  flew  up, 
and  hats  flew  off,  as  if  the  air  were  alive  with 
great  black  insects,  and  canes  came  down  with 
a  general  crash,  like  a  cane-brake  itself  in  a 
state  of  tornado.  It  seemed  as  if  they  never 
would  be  done  applauding  this  happy  allusion  ; 
and  the  committee-man  stood  on  the  stool,  sway- 
ing on  one  leg,  and  smiling,  as  if  he  considered 
it  the  most  agreeable  spectacle  he  had  ever 
enjoyed.  The  committee  did  not  suppose  that 
it  was  the  purpose  of  Providence  to  destroy 
mankind  by  a  second  flood,  but  they  were  satis- 
fied, morally  satisfied,  if  such  an  intention  ever 
did  come  within  the  purview  of  the  divine  dis- 
pleasure, the  object  would  undoubtedly  be  ac- 
complished by  the  bursting  of  the  reservoir 
which  it  was  proposed  to  erect  at  the  junction 
of  the  Third  Avenue  and  Bowery :  at  least, 
the  committee  thought  it  proper  to  add,  as  far 
as  the  citizens  of  New  York  were  concerned. 
And  so  the  report  rambled  on,  like  an  echo 
among  the  Dutch  hills,  until  it  finally  died 
away  in  a  thundering  resolution,  and  the  little 
reader  was  inadvertently  knocked  ofl'  the  stool 
by  a  charcoal-vender,  who  was  employed,  be- 


PUFFER  HOPKINS 


171 


sides  grinning  through  the  sable  stains  of  his 
trade  in  a  ghastly  manner,  in  swinging  his  hat 
in  approval  of  one  of  the  concluding  sentiments 
of  his  report. 

The  charcoal-man  was  hustled,  the  little 
committee-man  set  upon  his  legs,  and  a  vote 
of  thanks  unanimously  passed  for  the  able  re- 
port just  read. 

A  very  long,  duU-looking  man,  next  offered 
a  resolution,  and  delivered  a  speech  as  long  and 
dull  as  himself;  which  resolution  and  speech 
were  seconded  by  a  round,  heavy  man,  in  an 
harangue  quite  as  rigmarole  and  ponderose ; — 
when  a  pause  occurred,  during  which  the  mob 
seemed  to  be  reflecting  what  they  should  do 
next.   After  a  proper  degree  of  cogitation,  they 
commenced  shouting  for  a  favorite  speaker, 
who  always  interested  their  feelings  by  propo- 
sing a  general  division  of  property  :  which  was 
very  liberal  in  him,  as  he  had  nothing  to  divide 
but  the  payment  of  two-score  old  debts,  and 
the  expenses  of  a  small  family ;  but  he  failed 
to  make  his  appearance.     Upon  which  certain 
sagacious  persons  began  peering  about  in  the 
crowd,  as  if  they  expected  to  find  him  sand-  | 
wiched  away  snugly  among  the  carmen,  om- 
nibus-drivers, and  stevedores,   there   present.  | 
Certain  other  active  persons  were  despatched  | 
into  the  halls  and  purlieus  of  the  building ;  a  j 
self-formed  committee  of  five  rushed  post-haste  i 
for  the  bar-room ;  and  one  over-zealous  indi-  i 
vidual  was  so  far  carried  away  by  his  enthu- 
siasm, as  to  run  a  mile  to  the  orator's  dwelling, 
and  there   to   demand   his  person  with   such 
breathless  incoherence,  as  to  lead  his   small 
family  to  suspect  that  their  dear  protector  and 
paymaster  harbored  the  intention  of  making 
way  with  himself. 

A  second  popular  favorite  was  called  by  the 
audience;  the  same  scrutiny  instituted,  and 
with  the  same  result.  Affairs  now  looked  ex- 
ceedingly blank,  the  audience  began  to  despair, 
and  to  entertain  the  horrible  expectation  of 
having  to  go  to  bed  speechless,  when  an  un- 
known individual  pushed  convulsively  through 
the  crowd,  struggled  up  the  steps,  and  placed 
himself  at  the  foot  of  the  platform,  and  stretch- 
ing out  his  right  arm  to  its  full  extent,  began. 

He  was  young — the  bloom  of  roseate  health 
upon  his  cheek  would  satisfy  them  of  that.   He 
was  timid  and  doubtful :  witness  his  tremblings 
and  shiverings  on  presenting  himself  for  the 
first  time  before  that  highly  respectable  body 
of  august   citizens.     He  was   rash   and  fool- 
hardy, he  was  aware,  in  coming  before  so  in- 
telligent an  audience,  at  that  critical  moment. 
But  he  was  actuated  and  impelled  by  a  sense  of  I 
duty,  which  would  not  allow  him  to  be  silent  j 
while  that  gi-eat  question  called  for  an  advo- 
cate.    They  had  heard  the  thunder  of  the  can- , 
non,  in  the  report;  the  braying  (a  slight  titter  | 
at  this  word)  of  trumpets,  in  the  speeches  of 
the  two  learned  gentlemen  that  had  preceded  i 
him ;  and  now  that  the  grand  overture  of  battle  | 
had  been  performed,  he  ventured  to  come  upon  ' 
the  field,  and  with  his  simple  shepherd's  pipe 


to  sound  the  humbler  music  of  peace.  He 
trusted  that  no  violent,  no  vindictive  feeling, 
would  be  indulged  toward  their  opponents. 
Let  their  measure  pass — let  the  aqueduct  be 
reared,  and  let  its  waters  begin  to  flow : — from 
these  very  waters,  pernicious  as  they  seemed, 
should  be  drawn  the  rainbow  of  promise  for  his 
friends ;  for  the  friends  of  cheap  government 
and  good  order !  Taxation  was  not  democracy ; 
debt  was  not  democracy ;  public  ruin  and  bank- 
ruptcy were  not  democracy  (gently  warbled  the 
shepherd's  pipe)  :  and  if  this  insane,  wolfish, 
and  reckless  party  wished  to  destroy  itself  with 
its  own  fangs — why,  in  God's  name,  bid  them 
God-speed,  and  give  them  a  clear  field.  He 
would  not  suggest  that  the  farmers  in  West- 
chester county  should  oppose  the  passage  of  the 
aqueduct  through  their  own  lands  ;  they  were 
freemen  and  knew  what  was  what.  He  would 
not  stir  up  the  Harlaem  Bridge  Company 
(Heaven  forbid !)  to  withstand  this  encroach- 
ment upon  their  rights  ;  they  were  a  corpora- 
tion, and  could  discriminate  carrot  from  horse- 
radish. He  hoped,  he  fervently  and  sincerely 
hoped  and  trusted,  that  the  entire  race  of 
water-rats  and  ground-moles  might  be  annihi- 
lated, before  the  undertaking  was  comjnenced ; 
so  that  it  might  not  be  impeded  or  undermined 
by  their  operations.  At  these  various  hopes 
and  suggestions,  as  they  were  delivered,  there 
was  an  uproarious  ha !  ha !  uttered  by  the  as- 
semblage, who  seemed  to  relish  them  hugely ; 
and,  with  a  hint  or  two  to  the  audience,  not  to 
allow  themselves  to  be  tampered  with — not  to 
look  on  and  see  their  heads  taken  from  their 
shoulders,  and  the  bread  from  their  children's 
mouths  (all  of  which  was  heartily  seconded  by 
the  hearers),  the  young  orator — the  gentle 
friend  of  peace — stepped  from  the  platform. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  speech,  some  one  in 
the  crowd  jumped  up  a  foot  or  two,  and  shout- 
ed, "  Three  cheers  for  the  last  speech !"  and 
three  cheers  were  given  with  great  animation ; 
and  then,  at  the  same  suggestion,  three  more ; 
and  three  at  the  end  of  them.  Different  mem- 
bers of  the  audience  turned  to  each  other  and 
shook  hands,  and  exclaimed,  "  Royal,"  "  That 
was  fine,'*  and  other  like  phrases  of  approba- 
tion ;  and  then  inquiries  were  set  on  foot  as 
to  the  name  of  the  new  speaker,  to  which  no 
one  could  furnish  a  satisfactory  answer;  and 
whether  he  was  from  this  ward  or  that  ward, 
which  was  in  a  state  of  equal  doubt  and  uncer- 
tainty; and  finally  it  was  conjectured  and  sug- 
gested, that  he  didn't  belong  to  any  ward  at  all, 
but  had  come  from  the  country,  which  they 
were  for  proving  by  his  rural  simile  of  the 
rainbow  (rainbows  not  being  indigenous  in  in- 
corporated towns),  and  his  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  the  feelings  of  the  Westchester 
county  farmers  and  ground-moles. 

Whatever  might  be  his  name  and  origin,  his 
foot  had  no  sooner  touched  the  floor,  than  he 
felt  his  sleeve  twitched,  and  turning,  he  discov- 
ered a  singular-looking  little  gentleman,  beck- 
oning him  to  follow. 


172 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


CHAPTER  n. 

FIKST  ACQUAINTANCE  WITH  HOBBLESHANK. 

Disengaging  himself  from  the  crowd  at 
Fogfire  Hall,  the  young  politician  followed  his 
unknown  conductor  into  the  open  air.  From 
the  rapidity  with  which  he  moved  in  advance, 
although  his  gait  was  shuffling  and  uncertain, 
he  was  not  fairly  overtaken  until  he  had 
reached  the  mouth  of  a  neighboring  refectory, 
at  which,  pausing  only  for  an  instant  glance  at 
the  young  man's  countenance — which  seemed 
to  create  a  pleasurable  feeling,  and  caused  him 
to  smile  strenuously — he  plunged  down  the 
steps.  The  young  politician  followed,  and 
found  himself  in  a  close,  narrow  room,  the  air 
of  which  was  musty  with  confinement,  and 
having  no  opportunity  from  the  pent  place 
where  it  was  imprisoned,  to  ramble  about 
among  meadows  and  fresh  streams  to  enliven 
Itself,  depended  on  fumes  of  brandy  and  clouds 
of  cigar-smoke,  for  whatever  life  it  exhibited. 
A  tall  man  stood  before  the  fire,  who  would 
have  inevitably  perished  of  its  noxious  quali- 
ties if  he  had  not  taken  occasion,  through  the 
day,  to  stand  up  the  steps  with  his  head  and 
shoulders  above  ground,  contemplating  the 
clay-covered  wagons  that  came  in  fresh  from 
the  country. 

Judging  from  the  starved,  narrow-breasted 
skeletons  of  turkeys  and  fowls,  the  cold,  sepul- 
chral hams,  the  cadaverous,  shrunken  legs  of 
mutton,  and  the  dwarfed  tarts  and  bread-rolls, 
that  lay  in  miserable  heaps  on  the  table,  they 
might  have  easily  concluded  that  the  piehouse 
into  which  they  had  descended  was  the  dreary 
family-vault,  to  which  melancholy  butchers, 
bakers,  and  poulterers,  were  in  the  habit  of 
consigning  such  of  their  professional  progeny  as 
had  ceased  to  have  life  and  merchantable  quali- 
ties on  earth.  The  room  was,  of  all  possible 
dirty  rooms,  the  dirtiest.  With  walls  smoked 
and  tallow-stained ;  an  unsanded  floor ;  tables 
spotted  all  over,  like  the  double-six  of  domi- 
noes, and  a  fire  with  just  enough  animation  to 
blush  at  the  other  appointments  of  the  place. 
The  piehouse  had  its  pretensions,  too ;  for  it 
possessed  not  only  a  common  room  for  outside 
customers,  but  a  private  parlor,  snug  and  se- 
lect, cut  off  from  its  vulgar  neighbor  by  elegant 
blue  curtains,  made  to  resemble  patches  of 
dirty  blue  sky — moving  on  a  wire  with  jingling 
bi»ss  rings,  and  entered  by  a  half-raised  step. 
jUpon  .this,  which  was  little  more  than  a 
l!(rgia  atall; vainer  all,  they  entered.  The  myste- 
rious littiiigieBtleman,  drawing  the  curtains  be- 
hiaudjtiheitt^rrnjahed  up  to  the  fire  and  nibbed  his 
bands loget^ter  over  the  blaze,  opened  the  cur- 
laiaffyfhrast  out  his  head,  called  for  oysters  and 
beer,  and  took  his  station  at  one  side  of  the  ta- 
Wis'in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  "  It's  all  right," 
said  the  stranger.  "  Don't  be  alarmed ;  my 
hame  is  Hobbleshank — what's  yours  ?" 

«  Puffer  Hopkins,"  replied  the  young  politi- 


cian, surveying  more  closely  his  whimsical  com- 
panion. 

He  was  an  irregularly-built  little  gentleman, 
about  fifty-five  years  of  age,  with  a  pale  face, 
twitched  out  of  shape  somewhat  by  a  paralytic 
aflfection ;  with  one  sound  eye,  and  one  in  a 
condition  of  semi-transparency,  which  gave  to 
his  features  something  of  a  ghostly  or  goblin  .« 
character ;  and  hedging  in,  and  heightening  the 
effect  of  the  whole,  a  pair  of  bushy  black  whis- 
kers, of  a  fine,  vigorous  growth.  The  little 
gentleman  wore  a  faded  blue  frock,  short  pan- 
taloons, low  shoes,  an  eyeglass,  and  a  hat  con- 
siderably dilapidated  and  impaired  by  age. 

The  singularity  and  whim  of  the  little  old 
gentleman's  demeanor  was  shown  in  his  sham- 
bling up  sideways  toward  Puffer  whenever  he 
addressed  him,  and  looking  up  timidly,  first 
with  the  doubtful  eye,  as  if  sounding  his  way, 
and  then  with  the  sound  one,  fortifying  himself, 
from  time  to  time,  from  an  immense  snuflf-box, 
which  he  carried  awkwardly  in  his  left  hand. 

"  That  was  an  excellent  speech,  young  man !" 
said  the  strange  little  gentleman,  dropping  into 
a  seat,  and  simultaneously  swallowing  an  oys- 
ter, black  with  pepper. 

"  I  trust  the  sentiments  were  correct,"  mod- 
estly suggested  his  companion. 

"  Never  better,  sir ;  sound  as  a  Newtown- 
pippin,  to  the  core,"  continued  the  strange  lit- 
tle gentleman.  "  But  you  are  young  yet,  sir — 
quite  young — and  have  a  thing  or  two  to  learn. 
Be  good  enough  not  to  advance  upon  the  stage 
again,  if  you  please,  without  your  coat  but- 
toned snug  to  the  chin,  which  shows  that  you 
mean  to  give  them  a  resolute  speech — a  devil- 
ish resolute  speech,"  exclaimed  the  little  gen- 
tleman, glaring  on  the  youth  with  his  spectre 
eye,  "full  of  storm  and  thunder,  sir;  or  else 
with  your  breasts  thrown  wide  back,  indicating 
that  you  are  about  to  regale  them  with  an  airy, 
well-ventilated,  and  very  candid  eflfusion." 

Appreciating  the  interest  that  the  little  old 
gentleman  expressed  in  his  future  success,  his 
companion  promised  to  comply,  as  far  as  in  him 
lay,  with  these  new  requisitions  in  the  art  of 
addressing  public  bodies. 

"  There  was  an  awful  omission,"  continued 
the  strange  gentleman,  "  a  very  awful  and  un-  ^ 
pardonable  omission,  in  your  harangue  to- 
night." The  little  old  gentleman's  voice  sound- 
ed sepulchral,  and  his  companion  cast  his  eyes 
anxiously  about  the  select  parlor. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  what  was  that,  sir  ?" 
asked  the  young  gentleman,  regarding  his  cen- 
sor with  intense  interest. 

« Why,  sir,"  said  the  little  old  gentleman, 
relaxing  into  a  grim  smile,  "  where  were  your 
banners  ?  You  hadn't  one  in  your  whole  speech  !  *  • 
An  address  to  a  political  assembly  in  New  York, 
and  not  a  tatter  of  bunting  in  the  whole  of  it— 
you  must  excuse  me,  but  it's  the  weakest  thing 
I've  ever  known.  An  army  might  as  well  go 
into  battle  as  an  orator  into  our  popular  meet 
ings,  without  his  flags  and  standards.    Where 


i^  PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


173 


were  your  stars,  too  ?  There  wasn't  even  the 
twinkle  of  a  comet's  tail  in  the  whole  harangue : 
they  expect  it.  Stars  are  the  pepper  and  salt  of  a 
political  discourse — mind  that,  if  you  please." 

At  this  passage  the  little  old  gentleman  be- 
came thoughtful,  and  fell  upon  his  oysters  and 
beer  with  horrible  avidity ;  which  process 
caused  him  to  grow  more  thoughtful  than  ever. 
"Many  a  good  speech  have  I  heard,"  he  at 
length  said,  contemplating  Puffer  Hopkins  with 
melancholy  regard,  "  whose  deliverer  now  lies 
under  the  tombstone.  Others  lie  there,  too  ! — 
I'd  give  my  life,  sir,"  he  exclaimed  earnestly, 
pressing  his  hands  closely  together,  "  my  life 
with  its  resulting  interest,  if  I  dared,  for  a  min- 
ute's gaze  at  features  that  are  lying  in  the  si- 
lence and  darkness  of  dust.  That's  hard,  sir — 
too  hard  to  bear : — a  young  wife  borne  away 
in  her  bloom,  by  a  cold,  cruel  hearse — black, 
all  over  black  !  And  then  what  followed — do 
you  recollect  what  followed  ?  I'm  a  fool— you 
know  nothing  of  it ;  why  should  you  ?  Life  is 
a  green  field  to  you,  without  as  much  as  a  grave 
or  a  furrow  in  it  all." 

"I  am  not  too  sure  of  that,"  answered  Puf- 
fer Hopkins,  "  for  I  have  a  dim  remembrance 
of  a  death  that  touched  me  nearly,  long  ago ; 
whose  death  I  can  not  say,  but  a  vision,  away 
off  in  past  times,  of  a  darkened  house — a  solemn 
train  issuing  forth,  with  one  figure  staggering 
into  the  funeral  coach,  drunk  with  excess  of 
grief — the  heavy  roll  of  wheels,  and  many  tears 
and  lamentations  in  the  small  household." 

While  he  delivered  this,  Hobbleshank  looked 
earnestly  in  his  face,  as  if  he  discovered  in 
what  he  said,  a  meaning  deeper  than  the  words. 
At  this  there  was  a  long  silence,  which  Puffer 
Hopkins  at  length  attempted  to  break,  by  stating 
to  his  companion  the  character  in  which  he  had 
appeared  that  night,  for  the  first  time,  at  Fogfire 
haU. 

"I  know,"  said  Hobbleshank,  pushing  his 
open  palm  toward  Puffer  Hopkins,  «  don't  say 
a  word ;  I  know  all  about  it.  You're  a  young 
professional  trader  in  politics  and  patriotism  ; 
a  beginner — ^just  opened  to-night  with  your 
first  speech,  and  a  fresh  assortment  of  apos- 
trophes and  gesticulations.  I  know  you  are 
new  in  the  business,  for  when  you  spoke  of 
Heaven  and  eternal  justice,  you  looked  at  the 
audience.  Very  green,  my  boy ;  an  old  spout- 
er,  in  such  a  case,  always  rolls  his  eyeballs  back 
under  their  lids,  and  smells  of  the  chandelier, 
which  is  much  better,  although  the  odor  isn't 
pleasant." 

"  A  mere  'prentice  at  the  business,  I  confess 
myself,"  answered  Puffer. 

"  I  wish  you  would  bear  in  mind,  too,"  con- 
tinued his  whimsical  adviser,  "  when  you  ad- 
dress a  mixed  audience,  and  have  occasion  to 
speak  of  the  majesty  of  the  people,  that  the  es- 
tablished rule  is,  not  to  stare  at  any  individual 
dirty  face  in  the  middle  of  the  crowd,  but  to 
look  away  off,  beyond  the  crowd  entirely ;  as  if 
you  discovered  what  you're  speaking  about  in 


some  remote  suburb  with  which  they  have  noth- 
ing to  do.     Do  you  understand  me  ?" 

« I  think  I  do,"  replied  Puffer ;  «  but  isn't 
there  generally  some  placid  gentleman  or  other, 
who  comes  to  the  meeting  early,  and  plants 
himself  in  front  of  the  platform  at  a  proper  dis- 
tance, with  the  praiseworthy  purpose  of  having 
the  speaker  lay  out  all  his  strength  in  gazing  at 
him,  and  moving  his  bowels  and  understanding  ? 
j  I  used  to  think  so — and  have  tried  it  more  than 
I  once ;  it  feels  very  pleasant,  I  can  assure  you." 
"  What  of  that  ?     It's  yeur  business  to  hum- 
j  ble   these   gentr>' — they're  aristocracy  in  dis- 
I  guise,  and  borrow  their  cartmen's  hats  to  come  to 
public  meetings  in.  No,  no !"  cried  Hobbleshank, 
with  emphasis,  "  don't  you  be  caught  in  that 
trap.     Do  you  pick  out  the  dirtiest  waistcoat 
in  the  audience,  with  the  most  cadaverous  face 
in  the  room  peering  over  it — pitch  your  eye  up- 
on the  second  button  from  the  top,  just  where 
the  proof  of  a  lack  of  under-garments  becomes 
overwhelming — and  fire  away.     Your  target's 
a  poor  scamp — the  beggarliest  in  the  house, 
with  an  understanding  like  a  granite  rock  (need- 
ing the  whole  force  of  an  incorporated  company 
of  metaphysicians  to  quarry  and  dress  it;,  and 
a  select  circle  of  acquaintance,  among  wharf- 
ingers, small-boatmen,  and  bean-eaters,  near 
the  market.    That's  your  man.    Dash  your  hair 
back  from  your  brow,  swing  your  arms,  and 
don't  spare  flowers,  knuckles,  tropes,  and  desk- 
lids." 

By  the  time  Hobbleshank  had  arrived  at  thi^ 
division  of  his  subject,  he  had  reached,  work- 
ing himself  along  by  degrees,  the  extremity  of 
the  stall,  and  was  standing  on  his  toes,  with  his 
goggle  eyes  glaring  over  the  partition  at  a  mel- 
ancholy personage — the  very  counterpart  of  his 
description — who  sat  on  a  stool  by  the  fire, 
with  his  piece  of  hat  drawn  over  his  eyes,  with 
one  leg  on  the  ground  and  the  other  thrust  un- 
der him  on  the  seat. 

"That's  one  of  them,'*  whispyed  Hobble- 
shank, casting  an  eye  down  at  Puffer,  and 
pointing  with  his  finger  over  the  partition. 
"  No  it  isn't,  after  all,  for  there's  the  top  of  a 
book  sticking  out  of  his  pocket.  Our  kidney 
don't  know  books." 

Puffer  Hopkins  leaned  out  of  the  stall,  and 
stretching  himself  forward,  contemplated  the 
object  to  which  Hobbleshank  directed  him;  but 
instantly  drew  back,  and  seizing  his  companion 
by  the  skirts,  pulled  him,  almost  by  main  force, 
into  a  seat. 

"  Don't,  for  Heaven's  sake !"  he  said,  as  he 
bent  forward  and  placed  his  mouth  at  the  ear 
of  Hobbleshank,  "  that's  my  poor  neighbor, 
Fob,  the  tailor." 

These  brief  words  were  delivered  in  such  a 
way  as  if  Puffer  Hopkins  expected  their  mere 
utterance  would  silence  his  companion,  and 
cause  an  entire  revolution  in  the  feelings  with 
which  he  had  regarded  the  sorry  creature  be- 
fore the  piehouse  fire. 

«  A  poor  tailor,"  he  echoed, «  well,  is  that  all  V> 


174 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


"Yes;  that's  all !"  answered  Hopkins. 

"  Nothing  more  V  asked  Hobbleshank. 

"  Nothing  more,"  replied  Puffer  Hopkins. 

These  questions  were  asked  and  answered, 
in  tones  that  brought  the  conversation  between 
them  to  a  dead  pause,  at  which  it  stayed  for  a 
good  many  minutes,  when  Puffer  Hopkins,  rous- 
ing a  little,  asked  if  that  "  wasn't  enough  ?" 

At  this  moment  the  poor  gentleman  at  the 
fire  waked,  heaved  a  great  sigh,  and  taking  an 
imperfect  copy  of  a  book  from  his  pocket,  and 
lifting  his  hat  from  his  eyes,  fell  to  perusing  it 
with  great  earnestness ;  all  of  which  interfered 
very  seriously  with  any  further  conversation 
on  his  condition  and  prospects  in  life — so  that, 
after  contemplating  liim  steadily  for  several 
minutes,  they  thought  proper  to  retreat  to  the 
previous  subject  of  their  discourse. 

"  You  shouldn't  have  dropped  from  the  plat- 
form so  suddenly,"  said  Hobbleshank. 

"  I  was  through  my  speech,"  answered  Puf- 
fer Hopkins,  "  and  wished  to  get  out  of  sight 
at  once." 

"  Out  of  sight  !"  exclaimed  his  companion, 
as  if  unconscious  of  Puffer's  presence,  "what 
a  fool  the  boy  is.  Why,  sir,  if  you  intend  to  be 
a  politician — a  thriving  one  I  mean — you  must 
keep  yourself  in  view,  like  St.  Paul's  steeple, 
that  frowns  down  on  you  wherever  you  go 
through  the  city.  Out  of  sight,  indeed!  You 
should  have  made  a  bow  to  the  audience — 
wheeled  about — seized  the  first  adjacent  hand 
on  the  stage — shook  it  with  the  utmost  violence, 
smiling  in  the  owner's  face  all  the  while,  very 
pleasantly — and  then  planted  yourself  on  a 
chair  fronting  the  audience — hooked  your  el- 
bows over  the  corner  of  the  chair-top — smiling 
steadily  on  the  populace,  and  leaving  off,  only 
every  now  and  then,  to  nurse  your  ruffle  and 
pull  down  your  wristbands." 

"  I'll  endeavor  to  practise  this  next  time," 
said  Puffer,  meekly. 

"  Do,"  said  Hobbleshank,  '^  and  look  to  your 
costume,  ifyou  please.  What  do  you  mean  by 
wearing  this  brown  coat,  and  having  your  hair 
cut  plain  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  had  my  hair  cut  this 
way,"  answered  Puffer,  "  but  I  wore  the  coat 
because  it  was  large  in  the  sleeves,  and  allowed 
a  wide  spread  of  the  arms  when  I  came  to  the 
rainbow — thus,"  and  he  expanded  his  arms  af- 
ter the  manner  of  an  arch,  as  he  had,  indeed, 
endeavored  to  do  in  the  delivery  of  his  speech, 
but  was  prevented,  at  the  time,  from  the  embar- 
rassment of  having  to  employ  his  handkerchief 
in  clearing  the  sweat  which  oozed  out  in  liquid 
drops  on  his  forehead.  "  You  recollect  the 
simUe  ?" 

«  Perfectly,"  answered  Hobbleshank.  "  And 
don't  station  yourself  next  time,  sir,  on  the  low- 
est point  of  the  platform— but  stand  forth  in  the 
centre,  making  wings  of  the  six  vices  on  either 
side  of  you,  and  compelling  the  anxious  pre- 
siding officer,  directly  behind  you,  to  stretch 
his  neck  around  the  skirt  of  your  coat,  and  to 


look  up  in  your  face  with  painful  eagerness  to 
catch  what  you're  saying,  which  always  makes  ^ 
the  audience,  who  have  great  confidence  in  the 
head  of  the  meeting,  very  attentive.  It's  a  grand 
stroke  to  make  a  tableau  on  any  stage — worthy 
the  biggest  type  on  the  showbills,  and  here 
you  have  otie  of  the  very  finest  imaginable." 

"  But  as  to  the  orator's  position,"  asked 
Puffer ;  "  do  you  think  a  public  speaker  is 
ever  justifiable  in  standing  on  his  toes  ?" 

"In  extreme  cases,  he  may  be,"  answered 
Hobbleshank,  pondering  ;  "  but  it's  best  to  rise 
gradually  with  your  hearers,  and,  if  you  can 
have  a  private  understanding  with  one  of  the 
waiters,  to  fix  a  chair  conveniently — a  wooden- 
bottomed  Windsor,  mind,  and  none  of  your 
rushers ;  for  its  decidedly  funny  and  destroys 
the  efiect,  to  hear  a  gentlemen  declaiming 
about  a  sinking-fund,  or  a  penal  code,  or  the 
abolition  of  imprisonment  for  debt,  up  to  his 
belly  in  a  broken  chair-frame.  As  the  passion 
grows  upon  you,  plant  your  right  leg  on  one  of 
the  rounds,  then  on  the  bottom,  and  finally, 
when  you  feel  yourself  at  red-heat,  spring  into 
the  chair,  waive  your  hat,  and  call  upon  the  au- 
dience to  die  for  their  country,  their  families, 
and  their  firesides — or  any  other  convenient 
reason."  As  Hobbleshank  advanced  in  his 
discourse,  he  had  illustrated  its  various  topics 
by  actual  accompaniments,  mounting  first  on 
his  legs,  then  the  bench,  and  ended  by  leaping 
upon  the  table,  where  he  stood  brandishing  his 
broken  hat,  and  shouting  vociferously  for  more 
oysters. 

No  reply  to  this  uproarious  summons  appear- 
ing, Hobbleshank  thrust  his  head  between  the 
curtains,  discovered  that  the  tailor  had  vanish- 
ed, and  that  the  tall  man  was  sitting  against 
the  chimney-piece,  with  his  legs  stretched  upon 
a  stool,  and  sound  asleep.  He  snatched  up  his 
hat,  and  hurrying  toward  the  street,  said  he 
thought  it  was  time  to  go. 

As  it  had  worn  far  into  the  heart  of  the 
night.  Puffer  Hopkins  could  not  gainsay  the 
postulate,  and  followed  on.  Hobbleshank  keep- 
ing a  little  in  advance,  they  rambled  thus 
through  many  streets  ;  the  little  old  gentleman 
sometimes  hurrying  them  forward  at  a  gallop, 
and  again  subsiding  into  a  slow,  careful  step, 
as  if  he  kept  pace  with  the  heavy  chimes  that 
were  sounding  midnight  from  the  town-clocks, 
or  perchance,  with  thoughts  that  beat  at  his 
heart  with  a  sharper  stroke. 

"Be  constant,  child,"  said  he,  as  he  was 
preparing  to  leave  his  companion,  "  in  your 
visits  to  popular  associations  and  gatherings  : 
many  a  man  is  platformed  and  scaffolded  by 
these  committees  and  juntoes,  into  the  high 
places  of  the  nation."  He  then  told  Hopkins 
where  he  could  leave  word  for  him,  in  case  he 
should  at  any  time  require  advice  or  assistance ; 
said  that,  if  he  chose,  he  miglit  be  at  Barrell's 
oyster-house  the  next  evening,  and  he  would 
wait  upon  him  to  one  of  these  assemblages  ; 
and  before  Puffer  Hopkins  could  answer  one 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


175 


way  or  the  other,  he  had  disappeared  from  his 
side,  and  vanishing  into  a  by-street,  was  soon 
lost  in  the  darkness. 

It  can  not  be  matter  of  wonder  that  Puffer 
made  his  way  home  with  a  head  considerably 
bewildered  and  unsettled  by  the  occurrences  of 
the  night.  The  great  popular  gathering ;  his 
own  first  speech ;  the  thundering  and  tumul- 
tuous applause  ;  and,  what  fastened  itself  with 
peculiar  force  upon  his  imagination,  the  voice 
and  figure  of  the  little  old  man,  uttering  pensive 
truths  or  shrewd  observations,  with  the  kindly 
interest  he  had  expressed  in  himself  from  the 
first  moment — all  crowded  upon  him,  and  made 
him  feel  that  he  was  in  an  actual  world,  where, 
if  he  would  but  bestir  himself,  fortune  might 
prove  his  friend.  The  result  of  the  whole 
was,  that  he  determined  to  prosecute  his 
career ;  and  in  furtherance  of  that  determin- 
ation, he  resolved  to  meet  Hobbleshank  again ; 
the  last  image  that  his  mind  distinctly  recog- 
nised, ere  it  yielded  to  sleep,  being  that  of  the 
little  paralytic,  passing  and  repassing,  at  times 
dissolved  in  tears,  and  again,  filling  his  cham- 
ber with  the  echoes  of  smothered  laughter ! 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE    BOTTOM    CLUB. 


Punctual  to  his  appointment  with  Hobble- 
shank,  Puffer  Hopkins,  at  a  few  minutes  of 
seven  o'clock  the  next  evening,  directed  his 
steps  toward  Barrell's  oyster-house,  where  in 
due  time  he  arrived,  and  made  discovery  of  one 
f     of  the  most  singular  little  oyster-houses  that 
**    could  be  found  throughout  the  whole  of  oyster- 
eating   Christendom.      Mr.   Jarve  Barrell,   it 
would  seem,  had,   in   the   golden  age  of  his 
career,  been  the  proprietor  of  a  large  public 
house,  occupying  an  entire  building,  and  sur- 
rounded by  his  regiments  of  waiters  and  wine- 
bottles,  whose  services  were  clamorously  and 
steadily   demanded,  by  a   mob  of  customers, 
from  six  in  the  evening  until  one,  morning ;  in 
fact,  the  poor  man's  head  had  been  half  turned, 
by  the  pressure  of  a  prosperous  and  growing 
business.     But,  somehow  or  other,  oysters,  one 
unlucky  season,  giew  smaller,  waiters   more 
^impudent  for  their  pay,  and  custom  walked  out 
#   -of  that  street  into   the  next,  on  a  visit  to  a 
new  landlord,  who  served  his  stews  with  silver 
» spoons  and  his  oysters  in  scollop-shells,  so  that 
poor  Jarve  Barrell  was  compelled,  in  spite  of 
himself,  to  clip  his  wings  and  confine  himself 
to  an  humbler  cage ;  in  a  word,  he  rented  his 
second  floor  to  a  boarding-house  keeper,  took 
in  a  barber  at  the  rear  of  the  first  floor,  and 
continued  business  on  his  own  account  in  the 
front  room  of  the  same.     A  second  decrease  in 
the  size  of  shell-fish,  the  opening  of  a  street 
that  carried  travel  in  another  direction,  and 
Barrell  was  forced  into  that  last  stronghold  of 
the  oyster-man,  the  cellar ;  and  there  it  was 


that  Puflfer  Hopkins  now  found  him,  standing 
on  one  leg  of  his  own  and  one  that  came  out  of 
a  fine  piece  of  oak  woods  at  West  Farms,  a 
coarse  white  apron  about  his  waist  and  a  sala- 
mander in  his  countenance,  declaring  stoutly  to 
a  customer,  that  although  he  had  roughed  it 
against  the  tide  all  his  life,  he  was  determined 
to  have  his  own  way  in  dying. 

Being  questioned  as  to  the  way  to  which  he 
alluded,  he  proceeded  to  explain,  that  when- 
ever he  felt  the  approaches  of  death,  he  should 
hire  a  White-hallei  to  pull  him  over  to  Staten 
Island,  cast  anchor  just  above  the  richest  bed 
in  the  shore,  and  giving  one  good  deep  plunge, 
said  Jarve  Barrell,  "  I'll  carry  myself  to  the  bot- 
tom, and  stretching  myself  out  on  a  picked 
oyster-bed,  make  up  my  mind  to  die ;  so  with 
the  tide  rippling  over  my  head,  and  a  dozen  or 
more  pretty  mermaids  standing  about  me,  I'll 
give  up  the  ghost,  and  hold  myself  entitled  to 
haunt  the  bay  and  island  ever  after,  with  a. 
spruce  ruffle  of  sea- weeds  in  my  bosom." 

PuffTer  Hopkins  was  well  pleased  with  the 
joyous  spirit  of  the  decayed  oyster-man,  but  had 
scarcely  heard  him  through  when  he  detected 
a  quick  clatter  upon  the  steps,  and  turning,  he 
discovered  his  singular  companion  of  the  pre- 
vious night  hurrying  down.  In  a  moment  he 
had  Puffer  by  the  hand,  and  hailed  his  appear- 
ance with  a  sort  of  wondering  enthusiasm,  as 
if  it  gave  him  great  joy  to  find  him  there  and 
to  take  him  again  in  a  friendly  grasp.  Hobble- 
shank  interchanged  a  few  words  with  Mr. 
Jarve  Barrell  as  to  the  influence  of  certain  re- 
cent enactments  relating  to  oyster-beds  upon 
his  own  trade  and  custom,  to  which  Mr.  Jarve 
Barrell  gave  very  lucid  and  convincing  replies, 
and  they  set  out  forthwith  for  the  Bottom  Club, 
This  they  were  not  long  in  finding,  for  Hobble- 
shank  guiding  Puffer  rapidly  through  sundry^ 
dark  alleys  and  by-ways,  for  which  he  seemed 
to  have  a  peculiar  inclination,  they  reached  a 
building  in  front  of  which  a  dusky  lamp  was 
glimmering,  ascended  two  flights  of  stairs,  and 
knocked  at  a  low  dingy  door. 

The  door  was  opened  from  within,  and  Puffer 
advancing,  with  Hobbleshank  in  front,  found 
himself  in  a  long  narrow  room,  with  a  plain 
pine  table  stretched  through  the  centre,  a  for- 
lorn-looking eagle,  with  a  bunch  of  arrowy 
skewers  in  its  talons  and  a  striped  flag  about 
its  head  for  a  turban,  two  or  three  carpenters' 
benches  along  the  walls,  and  the  whole  lighted 
by  four  sombre  tallow  twopennies  at  the  far- 
thest extremity. 

Upon  the  table  was  planted  a  large  earthen 
pitcher,  with  an  emblematic  toper  with  his  leg 
cocked  up,  in  a  state  of  happy  exaltation,  dis- 
played on  the  side  thereof  in  white  ware — and 
around  the  board  were  established  a  dozen  in- 
dividuals or  more,  constituting  the  chief  force 
of  the  immortal  Bottom  Club. 

The  gentlemen  of  the  Bottom  Club,  as  they 
presented  themselves  at  that  moment  to  Puflfer 
Hopkins,  certainly  furnished  a  remarkable 
spectacle;    the  most   remarkable   feature  of 


176 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


which  was,  that  all  the  large  members  of  the 
club,  by  some  inscrutable  fatality,  were  con- 
strained and  restricted  in  small  hats  and  irk- 
some jackets,  while  all  the  small  members,  by 
some  equally  potent  dispensation,  were  allowed 
to  revel  in  an  unlimited  wilderness  of  box-coat, 
petersham,  and  tarpaulin.  The  delicate  gen- 
tlemen wore  great  rough  neck-stocks  and  com- 
manded huge  iron  snuff-boxes  on  the  table,  and 
the  robust  and  muscular  members  assumed 
dainty  black  ribands  and  elegant  turn-down 
collars,  with  more  or  less  ruffle  crisping  up  un- 
der their  broad  heavy-bearded  chins. 

A  thin,  thoughtful  gentleman,  at  one  corner 
of  the  table,  was  enveloped  in  an  overgrown 
vest,  hideous  with  great  red  vines  creeping  all 
over  it,  and  large  enough  to  serve  the  purposes 
of  a  body-coat ;  and  confronting  him,  at  an  op- 
posite corner,  sat  a  stout  omnibus-driver,  ma- 
king himself  as  comfortable  as  he  could  in  a 
waistcoat,  so  many  sizes  too  small,  that  it  gaped 
apart  like  a  pair  of  rebellious  book  covers,  and 
drew  his  arms  into  a  posture  that  resembled  not 
a  little  that  of  the  wings  of  a  great  Muscovy 
gander  prepared  for  the  spit. 

"  We  welcome  you,"  said  the  pale  thought- 
ful man,  rising  and  extending  his  right  hand  to- 
ward Puffer  as  he  advanced,  while  with  his  left 
he  secured  the  sails  of  his  great  red  vest,  "  we 
welcome  you,  Mr.  Hopkins,  to  this  association 
of  brethren.  In  us  you  see  exemplified  the 
progress  of  social  reform ;  we  are  wearing  each 
other's  coats  and  breeches  in  a  simultaneous 
confusion,  and,  laboring  under  a  passional  ex- 
citement, we  may  yet  ameliorate  our  condition 
so  far  as  to  undertake  to  pay  each  other's  debts. 
We  are  subjecting  ourselves  to  a  great  experi- 
ment for  the  benefit  of  mankind,  the  interests 
of  the  total  race.  You  see  what  hardships  we 
are  undergoing" — he  did,  for  at  the  mere  men- 
tion of  the  thing,  the  whole  club  wriggled  in 
their  ill-assorted  garments  like  so  many  clowns 
in  the  very  crisis  of  a  contortion — "  to  test  the 
principles  of  an  ameliorated  condition  of  things. 
Yet,  sir,  we  are  happy,  very  happy  to  see  you 
here  to-night.  This  spot  on  which  you  stand, 
is  consecrated  to  freedom  of  opinion — to  the  fes- 
tival of  the  soul.  This  is  no  musical  forest,  no 
Hindoo  hunter's  hut,  got  up  for  effect  at  the 
amphitheatre ;  we  haven't  trees  here  alive  with 
real  birds  !  the  branches  laden  with  living  mon- 
keys !  the  fountains  visited  by  longlegged  fla- 
mingoes !  the  greensward  covered  with  gazelles, 
grazing  and  sporting !  Oh,  no ;  we  are  a 
mere  caucus  of  plain  citizens,  in  our  everyday 
dresses,  sitting  in  this  small  room,  on  rough 
benches,  to  re-organize  society,  and  give  the 
•world  a  new  axle ;  that's  all." 

Hereupon  the  thoughtful  gentleman  sat  down, 
the  club  looked  at  each  other  and  shook  their 
heads,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  This  chairman  of 
ours  is  certainly  a  born  genius;"  and  Puffer 
and  Hobbleshank  were  earnestly  invited  to  the 
Tipper  end  of  the  board,  where  they  could  pos- 
sess the  immediate  society  of  the  intellectual 
president,  with  the  convenient  solace  of  the 


beer-pitcher.  As  soon  as  they  were  seated, 
and  furnished  with  a  draught  from  the  earthen 
jug,  to  make  them  feel  at  home  (a  man  always 
feeling  most  at  home  when  his  wits  are  abroad), 
the  legitimate  business  of  the  club  proceeded 
with  great  spirit. 

The  first  subject  that  was  brought  before 
them  was,  a  general  consultation  as  to  the  part 
the  club — the  friends  of  social  reform  and  a  re- 
organization of  society — should  play  in  the  ap- 
proaching election  of  a  Mayor  for  the  city  and 
county  of  New  York ;  something  striking  and 
decisive  being  always  expected  from  the  re- 
doubted Bottom  Club.  One  member  hinted  and 
proposed  that  there  should  be  a  geneial  destruc- 
tion of  the  enemy's  handbills;  which  was 
amended  so  as  to  embrace  a  thrashing  of  the 
enemy's  bill-stickers,  wherever  found;  which 
was  still  further  enlarged.  So  as  to  cover  the 
special  case  of  freighting  a  hostile  bill-stick- 
ei's  cart  with  building-stone  and  breaking  a 
bill-sticker's  donkey's  back.  The  cutting  of 
the  flag-ropes,  and  sawing  down  of  liberty-poles 
next  came  up,  and  passed  promptly — a  stout 
man  in  a  small  roundabout  asseverating  vehe- 
mently that  the  price  of  firewood  should  be 
brought  down,  if  he  stayed  up  till  midnight  three 
nights  in  the  week,  to  accomplish  the  benevo- 
lent object.  The  club  then  proceeded  to  pre- 
amble and  resolve  that  they  considered  the  lib- 
erty of  the  citizens  of  this  metropolis  in  immi- 
nent danger,  and  that  they  would  protect  the 
same  at  the  hazard  of  their  lives ;  by  which  the 
Bottom  Club  meant,  that  they  would  hold  them- 
selves prepared  to  breed  a  riot  at  five  minutes' 
notice,  if  found  necessary  to  prevent  a  surplus 
of  voters  on  the  opposite  side  from  enjoying  the 
invaluable  franchise  of  depositing  their  ballots. 
Two  sturdy  members,  belonging  to  the  intellec- 
tual and  highly-refined  fraternity  of  omnibus- 
drivers,  next  pledged  themselves  in  the  most 
earnest  manner,  to  conduct  their  respective  ve- 
hicles, at  such  time  as  might  be  most  apposite, 
through  the  centre  of  any  well-dressed  crowd 
that  might  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  poll, 
and  also  to  indulge  in  such  incidental  flourishes 
of  the  whip  on  their  way,  as  would  inevitably 
persuade  the  gentry  to  stand  back.  As  beer  and 
brandy  flowed  through  the  club — which  they 
did,  with  a  marvellous  depth  and  celerity  of 
current — the  tide  of  heady  resolution  deepened ; 
and  they  at  length,  in  their  extreme  heat  and 
fervor,  determined  to  throw  off  their  coats  to  a 
man,  and  enjoy  a  regular  break-down  dance 
about  the  table. 

With  wonderful  alacrity  they  carried  this  ju- 
dicious resolution  into  effect,  by  disrobing  them- 
selves of  coats,  shad-bellies,  and  jackets,  and 
casting  them  in  a  heap  on  a  sailor's  chest  es- 
tablished under  the  eagle's  wing.  They  then, 
hand  in  hand,  Hobbleshank  and  Puffer  Hopkins 
joining  in,  commenced  capering  in  a  circle, 
dashing  down,  first  the  right  heel  and  then  the 
left,  with  astonishing  energy,  and  as  if  they 
were  driving  in  the  nails  of  the  floor  all  over 
again  ;  meantime  roaring  out  the  tag-ends  of  a 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


177 


partisan  song,  which  intimated  that,  "They 
were  the  boys  so  genteel  and  civil,  that  cared 
not  a  straw  for  Nick  nor  the  devil ;"  with  other 
choice  sentiments  metrically  stated.  While 
they  were  immersed  in  this  elegant  recreation, 
a  single  gentleman — a  member  of  the  club — 
who  did  not  choose  to  partake  thereof,  sat  apart 
indulging  in  his  own  profound  cogitations.  He 
was  in  many  respects  a  peculiar  personage, 
and  seemed  to  enjoy  a  copy-right  way  of  his 
own ;  which  copy-right  might  have  borne  date 
as  early  as  his  birtli  and  entrance  into  the  world, 
for  Nature  had  given  him  a  pale,  chalky  coun- 
tenance, a  sort  of  blank  between  youth  and 
age ;  a  pair  of  knavish  gray  eyes,  always  turned 
upward,  and  a  nose  of  the  same  class,  which 
appeared  most  honestly  to  sympathize  with 
them.  He  was  of  a  small,  shrunken  figure, 
with  a  slight  indication  of  a  hump  at  the  shoul- 
ders, long,  thin  fingers,  and  legs  of  a  some- 
what misshapen  and  imperfect  character. 

This  singular  little  gentleman,  as  we  said, 
sat  apart,  indulging  in  his  own  thoughts;  the 
purport  of  which  appeared  presently  to  be,  a 
determination  to  investigate  and  scrutinize  the 
pockets  of  the  various  coats,  jackets,  and  shad- 
bellies,  which  had  been  laid  aside  by  the  dan- 
cers, for  to  this  task  he  now  assiduously  ap- 
plied himself,  and  while  his  companions  were 
enjoying  themselves  in  their  way,  he  enjoyed 
himself  in  his  own  way,  by  divesting  them  of 
such  of  their  contents  as  suited  his  purposes, 
whatever  they  might  be.  In  this  general  scru- 
tiny it  would  have  been  an  impeachment  of  his 
talents  as  an  inquisitor  to  have  charged  him 
with  neglecting  the  remotest  corner  or  out-of- 
the-way  borough  of  the  apparel  either  of  Hob- 
bleshank  or  PufiTer  Hopkins. 

Having  accomplished  this  undertaking  to  his 
own  satisfactiouj  he  established  himself  at  a 
side  of  the  long  table,  planted  a  fur  cap  of  great 
antiquity,  after  a  drunken  fashion,  over  his 
brows,  dropped  his  head  upon  his  folded  arms, 
and  devoted  himself,  with  great  apparent  zeal 
and  sincerity,  to  the  business  of  sleeping. 

Meantime  the  gentlemen  of  the  Bottom  Club 
had  wearied  of  their  sport,  and  oppressed  by 
beer  and  hard  work,  they  dropped  into  their 
seats. 

.The  pitcher  went  round,  once,  twice,  and 
thrice,  and  by  this  time  they  had  attained  an 
elevation  of  conduct  and  expression  that  was 
truly  sublime  to  behold.  The  heavy-bearded 
man  swore,  and  laughed,  and  dashed  his  fist 
'  upon  the  table,  with  the  uproar  of  half-a-dozen 
bakers  at  kneading  time.  The  two  omnibus- 
drivers,  for  some  unknown,  and  at  this  remote 
period  from  the  event,  unconjecturable  cause, 
entered  solemnly  into  a  set-to,  in  which  much 
muscle  and  science  were  displayed,  and  which 
ended  in  a  most  fraternal  embrace  under  the 
table. 

A  cadaverous,  thoughtful  man — not  the  chair- 
man— who  was  no  talker  but  a  wonderful  deep 
thinker  and  metaphysician,  grew  mysterious 
and  communicative,  and  hinted  that  he  had 
M    . 


that  in  the  pocket  of  his  swallow-tail  which 
would  raise  a  devil  of  a^  ferment  if  the  public 
but  knew  of  it.         .  ^ 

A  fifth  associate  of  the  club,  who  still  re- 
tained an  insufficient  hat  planted  jauntily  on 
his  head,  thought  it  would  be  a  capital  idea — 
a  very  capital  idea — a  devilish  first-rate  idea 
in  the  way  of  a  social  re-organization — to  get 
together  a  parcel  of  gilt  steeple-balls,  and  hatch 
out  a  brood  of  young  churches  by  clapping  a 
bishop  upon  them.  • 

Another  gentleman  was  inclined  to  think 
that  the  Bottom  Club  had  better  mind  its  own 
business,  by  petitioning  the  common  council  to 
have  jugglers  appointed  inspectors  of  election, 
who  could  pass  into  the  ballot-box  two  tickets 
for  one  on  their  own  side,  and  no  tickets  for 
ever  so  many  on  the  other. 

A  wide-mouthed  member,  the  author  of  the 
ditty  that  had  been  sung,  and  clerk  and  bell- 
ringer  to  a  neighboring  market,  became  horri- 
bly sentimental,  shed  tears  in  his  beer,  and 
kissed  his  hand  to  the  eagle  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room.  As  the  entertainments  were  mani- 
festly drawing  to  an  end,  Hobbleshank  glanced 
warily  toward  Pufifer  Hopkins,  and  made  for 
the  door.  But  they  were  not  let  off*  so  easily — 
for  simultaneous  with  the  rising  of  Puffer  Hop- 
kins was  that  of  the  entire  Bottom  Club ;  and  a 
general  friendly  assault  was  begun  upon  the 
person  of  that  worthy  young  gentleman. 

First,  the  gentlemen  of  the  club  insisted  on 
shaking  hands  all  round  toward  the  right,  and 
then  ail  round  toward  the  left ;  one  or  two 
were  resolved  to  embrace  him,  and  did  so ;  and 
at  last,  after  the  pantomime,  there  was  a  unan- 
imous call  for  a  speech  from  that  gentleman,- 
which  summons  was,  however,  without  a  dis- 
covery of  the  substitution  on  the  part  of  the  as- 
tute members  of  the  Bottom  Club,  responded  to 
by  Hobbleshank,  after  his  own  peculiar  fashion, 
with  a  very  happy  allusion  to  the  striped  flag 
and  the  refreshments. 

The  unshorn  man  hoped  Puffer  Hopkins 
would  come  again,  and  vowed  he  was  his  friend 
to  command,  from  the  state  of  Maine  to  Cape 
May ;  and  the  metaphysical  deep  thinker,  strug- 
gling manfully  with  the  beer  he  had  imbibed, 
promised  next  time  to  communicate  something 
of  vital  consequence  to  the  welfare  of  this 
Union ;  with  which  promises,  protestations, 
and  God-speeds,  Hobbleshank  and  Hopkins  de- 
parted. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MB.  FYLER  CLOSE  AND  HIS  CUSTOMERS. 

It  can  not  be  denied  that  Mr.  Fyler  Close  had 
selected  his  lodgings  with  commendable  thrift 
and  discretion.  A  single  small  apartment  over 
a  baker>^,  and  looking  out  upon  a  public  pump, 
supplied  him  at  the  lowest  current  rate  with 
the  tliree  primary  necessaries  of  life ;  namely, 


78 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


warmth,  from  the  bi-daily  inflammalion  of  the 
oven  for  the  benefit  of  neighboring  families — 
biscuits,  the  legitimate  spawn  of  the  oven — 
and  water,  the  cheap  creature  of  corporate  be- 
nevolence. It  could  scarcely  be  expected,  that 
sundry  fat  spiders  that  kept  their  webs  in  the 
different  corners  of  his  room,  would  be  incor- 
porated in  any  of  the  banquets  of  Mr.  Fyler 
Close,  although  by  many  people  they  might 
have  been  regarded  as  a  respectable  addition 
thereto.  With  the  exception  of  its  inhabitants, 
the  single  small  apartment  was  almost  wholly 
void — there  being  no  covering  upon  the  floor, 
no  curtains  at  the  window,  no  paper  upon  the 
walls,  and  not  the  slightest  semblance  of  a  fire, 
past,  present,  or  future,  on  the  deserted  hearth- 
stone. To  be  sure,  if  you  had  opened  a  nar- 
row door  on  one  side,  you  might  have  detected 
in  a  cramped  closet  a  pair  of  coverlids,  in  which 
Mr.  Close  was  in  the  habit  of  sheathing  his 
meager  limbs  every  night,  as  a  nominal  protec- 
tion against  chilblains  and  rheumatism ;  while 
the  door  of  the  closet  was  carefully  fastened 
and  secured  within,  from  a  fear  which  the  oc- 
cupant somehow  or  other  encouraged,  that  he 
should  be  roused  some  unlucky  morning  with 
a  heavy  hand  on  his  throat,  a  big  grim  face 
bending  over  him,  and  his  pockets  ail  picked 
clean. 

In  the  outer  room  stood  a  dilapidated  candle- 
stand,  covered  with  a  tattered  baize,  with  a 
battered  inkstand  and  two  stumpy  pens  lying 
upon  the  same ;  three  chairs  with  decayed  bot- 
toms ;  and,  in  the  corner  of  the  hearth,  a  sin- 
gle long  gloomy  poker,  with  its  head  up  the 
chimney. 

The  advantages  of  these  commodious  quar- 
ters were,  at  the  present  juncture,  enjoyed  by 
Mr.  Fyler  Close  himself,  who  being  a  short, 
hard-visaged  gentleman,  in  a  great  blue  coat 
son.\e  three  sizes  too  large  for  him,  and  a  pair 
of  aiTtibitious  trowsers  that  climbed  his  legs,  dis- 
idaini.ng  intercourse  with  a  pair  of  low  cheap- 
ci't  shoes,  became  the  accommodations  admira- 
bly. T'here  was  another,  a  long,  spare  per- 
sonage, with  a  countenance  so  marked,  and 
scarred,  and  written  all  over  with  ugly  lines 
and  5eam."5,  as  to  resemble  a  battered  tomb- 
stone ;  and  having  old  decayed  teeth  that  dis- 
closed thenxselves  whenever  he  opened  his 
,nouth,  the  f  incy  of  uncouth  dry  bones  sticking 
out  at  th  e  c  orner  of  a  grave  was  still  further 
kejrt  up-  The  re  was  something  extremely  sin- 
ister in  the  feai'ures  of  this  individual,  who  sate 
in  the  nook  between  the  closet  and  chimney- 
piece,  and  <;onstantly  glared  about  him,  in  a 
restless  jnaniier,  as  if  the  air  swarmed  wher- 
ever he  lodkec^  wii'h  unusual  sounds,  and  as  if 
he  caught  "Sudc^en  .sight  of  faces  by  no  means 
pleasant  to  look  upon. 

"  I  don't  see  that  I  could  have  managed  my 
little  moneys  mt'ch  .better,"  said  Mr.  Fyler 
Close,  "  unless  I  I  lad  locked  tbem  up  ia  an  iron 
safe,  and  buried  th  e  key  under  the  walls  of  the 
house.  There's  c  nly  about  four  hours — and 
they're  at  dead  m  idnight — when  my  debtors 


could  slip  away  from  me  ;  and  then  they'd  have 
to  do  it  devilish  cautiously,  Leycraft,  not  to  be 
heard.  See,  sir !  I  am  in  the  very  centre  of  all 
my  investments,  aud  have  a  watch  on  them 
like  an  auctioneer  at  the  height  of  his  sales. 
You  see  that  yellow  house  ?  I  make  the  owner 
keep  his  shutters  open,  because  I  have  a  mort- 
gage on  his  piano,  which  I  wouldn't  lose  sight 
of  for  the  world." 

"  Quite  an  eye  for  music,  I  should  think  !" 
interposed  his  companion. 

"  And  a  pretty  good  ear  too,"  continued  Mr. 
Close,  "  for  if  I  should  fail  to  hear  my  little 
blacksmith's  hammer  in  the  old  forge,  off  this 
way,  I  should  go  distracted.  It  sooths  me 
very  much  to  hear  that  anvil  ringing  from 
early  light  down  to  broad  dusk  ;  and  you  can't 
tell  what  a  comfort  it  is  to  me  when  I'm  sick  !" 

"  Is  he  punctual  in  his  interest  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Leycraft,  well  knowing  that  the  fine  arts  must 
be  associated  in  Mr.  Fyler  Close's  mind  with 
some  such  disagreeable  contingency. 

"Exemplary,  sir;  and  when  he  falls  sick 
and  can't  make  a  racket  himself,  he  always 
sends  round  word  and  employs  a  couple  of  boys 
to  keep  it  up,  just  to  satisfy  my  mind.  If 
the  forge  stopped  for  two  days,  I  should  be  un- 
der the  necessity  of  coming  down  on  his  shop 
with  a  sharp-clawed  writ,  which  would  be  very 
painful." 

"  Excruciating,  I  should  think,"  said  Mr. 
Leycraft,  smiling  grimly  ;  "  it  would  give  you 
a  sort  of  moral  rheumatism,  I've  no  doubt !" 

"  You  know  it  would  !"  rejoined  Fyler  Close, 
returning  the  smile.  "  Then  here's  the  baker 
— he  can't  run  away  without  my  smelling  the 
fresh  loaves  as  they  go  into  the  cart ;  and  the 
haberdasher  over  the  way  in  front,  couldn't 
escape  me,  unless  she  undertook  to  di-ess  up  all 
her  male  acquaintance  in  ruffles  and  false  bo- 
soms, and  let  them  out  through  the  alley. 
That  might  do,  but  I  guess  she  isn't  up  to  it ; 
since  she  lost  her  husband  she's  gone  a  little 
•wea;k  in  the  head,  and  pays  an  extra  cent  on 
^the  dc^lar  when  she  is  borrowing  from  Mr. 
Fyler  €iose." 

"These  are  small  gains  and  slow  ones,"  said 
Mr..  Leyeraft ;  "  you  might  sit  on  spiders'  eggs 
like  these  for  a  century,  and  not  hatch  out  a 
fortune.  Let's  have  something  bold  and  dash- 
ing-^ something  where  you  put  in  no  capital 
and  double  it  to  boot  in  less  than  a  week  !" 

"Something  modelled  on  the  farm-house 
affair,  eh  ?"  said  Fyler  Close,  leering  on  his 
companion  significantly. 

«  Wiill  you  let  that  subject  alone,  if  you 
please,  Mr.  Fyler  Close!"  cried  Mr.  Leycraft, 
whosecountenance  lowered  and  darkened  on  his 
coiaapanion  as  he  spake.  "  We  have  had  talks 
enoMgh  about  that  cursed  house,  and  one  too 
many.  I  wish  the  title  deed  was  in  the  right 
owner's  hands !" 

"  You  do — do  you  ?"  urged  Mr.  Close,  pleas- 
antly. «  Shall  I  ask  Mrs.  Hetty  Lettuce,  the 
market-women,  when  she  comes  here  next  to 
pay  the  ,rent  pr  renew  her  mortgage,  if  she 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


179 


ran't  find  him  for  us  ?  Perhaps  if  we  paid  her 
well  slie  might  relieve  us  of  the  property,  and 
provide  a  very  gentlemanly  owner  in  our  place. 
Shall  we  advertise — oti'er  rewards — post  plac- 
ards ?  I've  no  doubt  if  the  purlieus  of  the  city 
were  well  dragged,  that  an  heir  would  turn 
up." 

"Stuff!  Fyler  Close,  you  know  well  enough 
that  an  heir  couldn't  be  brought  alive  off  either 
one  of  the  five  continents,  that  could  make 
good  his  claim ;  and  that  makes  j'ou  chuckle  so 
like  a  fiend.  Mrs.  Lettuce  has  lost  trace  of 
him  for  more  than  twenty  years — has  grown 
fat  and  lazy — borrows  money  on  bond  and 
mortgage,  and  don't  care  a  straw  about  the 
subject :" — 

"  Where's  your  grand  project  all  this  time  ?" 
interposed  Fyler  Close.  "  Shall  we  have  some- 
thing new  to  practise  our  wits  on,  or  shall  we 
rake  among  our  dead  schemes  for  wherewithal 
to  warm  our  brains  with  ?" 

"  Now  that  you  are  on  that,"  said  Mr.  Ley- 
.  craft,  rapidly  surveying  the  nooks  and  privacies 
of  the  apartment,  and  bestowing  a  broad  glare 
on  the  door  and  windows,  "  I  say  freely  and 
without  the  least  reserve,  that  my  head's  a 
nine-pin,  if  I  don't  lay  a  plan  before  you  will 
make  you  thrill  down  to  your  pocket-ends  with 
rapture  :  it's  a  neat  scheme — very  neat, — but 
at  the  same  time  mighty  magnificent." 

Saying  this,  Lej'craft  drew  close  up  to  the 
side  of  the  broker,  laid  their  heads  close  to- 
gether, and  bending  over  the  stand,  he  moved 
his  finger  slowly  in  a  sort  of  hieroglyphic 
over  it,  and,  tapping  his  forehead  complacent- 
ly, was  about  to  detail  his  notable  plan,  when  a 
knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  which  cut  short 
any  further  communication  for  the  present. 

The  knock  was  repeated  a  little  louder ;  Fy- 
ler Close  motioned  to  his  companion,  who  van- 
ished expeditiously  down  a  pair  of  back  stairs 
.  into  the  yard,  looking  anxiously  back  all  the 
.  lime  as  if  under  pursuit,  and  so  through  the  ba- 
ker's ;  and  Close,  snatching  from  his  pocket  a 
well-worn  hymn-book,  began  reciting  a  most 
excellent  passage  of  psalmody,  in  a  deep  and 
nasal  intonation. 

The  knock  was  repeated  three  or  four  times 
■before  an  invitation  was  given  to  enter;  and 
although  the  broker  glanced  over  the  top  of 
his  book,  as  the  door  opened  and  discovered  his 
visiter,  he  assumed  not  to  be  conscious  of  the 
presence  of  any  person  whatever,  but  proceeded 
steadily,  in  fact,  with  rather  increased  energy, 
°  in  his  capital  divei  tisement.  "  Please,  sir,"  said 
the  visiter,  a  stout-built  lady,  curtseying  and 
advancing  timidly  a  step  or  two,  "  please  sir, 
what's  to  be  done  about  the  little  morgage  on 
my  grounds,  sir  ?" 

This  question  Fyler  Close  seemed  at  first  al- 
together unable  to  apprehend ;  but  when  it  was 
repeated,  accompanied  by  a  slight  jingle  of  sil- 
ver in  the  visiter's  pocket,  he  started,  deposited 
Jtiis  book  open  upon  the  stand — as  if  he  wished 
to  resume  it  at  the  veiy  earliest  convenience — 
looked  about   him  and    pensively  remarked, 


twitching  his  wj^iskers,  of  which  there  was  a 
dry  tuft  on  either'  cheek,  violently : 

"  Poor  old  man  I — there's  no  comlbrt  left  for 
you  now,  but  psalm-singing  and  class-meetings 
every  other  evening  in  the  week.  These  are 
old  chairs,  madam !" 

"They  certainly  are,  Mr.  Close;  very  old; 
there's  no  denying  facts,"  answered  the  huck- 
ster. 

"  This  is  a  dreadful  dreary  roo|m  Yor  an  old 
man  to  live  in !'  again  groaned  the  broker. 

'•'  Sartain  !"  responded  the  unwary  market- 
woman  ;  "  I  think  in  that  point,  to  do  you  jus- 
tice, it's  but  next  better  than  a  family  vault, 
saving  the  death's-heads  and  the  smell." 

"  And  now  30U  ask  me,  a  poor  lonesome 
man,  living  like  Death  himself,  as  you  admit, 
and  that  can  afford  to  keep  no  better  company 
than  three  poor  crazy  chairs,  to  renew  your  mort- 
gage at  seven  per  cent.! — why,  a  cannibal,  with 
good  cannibal  feelings,  wouldn't  ask  it !" 

Mr.  Close,  on  delivery  of  this  speech,  fell 
silent,  and  dropped  into  a  profound  meditation, 
during  which  he  from  time  to  time  looked  up, 
and  eyed  the  stout  person  of  the  huckster  as  if 
he  thought  it  would  furnish  a  most  delicate 
morsel  for  a  Carribee.  But  his  own  method  of 
devouring  a  victim  differed  essentially  from  that 
adopted  by  the  benighted  heathen,  and  he  now 
proceeded  to  demonstrate  his  dexterity  in  his 
own  particular  line  of  manipulation. 

"  Well !  you  shall  have  it !"  he  cried,  awa- 
king as  from  an  anxious  revery ;  "  I  have  con- 
sidered it — 3'our  business  shall  be  done,  Mrs. 
Lettuce." 

"  Thank  you,  sir — thank  you,  sir  !  I  am  very 
much  obliged,"  exclaimed  the  market-woman, 
bowing  and  curtseying  with  great  show  of  grat- 
itude, but  misapprehending  slightly  the  mean- 
ing of  Mr.  Fyler  Close,  and  promising  the  ac- 
cruing interest  in  hard  dollars,  punctually  on 
quarter-day. 

"  But  I  must  have  my  summer  supply  of  rad- 
ishes !"  said  Close. 

"  Oh,  for  the  trifle  of  that,  Master  Close,  we'll 
not  differ.  I  can  send  you  down  a  bunch  or 
two  by  the  girls,  ev^ery  now  and  then." 

"  Every  now  and  then  will  not  do,  madam ; 
I  must  have  them  regularly,  for  I  can't  live 
without  putting  a  few  for  sale,  in  the  season  of 
them,  at  the  baker's  window  below  stairs." 

"  Well,  I  don't  mind  a  handful  of  greens,  in 
the  way  of  binding  a  bargain ;  so  the  cart  shall 
stop  every  morning  if  you  please,  and  leave  you 
a  dozen  bunches." 

"  Very  good,  very  good  !"  exclaimed  the  bro- 
ker, rubbing  his  hands  together,  "you  are  a 
woman  of  sense ;  and  now,  I  must  have  my  as- 
paragus, that's  a  dainty  herb — I  love  aspara- 
gus, dearly — and  it  sells  Avell  when  it's  early. 
Mind,  I  must  have  early  tops,  or  none  at  all  / 
Pick  me  the  tops  that  grow  near  the  house, 
close  up  by  the  foundations,  will  you  ?" 

Early  tops,  and  such  as  he  desired,  were  ac 
cordingly  promised,  perforce ;  Mrs.  Hetty  Let 
tuce  diving  convulsively  into  her  pockets,  t. 


180 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


make  sure  of  such  small  cliange  as  she  had 
about  her,  as  everything  appeared  to  be  slip- 
ping away  from  her  ownership  with  extraordi- 
nary velocity  and  despatch. 

"  ril  not  ask  you,"  continued  the  discrimi- 
nating Mr.  Close, "  to  supply  me  with  butter,  nor 
with  eggs,  although  something  nice  might  be 
done  with  them  through  my  neighbor  below — 
but  eggs  are  quite  apt  to  addle  on  hand,  and 
butter  must  be  kept  in  ice,  which  costs  two- 
pence a  pound,  and  melts  without  leaving  as 
much  as  a  thank-ye  in  your  pocket." 

"  Your  sentiments  are  very  excellent,  sir,  on 
that  subject,"  said  Mrs.  Lettuce,  brightening 
up. 

"  Yes,  they  are,  very  exfeellent ;  but  you'll 
think  them  far  nicer  on  the  subject  of  good 
worsted  stockings,  made  with  your  own  dainty 
hands — three  pair  for  winter  use,  I  should  have 
three  pair  at  least,  and  as  many  more  for  fall. 
You  know  we  must  guard  against  frosts  and 
chilblains  a  little;  made  with  low  tops,  with 
red  clocks  to  show  they  are  your  fabric — one  of 
the  sweetest  knitters  in  the  market." 

With  this  he  fell  back  quietly  in  his  chair, 
and  reminding  Mrs.  Lettuce  that  he  should  ex- 
pect his  first  pair  of  fall  socks  Wednesday-week, 
he  wished  her  good  day ;  which  wish  Mrs.  Let- 
tuce was  by  no  means  idle  in  accepting,  for  her 
departure  was,  in  fact,  accomplished  with  such 
expedition,  as  to  amount  almost  to  a  precipi- 
tate flight.  At  this  we  can  not  be  greatly  as- 
tonished, when  we  consider  the  chance  of  a  re- 
quisition being  made  upon  her  to  furnish  the 
entire  outfit  and  wardrobe  of  the  broker,  by 
way  of  lightening  his  doleful  condition  and 
eking  out  the  percentage  on  his  mortgage. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Lettuce  had  departed,  the 
broker  ascended  a  chair,  and  after  careful  in- 
spection of  an  old  chest  in  his  closet,  and  ma- 
king discovery  of  a  single  pair  of  fragmentary 
hose  and  an  old  stocking,  he  said,  laughing  to 
himself,  "  This  merchandise  of  the  old  market- 
woman's  must  go  into  the  hands  of  Ishmael, 
that's  clear.  Nights  are  growing  sharper;  a 
little,  a  very  little  wood  must  be  laid  in ;  and 
where  fires  are  kept,  socks  should  be  discoun- 
tenanced." He  had  just  stepped  down  from 
this  inquisition,  when  a  sharp  rap  echoed 
through  the  hall,  and,  without  waiting  for  a 
summons  to  enter,  the  strange  old  body,  Pufifer 
Hopkins'  friend,  marched  abruptly  into  the 
apartment,  with  a  very  peremptory  and  threat- 
ening aspect. 

"  I  have  come  again !"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, sternly. 

« I  see  you  have,"  replied  Mr.  Fyler  Close, 
smiling  on  him  with  all  the  suavity  and  mel- 
lowness of  an  August  day. 

"  Do  you  see  that  I  am  here  ?"  continued 
Hobbleshank. 

"  Most  assuredly — unless  you  are  an  appari- 
tion ;  and  then  you  are  here  and  not  here,  at 
the  same  time,"  answered  the  broker. 

"  If  I  were  a  goblin,  sir — come  in  here  with 
a  thong  of  leather  to  strip  you  to  your  skin  and 


stripe  you  all  over  with  blows — wonld  I  be  out 
of  place,  do  you  think  ?" 

"  Perhaps  not  much ;  a  little,  we'll  say  a  lit- 
tle," answered  Mr.  Close,  still  smiling  gently 
on  his  visiter,  "just  to  balance  the  sentence." 

"  And  then  if  I  carried  your  bruised  old  car- 
case," continued  Hobbleshank,  "  and  plunged 
it  in  a  gulf  of  boiling  fire,  and  held  it  there 
by  the  throat  for  a  century,  or  so — would  it  be 
pleasant  and  satisfactory  ?"  ' 

"  Extremely  so,"  answered  the  broker ; 
"  nothing  could  be  desired  more  charming,  un- 
less it  might  be  a  bond  on  compound  interest, 
with  the  interest  payable  at  twelve  o'clock 
daily." 

"  That  would  be  finer,  you  think  ?" 

"  Much  finer — because  that  would  leave  one 
the  use  of  his  legs  to  get  out  of  troubles  with." 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  Hobbleshank,  who  always 
made  it  a  point  to  subject  the  broker  to  a  search- 
ing and  playful  cross-examination — the  answers 
to  which,  as  has  been  seen,  on  the  part  of  the 
broker,  were  always  extremely  candid  and  con- 
fiding, "  now,  sir,  I  want  to  know  of  you,  whether 
you  think  a  gentleman  who  has  stood  by  and  seen 
a  man's  wife  die  by  inches  in  the  veriest  need  of  * 
common  food — has  seen  the  man  go  mad — yes, 
mad,  sir,  withgrief,  and  flee  from  his  house  in 
utter  despair  and  misery — do  you  think  this 
gentleman,  who,  when  he  has  put  the  child  and 
heir  of  these  poor  wretches  out  of  the  way — 
God  knows  how — takes  the  roof  that  should 
have  sheltered  his  boy's  head — do  you  think  he 
deserves  the  use  of  his  legs  ?  or  his  cursed,  gri- 
ping hands  ?  or  his  great  devilish  eyes  ?" 

"Not  at  all — by  no  means,  my  dear  sir,'* 
answered  Fyler  Close,  blandly.  "  It  would  be 
waste  and  extravagance  to  allow  such  a  mon- 
ster anything  but  his  neck ;  you'know  he  might 
hang  by  that." 

"  Suppose  you  hadn't  conveniences  to  hang 
him  with — no  tackle,  no  scaflTold,  no  murderer's 
cap,"  continued  Hobbleshank,  "and  couldn't 
persuade  the  gentleman  to  lend  his  neck  to  a 
noose — what  then  ?" 

"  What  then  ? — I  confess  I  should  be  at  a 
stand.  The  case  stands  thus,  if  I  apprehend 
you,  my  dear  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Close,  with 
the  same  astonishing  equanimity,  "  here's  a 
great  villain  to  be  punished ;  the  law  can't 
reach  him ;  he  won't  consent  to  be  strung  up 
without  law,  and  declines — is  it  so  ? — positive- 
ly declines  to  come  into  any  friendly  arrange- 
ment to  be  burnt  or  bastinadoed,  what's  to  be 
done  ?  Upon  my  honor,  my  good  sir,  I  must 
allow  the  knave  has  the  better  of  you.  I  am 
sorry  for  it,  extremely  sorry ;  but  the  ways  of 
Providence  are  just,  very  just,  and  I  guess  you'll 
have  to  wait  for  them  !"  *  , 

As  Mr.  Close  uttered  these  words  he  assumed  /» 
a  benign  and  tranquil  expression  of  counte- 
nance, and  looked  serenely  forward  into  empty 
space,  as  if  it  was  a  hardship — a  very  great 
hardship,  that  such  a  case  should  exist,  but  that 
it  was  his  duty,  as  an  exemplary  citizen,  to  re- 
sign himself  to  it  without  a  murmur.     In  this 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


181 


seeming  quietude  of  feeling  Hobbleshank  scarce- 
ly shared. 

"  What's  to  be  done  ?"  he  shouted,  darting 
forward  toward  the  broker— "his  ugly  flesh  is  to 
be  torn  with  sharp  nails,  like  pincers ;  his  head 
is  to  be  broken,  where  these  maggots  hatch — 
wretch !" 

But  ere  he  could  fasten  upon  the  broker, 
and  exemplify  his  notions  of  punishment,  that 
gentleman,  who  had  been  warily  watching  his 
visiter  all  through  the  interview,  dropped  from 
his  chair,  glided  athwart  the  candle-stand,  and 
throwing  himself  into  the  adjoining  closet,  se- 
cured it  from  within. 

Having  rehearsed  this  performance  many 
times  before,  in  previous  interviews  with  his 
visiter,  Mr.  Fyler  Close  achieved  it  at  present 
with  marvellous  despatch.  For  a  few  minutes 
Hobbleshank  made  furious  assaults  upon  the 
broker's  fortress,  with  his  feet  and  clenched  fists 
which  he  dashed  violently  against  the  panels  ; 
all  of  which  proceedings  were  echoed  from  with- 
in by  a  hard,  iron  laugh,  that  almost  set  Hob- 
bleshank beside  himself.  From  time  to  time 
the  laughter  continued,  and  the  rage  of  the  old 
man  increased,  until  at  length,  in  his  extremity 
of  passion,  he  snatched  up  the  single  piece  of 
furniture — the  prime  ornament  of  the  apart- 
ment— dashed  it  in  ft  agments  upon  the  hearth, 
kicked  open  the  outer  door,  and  rushed  almost 
headlong  into  the  street. 

Mr.  Fyler  Close  had  no  sooner  heard  his  re- 
treating steps,  than  he  quietly  unearthed  him- 
self, and  stepping  along  the  hall  of  the  building, 
hoisted  a  window  in  front,  and  putting  forth 
his  head,  watched  with  considerable  interest 
the  form  of  Hobbleshank  as  it  was  whirled 
along  by  the  rage  and  desperation  of  its  owner, 
without  much  regard  to  children,  fishmongers — 
with  which  the  street  swarmed — wheelbarrows, 
or  ladies  in  full  dress.  He  then  tranquilly  gath- 
ered the  remains  of  his  writing-table,  tied  them 
in  a  bundle  with  a  string,  and  placing  them  ten- 
derly in  the  corner,  produced  from  an  upper 
shelf  of  his  closet-stronghold  a  single  sea-bis- 
cuit, and  proceeded  to  his  evening  meal. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE   AUCTION  ROOM. 


^4   • 


Anxious  to  become  familiar  with  the  peo- 
ple in  their  assemblies  and  public  gatherings — 
to  learn  how  crowds  are  excited  and  assuaged, 
and  made  to  do  the  bidding  of  cunning  men ; 
now  that  which  would  be  folly  and  sheer  mad- 
ness with  one,  may,  practised  upon  many  in  a 
confused  mass,  take  the  hue  of  profoundest  wis- 
dom and  justice  ;  and  having  at  heart,  withal, 
the  suggestions  of  his  strange  old  friend  of  Fog- 
fire  hall.  Puffer  Hopkins  now  made  it  a  point 
to  haunt  meetings  and  congregations  of  every  j 
sort,  anniversaries,  wharf  crowds  and  lectui'es, 
and  to  detect  how  the  leviathan  populace  is 


snared  in  a  fair  net  of  silvery  words  and  pleas- 
ant speeches.  - 

At  the  lower  extremity  of  the  great  thorough- 
fare of  Chatham  street,  just  below  the  theatre, 
lies  an  oblong,  deep  shop,  into  which  is  drawn, 
between  the  hours  of  seven  and  nine,  evening, 
a  portion  of  the  metropolitan  life,  where  it  is 
kept  raging  and  fuming — pent  up  in  a  close 
mass— and  struggling  with  the  black-haired  de- 
mon of  the  place.  The  genius  of  the  oblong 
warehouse  is  none  other  than  a  gloomy-looking 
auctioneer,  who  hangs  over  a  counter  fixed  on 
a  raised  platform,  calling  on  the  individuals  be- 
fore him — who  are  chiefly  clerks,  newsboys, 
journeymen,  and  innocent  gentlemen  from  the 
country — to  sustain  him  in  his  disinterested  de- 
sire to  advocate  the  elegance  of  binders,  the  in- 
structive and  entertaining  qualities  of  authors, 
and  the  gorgeous  genius  of  colorists,  engravers, 
and  paper-rulers. 

This  gentleman  is  ably  sustained  and  second- 
ed in  the  performance  of  these  arduous  duties, 
by  a  sable-haired  associate,  who  makes  it  his 
business  to  stroll  cheerfully  up  and  down  the 
enclosed  space  behind  the  counter,  rubbing  his 
hands  from  time  to  time,  as  in  token  of  inter- 
nal satisfaction  at  the  success  of  their  joint  ef- 
forts, and  dashing  down  upon  the  counter  such 
wares  as  a  sagacious  glance  at  his  audience 
satisfies  him  are  most  likely  to  be  competed  for. 

On  some  occasions  one  or  other  of  the  black- 
haired  gentlemen  behind  the  counter  conde- 
scends to  be  facetious,  and  says  remarkably  fun- 
ny things  for  the  special  benefit  and  solace  of 
the  citizens  underneath.  This  department  prop- 
erly belongs  to  the  auctioneer,  but  is  incident- 
ally filled  by  the  feeder,  with  such  chance  mor- 
sels of  humor  as  may  suggest  themselves  to  him 
as  he  rambles  to  and  fro. 

Into  this  oblong  region  of  sale,  as  one  of  the 
resorts  where  his  plans  might  be  furthered.  Puf- 
fer one  evening  made  his  way. 

"  Gentlemen,"  cried  the  black-haired  auo 
tioneer,  with  increased  animation  as  Puffei 
Hopkins  entered — discovering,  perhaps,  in  the 
peculiar  costume  and  manner  of  that  excellent 
young  gentleman  some  indications  of  a  melo- 
dramatic tendency — "  gentlemen,  here's  the 
primest  article  I've  offered  to-night ;  this  is 
'  Brimstone  Castle,'  a  native  melodrama,  as 
performed  one  hundred  nights  at  the  Bowery 
theatre.  Bowery,  New  York.  The  hero  of 
this  piece,  gentlemen,  is  a  regular  salamander, 
and  could  take  out  a  policy  in  any  company  in 
this  city  at  a  low  hazard ;  he's  fireproof.  In  the 
first  act,  he  appears  sitting  on  a  log,  meditating ; 
is  suddenly  surprised  and  taken  by  a  band  of 
savages  of  a  red-ochre  complexion,  from  whom 
he  escapes  by  ruthlessly  cutting  off  the  right 
leg  of  every  mother's  son  of  them — rushes  over 
a  bridge — rescues  a  lady  with  dishevelled  hair, 
and  a  small  boy  in  her  hand ;  climbs  up  a  cat- 
aract, waves  his  cap  to  the  rescued  lady,  loses 
his  appetite,  and  is  finally  retaken  by  the  sav- 
ages, and  burnt  at  the  stake  for  an  hour— when 
he  walks  out  of  the  flame,  advances  to  the  foot- 


182 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


lights,  and,  with  a  very  cheerful  smile  on  his 
countenance,  announces  '  Brimstone  Castle' 
for  the  next  twelve  nights,  with  an  extra  sav- 
age and  fresh  fagots  every  night.  How  much, 
gentlemen  ?  Going,  going.  How  much  ? — it's 
a  masterpiece,  gentlemen — a  perfect  work  of 
art.  How  much  ?" 

The  melo-drama  was  bandied  about  for  more 
than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  among  sundry  young 
gentlemen  in  round-crowned  hats,  with  sleek, 
shining  heads  of  black  hair  and  broad-skirted 
blue  coats,  but  finally  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  bidder 
with  a  stout  voice,  just  one  of  those  voices  that 
are  irresistible  in  an  auction-room,  and  a  ter- 
ror to  gentlemen  who  desire  cheap  purchases. 

"  I  now  ofler  you,"  cried  the  auctioneer, "  one 
of  the  most  astonishing  and  wonderful  works 
of  the  present  day.  It's  fuU  of  thought,  gen^ 
tlemen,  expressed  in  the  very  happiest  words 
out  of  Todd's  Johnson  and  Noah  Webster,  as 
clear  as  a  moonbeam,  gentlemen,  and  profound 
as  the  Atlantic.  It  treats  of  various  subjects, 
such  as" — here  the  auctioneer  turned  the  pages 
of  the  book  in  his  hand  rapidly,  after  the  man- 
ner of  a  quarterly  reviewer,  with  the  hope  of 
gleaning  a  comprehensive  knowledge  of  its  con- 
tents; but,  judging  by  the  face  of  inefiable  des- 
pair he  assumed  after  thrusting  his  nose  half-a- 
dozen  times  between  the  leaves,  with  little  suc- 
cess— "  excuse  me,"  he  continued,  smiling  sar- 
donically on  his  audience,  "it  would  be  presump- 
tuous in  me,  a  plain,  unlearned  citizen,  to  un- 
dertake to  convey  to  your  minds  the  substance 
of  a  volume  like  this.  Gentlemen,  I'll  read 
you  a  passage  from  the  introduction,  which  ex- 
plains itself : — "  Ponds  have  presented  turtles 
in  two  aspects — either  as  turtles  or  as  not  tur- 
tles. In  the  one,  turtle,  the  living,  breathing, 
air-cased  creature,  the  individual  in  his  pneu- 
matic being,  sitting  on  a  rock,  pond-centred,  is 
mighty,  supernal,  vastly  infinite — more  than 
frogdom  at  bottom,  blind-eel,  or  muscle  life. 
Not  he  theirs,  or  for  them,  but  they  nothing, 
save  for  him.  Outward  world — to  them,  mud- 
encompassed — otherwise  dead  as  door-nail.  In 
the  other,  slidden  from  pond-centred  rock  down 
to  the  depths  of  the  unsearchable,  frogdom, 
blind-eel,  and  muscle  life — each  more  than 
turtle.  He  theirs,  being  thick-headed,  obfustica- 
ted  by  lack  of  light,  and  doltish ; — and  for  them, 
he  little  or  nothing  save  a  black  lump,  part  of  the 
general  pond-bottom,  pavement,  chips,  wind, 
gas,  snake-grass,  and  bulrushes.'  " 

It  need  scarcely  be  added  that  the  lucid  work 
on  which  the  auctioneer  was  engaged,  was 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  volume  of  tran- 
scendental lectures.  Puffer  Hopkins  detected 
the  same  hurley  voice  bidding  for  this — and  tri- 
umphing in  its  bid — that  he  had  heard  twice 
before. 

At  this  juncture  a  member  of  the  great  fra- 
ternity of  lay  bishops — in  other  words  a  very 
worthy  cartman  in  his  short  frock — came  in, 
and  supposing,  from  the  few  words  that  he 
caught  as  he  entered,  that  the  work  in  hand 
was  illustrative  of  some  new  and  improved] 


method  of  "  bobbing  for  eels,"  was  rash  enough 
to  invest  seven  shillings  in  the  purchase  of  a 
second  copy.  Paying  his  money  very  awkward- 
ly at  the  counter,  out  of  a  blind-pocket  in  his 
cart-frock — he  carried  his  purchase  to  a  lamp 
in  another  quarter  of  the  auction-room,  and  pro- 
ceeded, very  slowly  and  painfully,  to  enlighten 
himself  on  the  favorite  pursuit  of  eel-bobbing. 
He  bobbed,  however,  in  that  pond  to  ver>'  little  .  • 
purpose — and  becoming  confused  and  horribly 
enraged  at  the  constant  recurrence  of  the  phra- 
ses a  "  oneness,"  an  "  obscure  and  unreachable 
infinite,"  "  divergence  toward  central  orbits," 
and  "  revolutionary  inwardnesses" — intemper-  > 
ately  sold  it  (for  six  cents  and  a  fraction)  to  a 
match-boy,  who  stood  by  with  a  basket  ready 
to  catch  such  purchases  as  might  prove  una- 
vailable or  disrelishing  to  the  buyers.  "  There's 
anacreof  fog^bank  there,  boy,"  said  the  cartman 
from  between  his  teeth,"  take  it  away.  My  horse 
has  a  better  head  for  writings,  and  authorships, 
and  what  not,  than  the  stupid  journeyman  fel- 
low that  spoked  this  wheel  together.  Just  away 
with  it." 

"  If  there's  a  patriot  in  the  room,"  continued 
the  salesman,  "  a  single  young  or  middle-aged 
gentleman  that  loves  his  country  and  the  story 
of  her  achievements,  let  him  come  forward  and 
lay  down  his  one  dollar  fifty.     I  offer  you,  gen- 
tlemen, the  '  Battle  of  Bloody  Puddle,'  a  narra- 
tive poem,  in  six  books.  This  masterpiece  of  ge- 
nius has  nine  heroes,  each  one  of  whom  accom- 
plishes more  in  the  way  of  slaughter,  swords- 
manship, and  small-talk,  from  various  eleva- 
tions, peaks,  cliffs,  and  hill-tops,  than  any  nine 
heroes  ever  let  loose  on  the  world  before.   The 
stanza  is  irregular,  to  corrrespond  with   the 
thought,  which  is  very  wild  and  superhuman. 
The  chief  hero — the  A  No.    1 — pattern  war- 
rior, is  discovered  by  moonlight,  sharpening  his      %^ 
sword  on  a  boulder  of  granite,  in  two  nimble- 
foot   octosyllabic   stanzas — he  loses  his   scab- 
bard and  temper  in  four  Spenserian — entering         * 
a  cave  to  conceal  himself  from  the  bloody  Brit- 
ish foe,  who  are  tracking  him  about  like  dogs,         « 
in  twenty-five  hexameters — but  recovers  both  in^ 
an  eleven-syllabled  song,  in  which  he  grows       ^ 
very  happy  about  wine,  war,  and  woman,  par- 
ticularly Isobel  the  fair — until,  all  at  once,  he 
discovers  a  cloud  on  the  moon,  which  reminds 
him  to  prepare  for  a  few  elegiac  verses  and 
death.     He  ultimately  hangs  himself  in  a  hem- 
lock sapling,  and  leaves  his  pocket-book,  with 
a  counterfeit  bill  and  two  forged  letters  in  it, 
to  his  Isobel,  bidding  her,  in  a  brief,  touching, 
epistolary  farewell,  never  to  part  with  these  rel-     *• 
ics  of  his  affection — never,  never !  which  it  isn't 
very  likely  she  ever  will,  particularly  the  coun-  .    . 
terfeits.     The  rest  of  the  poem  corresponds,  •    •j 
how  much,  how  much  ?     Cheap — going  cheap    »  % 
— as  politicians'  consciences,  a  penny  a  dozen.    » 
It's  yours,  sir,  at  twenty-five  cents.      It's  per- 
fectly ruinous  to  sell  this  work  at  that  price,'' 
sighed  the  auctioneer,  wheeling  round  and  sto-         " 
ically  receiving  from  his  assistant  a  bundle  of 
two  dozen  more  of  the  same. 


i  *. 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


183 


There  was  something  in  the  voice  of  the 
bidder  who  had  borne  off  the  chief  purchases 
of  the  evening,  that  excited  the  curiosity  of 
Puffer  Hopkins ;  he  thought  he  had  heard  it  be- 
fore, and,  to  ascertain  the  owner,  now  mounted 
a  bench  and  peered  over  the  heads  of  the 
audience  toward  the  quarter  whence  it  had 
issued. 

In  a  remote  angle  of  the  auction-room  apart 
from  the  crowd,  in  a  little  domain  of  his  own, 
stood  a  square  broad-breasted  gentleman,  with 
his  arms  folded  and  gazing  at  the  auctioneer 
with  a  fixed  and  intense  look  that  could  not 
have  been  readily  surpassed  by  a  Spanish  in- 
quisitor, or  a  petty  justice  reproving  a  constable. 
The  fury  of  his  demeanor  was  heightened  by 
the  close  buttoning  of  his  coat,  to  the  very 
throat,  the  inflation  of  his  coat  skirls  with  a 
thick  bundle  of  newspapers  and  a  large  ban- 
danna handkerchief,  the  strapping  of  his  pan- 
taloons firmly  down  upon  the  boot,  and  still 
further  by  his  being  a  gentleman  of  moderate 
stature,  in  whom,  it  is  well-known,  fierceness 
is  natural  and  quite  becoming.  It  was  this 
gentleman  that  bid  for  the  melo-drama,  the 
poem  of  Bloody  Puddle,  and  the  volume  of  Tran- 
scendental Lectures ;  and,  now  that  he  had  at- 
tained a  full  view  of  his  person.  Puffer  felt 
quite  sure  that  he  knew  him.  Pushing  through 
the  mass  of  bidders,  he  reached  the  little  Za- 
hara  which  this  gentleman's  frowns  and  dignity 
had  created  for  himself. 

"Mr.  Fishblatt,  I  think,"  said  Puffer,  re- 
spectfully contemplating  the  figure  before  him. 
"  The  same,  sir,"  responded  the  broad-breast- 
ed gentleman,  starting  back,  a  pace  or  two, 
dropping  his  brows,  and  regarding  the  question- 
er steadily  for  a  minute  or  more.  "  You  are 
one  of  our  speakers  I  believe,"  continued  Mr. 
Fishblatt,  still  maintaining  his  survey,  "  one  of 

,  the   oratorical   youth  of  Fogfire   Hall — am  I 

right  ?" 

^  "  You  are,"  answered  Puffer  Hopkins  :  "  I 

^      •       had  the  honor  of  speaking  before  you  at  the 
last  general  meeting;  you  were  a  vice-presi- 

*  dent." 

'         «  What !"  cried  Mr.  Fishblatt  in  an  earnest 

^  whisper,  "you  are  not  the  young  gentleman 

that  used  the  simile  of  the  rainbow  ?  On  my 
soul  you  are  ;  don't  blush,  my  dear  sir,  and  turn 
every  color  in  a  minute,  for  that  convicts  you 
at  once.  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  it's  quite  a  treat. 
Take  my  hand,  Mr.  Hopkins." 

Hereupon  Mr.  Fishblatt  took  possession  of 
Puffer  Hopkins' right  hand,  shook  it  strenuously, 
and  then,  turning  to  the  auctioneer  on  service, 
said : 

"  That  man's  worthy  to  be  a  Quarterly  Re- 

^  'i  ■'-  viewer.     He's  a  Jeffrey,  a  Babbington  Macau- 

-  lay,  sir ;  an  Edward  Everett,  with  the  devil  in 

him.  He  tells  books  by  the  smell  of  the  leather. 
And  see  how  daintily  he  holds  an  annual  up, 
as  a  fishmonger  does  a  bass  by  the  tail,  so  as  to 
send  the  circulation  to  the  head,  and  give  the 
eyes  a  life-like  look.  Don't  he  play  on  the 
leaves  and  illustrations  like  a  musical  genius  ? 


See,  my  good  sir,  how  he  displays  that  volume 
with  colored  plates,  it's  like  a  glimpse  into  the 
fall  woods.  This  is  the  shop  for  sound  criti- 
cism; writers  that  are  disdainfully  treated  in 
the  weeklies  and  monthlies  needn't  be  afraid  to 
come  here ;  if  they're  hacked  and  hewed  so  that 
their  best  friend  couldn't  know  them,  all  they 
need  do  is  to  huddle  themselves  into  a  coarse 
blue-cloth  apparel  and  throw  themselves  before 
that  black-haired  gentleman,  and  they'll  have 
a  blast  sounded  in  their  behalf  that  will  bring 
every  two  and  six  pence  in  the  place  rattling 
on  the  counter." 

While  the  broad-breasted  gentleman  was  en- 
gaged elaborating  this  artful  encomium  on  his 
friend,  the  auctioneer  had  produced  a  huge 
bundle  of  controversial  tracts  and  almanacs, 
black  with  wood-cuts,  and  dashed  them  upon 
the  counter  with  great  spirit,  at  which  Mr. 
Fishblatt  started,  again  grasped  Hopkins  by  the 
hand,  gave  him  the  street  and  number  of  his 
residence,  and  urged  him  to  call  speedily. 

"  You  can't  mistake  the  house ;  it's  a  red 
front  with  tall  chimney-pots — grenadier  pots 
we  call  them — and  a  slab  of  brass  on  the  door 
with  '  Halsey  Fishblatt'  in  large  text.  Any  of 
the  hackmen  on  the  square  can  direct  yon,  for 
they  can  all  read  my  plate  as  they  stand,  nearly 
two  rods  off.     Come  soon !" 

Pouring  out  his  passages  of  description  and 
invitation  vehemently,  Mr.  Fishblatt  gave 
Puffer  a  strenous  good-night,  advanced  and 
threw  his  card  upon  the  counter,  and  thrusting 
his  right  hand  into  the  breast  of  his  coat, 
marched  out  of  the  auction-room  with  gieat 
vigor  and  self-possession. 

Now  that  the  chief  bidder,  who  had  held  the 
room  in  awe  by  his  peremptory  and  majestic 
manner  of  calling  the  price,  had  departed,  the 
minor  customers  immediately  swelled  into  con- 
sequence, and  a  horrible  conflict  was  forthwith 
engendered  betwixt  the  match-boy — whose  im- 
agination always  kindled  at  the  slightest  sug- 
gestion of  a  goblin — a  small  retail  clerk,  who 
had  sympathies  with  coffins  and  family  vaults, 
as  he  slept  every  night  in  an  unwholesome  and 
grave-like  cabin  at  the  rear  of  the  dry-goods 
shop ;  and  a  broken-down  gentleman — a  specu- 
lator in  cemeteries — who  was  on  the  look-out 
for  information  on  sepulchral  subjects. 

"  Here's  a  rare  morsel  for  you,  my  lads,"  said 
the  auctioneer,  whose  style  grew  more  familiar 
on  the  departure  of  the  majestic  Fishblatt,  "  a 
dainty  mouthful,  I  can  tell  you.  *  The  Vision 
of  the  Coffin-maker's  ^Prentice,' — a  story  in 
manuscript — never  published.  It's  a  copyright, 
boys,  as  good  as  new  in  first  hands.  It's  said 
the  author  starved  to  death  because  the  publish- 
ers wouldn't  buy  his  book ;  they  could  import 
goblins  and  bugbears  cheaper  than  they  could 
be  grown  on  the  spot."  "The  biggest  bug- 
bears always  come  from  abroad,'"*  said  the  feed- 
er, pausing  a  moment  from  his  rambles,  facing 
the  audience,  and  laying  both  hands  on  the 
counter.  "  Come  bid  up,  will  ye  ?  Don't  go 
to  sleep  if  you  please,  in  that  corner.     Others 


m^ 


m- 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


say  the  author  choked  himself  with  a  chicken  i 
bone — nobody  believes  that.  Poets  and  poul-  i 
try  have  never  been  on  good  terms,  that  I  could 
learn.  Will  the  band  be  good  enough  to  strike 
up?" 

"  Sixpence — there's  a  dodge  !"  cried  the 
match-boy. 

"  I'll  go  nine,"  said  the  retail  clerk  ;  "  that's 
a  more  superlative  go,  I  know." 

"  Nine  and  one,"  cried  the  match-boy,  redden- 
ing in  the  face,  and  glancing  spitefully  at  the 
retail  bidder. 

"No  penny  bids  in  this  shop,"  interposed 
the  auctioneer,  authoritatively.  "  Try  again, 
gentlemen — yours,  twelve  and  a  half— twelve 
and  a  half!" 

This  last  was  the  bid  of  the  cemetery  specu- 
lator. 

"  Twelve  and  a  half.  Fifteen,  fifteen,  fif- 
teen— one  and  nine."  The  bids  ran  on ;  the  auc- 
tioneer chanced  to  turn  the  volume  toward  Puf- 
fer Hopkins,  who  discovered  at  the  side  of  one  of 
the  pages,  a  pen-and-ink  drawing  of  a  stout 
gentleman  standing  in  a  coifin,  with  his  right 
arm  outstretched  as  if  on  the  point  of  begin- 
ning a  speech.  Not  knowing  but  that  this 
might  be  some  new  exercise  in  oratory,  and  see- 
ing at  once  the  facilities  for  the  pathetic  afibrd- 
ed  by  a  snug-built  coffin,  Pufler  entered  the 
field,  and,  overtopping  all  competition  by  a  half- 
dollar  bid,  paid  the  purchase-money  in  silver — 
which  it  employed  him  some  ten  minutes  to 
hunt  into  a  corner  of  his  pocket  and  secure — 
and  bore  it  away. 

In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  was  at 
his  own  room  in  the  Fork,  and  called  in  his 
poor  neighbor,  the  tailor,  and  by  the  light  of  a 
dim  candle  (snuffers  not  being  within  the  ap- 
pointments of  his  establishment),  entered  upon 
the  perusal  of  his  new-bought  story. 

The  manuscript  was  bound  in  a  black  linen 
cover,  worn  threadbare  and  ragged  by  much 
handling;  was  ornamented  with  rude  drawings 
of  crossbones  and  tombstones,  with  quaint  in- 
scriptions on  the  margin ;  and  the  leaves  were 
spotted  in  various  places,  and  the  ink  faded,  as 
if  many  burning  tears  had  fallen  on  the  page. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  VISION  OF  THE  COFFIN-MAKER's  'pRENTICE. 

«  What  is  more  natural  than  that  the  thoughts 
of  Sam  Totton,  the  cofiin-maker's  'prenticej 
should  be  running  on  death's-heads  and  grin- 
ning sculls,  and  damp,  dark  vaiUts,  deep  down 
in  the  earth;  with  now  and  then  a  cheerful 
feeling  of  the  pleasantness  of  country  church- 
yards, with  tombstones  interspersed  among 
sweet-scented  apple-trees,  and  rich  green  palls  of 
bright  meadow-grass  spreading  over  the  grave. 
Now  and  then,  too,  he  might  think  of  ghosts, 
releasing  themselves  from  the  grave  and  taking 
a  night's  ramble,  and  whistling  down  tall  chim- 


neys in  cities,  or  glaring  in,  with  great  cold 
eyes,  at  farmhouse-windows,  and  frightening 
the  quiet  circle  at  the  fireside  with  a  dread  to- 
ken of  death  near  at  hand,  or  some  heavy  evil 
about  to  burst  on  the  unlucky  house.  By  the 
hour  would  the  young  'prentice  sit  in  the  un- 
dertaker's shop,  meditating  on  the  sorry  chan- 
ces of  life,  the  wonderful  demand  for  coffins 
in  the  summer  months,  and  the  strange  world 
into  which  many  merry,  stout  gentlemen,  and 
joyous  ladies,  would  ere  long  be  transported, 
screwed  close  down  in  the  cruel  coffins  that 
stood  in  a  grim  row  before  him. 

"  Some  he  knew  would  stretch  themselves 
quietly  at  length,  and  fall  asleep  ;  others  would 
fight  and  wrestle,  like  very  demons,  ere  they 
could  be  brought  to  bear  to  be  shut  doAvn  and 
cabined  in  for  ever ;  and  others  again,  in  whom 
life  was  furious  and  not  to  be  readily  extin- 
guished, would  smite  and  dash  their  deadly 
hands  against  the  coffin-lid,  and  would  cry  out, 
in  voices  stifled  in  the  damp,  thick  clay,  to  be 
freed. 

"  With  this  turn  of  mind,  the  'prentice  was 
sitting  one  night  in  the  shop,  on  an  underta- 
ker's stool,  and  watching  the  various  shadows 
that  came  through  the  door,  as  the  August  sun 
settled  in  the  sky.  Now  the  shadow  would  flit 
in  at  one  coffin,  filling  it  only  breast-high ; 
then,  shifting  itself,  it  would  take  entire  pos- 
session of  a  child's,  that  stood  next ;  and  so 
flitting  past,  from  one  to  the  other,  it  brought 
into  Sam's  mind  the  thought  how  these  coffins 
would  one  day  be  tenanted,  and  what  manner 
of  people  it  might  be  that  should  be  laid  in  the 
coffins  that  stood  about  him — large  andsmall — 
and  how  soon  they  would  all  be  filled  and  borne 
silently  away. 

"  The  thought  had  scarcely  formed  itself  in 
Sam's  mind,  when  the  shop  bell  was  rung  very 
gently ;  a  glass  door  that  was  between  him  and 
the  street  was  opened,  and  a  figure,  more  wo- 
begone,  wretched,  and  disconsolate,  than  he 
had  ever  before  beheld,  presented  himself,  and 
paused  for  a  moment,  just  long  enough  for  the 
'prentice  to  take  note  of  his  appearance.  His 
eyes  were  wild,  and  sunken  far  behind  pale, 
ghastly,  hollow  cheeks,  in  which  there  was  no  ^ 
drop  of  blood  ;  his  head  was  without  covering 
of  any  sort,  except  a  shock  of  uncombed,  mat- 
ted hair,  and  he  limped  sadly  forward  on  dis- 
proportioned,  infirm  legs,  in  scanty  apparel, 
and,  with  an  apologetic  appeal  in  his  looks  to 
the  young  'prentice,  shambled  away  into  a  re- 
mote corner  of  the  shop,  and  planted  himself  as 
nearly  upright  and  with  as  great  show  of  de- 
corum as  he  could,  in  a  cheap  pine  coffin  that 
stood  by  itself. 

"  Sam  felt  strongly  inclined  to  enter  into  con-        ^  . 
versation  with  the  poor  figure,  and  to  learn  by  ^ 

what  chances  it  had  been  brought  into  that    '     ^ 
lean  and  melancholy  beggary.    Ere  he  could  do 
this,  the  door  was  pushed  forcibly  open,  and  a 
portly  personage  entered,  and,  stalking  across  the  1^ 

shop  with  great  dignity  and  majesty  of  bearing, 
proceeded  to  an  inspection  of  the  coflins ;  going 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


185 


close  up  to  them,  examining  nicely  the  grain 
of  the  wood— yea,  even  smelling  of  it,  and 
turning  away  with  an  air  of  vast  disdain  when- 
ever it  proved  to  be  cedar  or  bay  wood — the 
quality  of  the  muslin,  and  the  action  of  the 
hinges.  After  turning  up  a  majestic  nose,  dis- 
colored slightly  by  the  use  of  wine  or  table- 
beer,  at  two  thirds  of  the  undertaker's  assort- 
ment, the  portly  gentleman  at  length  pitched 
upon  a  magnificent  tabernacle  of  mahogany, 
with  fine  rolling  hinges,  that  could'nt  jar  on 
his  delicate  ear  when  he  should  come  to  be  fast- 
ened in,  and  an  enormous  silver  plate,  with  a 
chased  border  of  cheerful  flowers,  that  took 
away  the  very  appearance  of  death.  Having 
concluded  to  occupy  this  tenement,  the  portly 
gentleman  proceeded  to  take  possession,  and 
with  great  difficulty  crowded  himself  into  the 
cofiin ;  forgetting,  however,  to  put  ofl'  his  hat, 
which  remained  fixed  on  his  head  in  a  very 
sturdy  and  consequential  position  ;  and  there 
he  stood,  bolt-upright,  staring  at  the  young 
'prentice  as  if  it  was  his  determination  to  chill 
him  into  an  icicle.  Sam  was,  however,  not  so 
easily  over-awed,  but,  on  the  contrary,  felt 
greatly  inclined  to  burst  into  a  good  hearty 
laugh  at  the  comic  figure  the  nice  portly  gen- 
tleman made  in  his  dainty,  brass-hinged,  ma- 
hogany cofiin. 

"As  he  turned  away  his  eyes,  they  encoun- 
tered a  spectacle  which  came  nigh  changing 
their  merry  humor  to  tears ;  for  a  sweet  lady, 
all  in  white,  floated  gently  past  him,  of  a  fair, 
meek  demeanor,  and  bearing  in  either  hand  two 
little  children,  a  boy  and  girl,  whose  faces  ever 
turned  toward  the  lady's,  with  an  expression 
of  intense  and  tender  regard.  Clinging  to  her 
with  a  firm  grasp,  they  glided  by,  and  tried  at 
first  to  rest  in  one  cofiin  together,  which  proving 
ineffectual,  they  chose  coflins  neighboring  to 
each  other,  and,  quietly  assuming  their  places, 
they  stood  calm  and  patient,  as  if  death  had 
fallen  kindly  upon  them;  the  two  children  turn- 
ing reverently  toward  their  dear  mother,  and 
hanging  on  her  pale,  sweet  look,  with  passion- 
ate constancy. 

"  Directly  in  the  steps  of  these  visiters,  there 
entered  a  personage  who,  judging  from  the  dot- 
ted apparel  in  which  he  presented  himself, 
might  have  been  the  ghost  of  some  black -spot- 
ted card  or  other,  come  to  take  a  hand  with 
Sam's  master,  who  was  greatly  addicted  to  the 
sport  and  entertainment  of  whist-playing.  How- 
ever this  might  be,  the  new  comer  entered  with 
a  couple  of  somersets,  turned  about  when  he  had 
reached  the  centre  of  the  shop,  took  off"  his  pie- 
bald cap,  and  made  a  leg  to  Sam,  and  then 
scrambled  into  a  coffin  directly  opposite  that  of 
the  portly  gentleman. 

"  For  a  long  time  these  two  personages  stood 
regarding  each  other;  the  one  grinning  and 
hitching  up  his  leg,  as  if  he  felt  the  irksome- 
ness  of  confinement,  and  the  other,  with  a  sol- 
emn look  of  consequence  and  self-importance, 
determined  the  very  grave  itself  should  not  get 
the  better  of  Mm. 


I     "  *  This  is  pleasant !'  said  the  portly  gentle- 
;  man,  at  length,  with  a  slight  tone  of  irony  and 
condescension,  to  his  neighbor  the  clown. 

" '  Very ;  but  not  so  airy  as  the  ring  !*  an- 
swered the  merry-andrew.  • 

"  '  Nor  as  snug  as  a  corporation  pantry,  with 
a  cut  of  cold  tongue  between  two  debates,'  re- 
turned the  portly  gentleman.  « But  then  it  has 
its  advantages.  No  taxes — mind  that  (those 
tax-gatherers  used  to  be  the  torment  of  my  life) 
—no  ground-rents,  poor-rates,  no  beggar's  ding- 
ding  at  the  front-door  bell.' 

"  '  But  consider,'  responded  the  clown, '  though 
we  lodge  in  a  cellar,  as  it  were,  a  good  under- 
ground, six  steps  down,  where  are  the  oysters 
and  brandy  ?     Did  that  occur  to  you  ?' 

"  '  I  confess  it  did  not,'  said  the  portly  gen- 
tleman, slightly  staggered ;  '  but  I  was  thinking 
now  what  a  choice  storage  this  would  be  for 
half  a  gross  of  tiptop  champagne,  with  the  del- 
icate sweat  standing  on  the  outside  of  the  bot- 
tles.' 

"  '  There's  no  room  for  a  somerset  here,  ei- 
ther,' said  the  clown. 

"  '  Nor  to  deliver  a  speech  in,'  answered  the 
portly  gentleman.  '  See,  I  couldn't  stretch  out 
my  right  arm  half  its  lengih,  to  make  even  my 
first  gesture :  rather  a  cramped,  close  place, 
after  all.' 

"'Vanities!  vanities!'  cried  the  Poor  Fig- 
ure, from  his  distant  coffin,  unable  to  suppress 
his  feelings  any  longer.  '  Cramped  and  close 
j  is  it !  It's  a  paradise  compared  to  the  dark, 
I  damp  dungeons  on  the  earth,  where  the  living . 
i  body  is  pent  up  in  dreary  walls,  and  the  cheer- 
I  ful  light  of  day  comes  in  by  stealth  through  grim 
j  bars ;  when  the  world  moves  past  the  poor  pris- 
1  oner's  window  without  a  look  of  recognition ; 
when  no  man's  hand  takes  his  in  a  congenial 
;  grasp  :  is  that  life,  d'ye  say  ?  He'  is  dead,  I 
I  tell  you — dead  !'  cried  the  Poor  Figure,  in  a 
I  voice  of  piercing  agony, '  as  if  the  marble  slab 
was  laid  upon  his  breast,  and  the  grave-diggers 
'  piled  mountains  upon  his  corse.' 
j  "  '  Many's  tlie  jolly  time,'  resumed  the  portly 
gentleman,  without  much  heed  to  the  Poor  Fig- 
ure's declamation,  '  we've  had  at  city  suppers. 
;  How  tenderly  the  turkey's  breast — bought  by 
!  the  commonalty,  purchased  by  the  sweat  of  the 
hard-worked  million,  yielded  to  the  shining  knife; 
how  sweetly  the  popular  Port  wine  and  the  pub- 
lic porter  glided  down  the  throat.  Choice  times 
were  those,  my  good  sir,  when  the  city  paid  the 
hackman's  fare  for  dainty  rides  to  the  suburbs, 
and  when  we  made  the  poor  devil  paupers  stand 
i  about  us  licking  their  thin  chaps,  while  we 
j  rolled  the  rich  morsels  under  our  tongues.  But 
j  now,'  he  added  in  a  rather  melancholy  tone, 
*  I  am  little  better  than  one  of  the  heathen.  I 
I  smell  nothing  b\it  the  musty  earth ;  my  gay 
apparel  is  falling  piecemeal  into  doleful  tatters, 
and  I  can  get  nothing  to  chew  upon  but  an  oc- 
casional mouthful  of  black  mould,  that  sadly 
impedes  digestion,  if  one  had  any  digestion  in 
such  a  place  as  this,  worth  speaking  of.' 
"'Think  but  of  one  thing,  sir,'  said  the 


186 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


clown,  with  an  uneasy  movement  in  his  coffin, 
*  and  you  can  not  fail  to  be  content.  Where 
are  the  duns  in  this  new  empire  of  ours  ?  We 
are  as  inaccessible  to  the  vile  creatures  as  the 
crown  of  an  iceberg.  Why,  sir,  there  was  a 
poor  wretch  of  a  collector  that  haunted  me  for 
a  vile  debt  of  twenty-two  and  sixpence,  until  I 
was  sorely  tempted  to  take  his  very  life,  and 
put  myself  upon  contrivances  how  I  could  take 
it  with  most  pain  and  torture  to  his  body  and 
eoul.  I  thought  of  all  sorts  of  man-traps,  and 
pitfalls  in  blind  alleys,  and  leaden-headed 
bludgeons;  and  at  length — heaven  save  the 
mark! — I  pitched  upon  the  scheme  of  carrying 
him  off  in  a  balloon,  and,  about  two  miles  up, 
letting  him  slip,  with  a  cord  about  his  neck, 
and  hang  dangling  by  the  neck,  until  dead,  ten 
thousand  feet  high.  He  was  got  safely  into  the 
balloon  by  a  dexterous  accomplice,  was  carried 
up,  and,  now  that  my  mind  was  at  ease  as  to 
the  result,  I  went  home  to  take  a  quiet  cup  of 
tea,  and  to  settle  up  my  books,  meaning  to  run 
my  pen  through  the  twenty-two  and  six  as  a 
settled  account,  when — the  Lord  save  us — who 
should  knock  gently  at  my  door,  and  march  in 
with  his  old  impudent  smile,  than  my  old  ene- 
my the  collector,  with  his  customary  phrases — 
hoping  he  didn't  intrude,  and,  if  it  wasn't  too 
much  trouble,  he  would  like  to  have  the  small 
amount  of  his  bill,  which,  as  I  knew,  had  been 
standing  some  time.  The  rope  had  broken,  sir, 
just  as  they  passed  over  my  house ;  the  vile 
little  rascal  had  pitched  upon  the  roof,  and, 
making  the  best  of  circumstances,  had  walked 
down  my  scuttle,  and  availing  himself  of  the 
opportunity,  had  looked  in  with  his  cursed  lit- 
tle bill.  We're  free  from  the  scamp  now  :  I'm 
not  sure — isn't  that  he  in  the  pine  coffin  ?' 

"  Sure  enough,  there  stood  the  Poor  Figure, 
leaning  toward  them,  and  listening  in  an  atti- 
tude of  intense  regard,  to  every  word  that  had 
fallen  from  the  lips  of  the  clown. 

"  "^  I  am  the  man  !'  he  cried  with  great  em- 
phasis, when  the  clown  had  ended ;  '  none  other 
but  I.  On  the  little  paltry  debt  of  twenty-two 
and  sixpence  hung  my  old  father's  life,  who  lay 
rotting  in  the  cold  jail,  waiting  for  deliverance, 
which  I  had  promised  him  many  times,  with  as 
false  a  tongue  as  man  could.  I  said  I  would 
come  to-morrow  at  such  an  hour,  and  the  next 
to-morrow  at  such  an  hour — naming,  in  my 
desire  to  bring  him  definite  hope,  the  very 
minute  and  second — and  I  did  not  come.  Was 
not  that  a  lie  ?  And  did  you  not  stand  behind 
me,  another  liar  ?  How  many  lying,  false 
tongues,  wagged  with  yours  and  mine,  in  that 
little  business  of  the  twenty-two  shillings  and 
sixpence,  God  only  knows  !  1  forgive  you  the 
debt :  the  old  man's  bones  are  at  the  bottom  of 
the  prison  well,  where  he  perished ;  they  should 
plead  for  truth  from  its  gloomy  womb,  and  have 
a  voice  to  shake  prison  walls  and  fetters  from 
manly  limbs  :  God  grant  they  may.' 

"  The  Poor  Figure  had  scarcely  ended,  when 
the  door  was  slowly  opened,  and  disclosed  a 
meek  little  man,  clad  in  a  neat  suit  of  plain 


black,  with  two  snow-white  bands  falling  under 
his  chin.  His  gait  and  aspect  denoted  many 
solemn  thoughts,  and  with  a  slow  pace,  and  a 
seeming  Consciousness  of  the  gloomy  realm  in 
which  he  was  treading,  he  advanced  to  an  ob- 
scure corner  of  the  place,  and,  folding  his  arms 
calmly  upon  his  breast,  stood  silently  in  his 
coffin,  his  head  only  inclined  a  little  to  one 
side,  as  if  he  expected  momently  to  catch  the 
sound  of  the  last  great  trump,  and  to  welcome 
the  summons. 

"  Sam  heard  a  noise  in  the  hall,  as  of  some 
person  shuffling  about  in  heavy  boots  in  search 
of  the  door,  and,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  min- 
utes, a  large  man,  in  a  white  coat  with  a  dirty 
cape,  a  ponderous  leather  hat,  and  a  club  in  his 
hand,  swaggered  boldly  in,  and  after  looking 
about  him  for  a  while,  as  if  on  the  watch  for  a 
ghost  or  apparition,  walked  quietly  off,  and  ta- 
king his  station  in  a  comfortable  cedar  coffin  in 
the  middle  of  the  apartment — obviously  mista- 
king it  for  a  watch-box — fell  gently  asleep. 
From  all  that  he  saw,  Sam  imagined  that  this 
was  a  city  watchman ;  and  the  presumption  is, 
that  he  was  not  far  wrong. 

"After  a  salubrious  slumber  of  some  ten 
minutes  or  more,  this  gentleman  waked  up,  and 
thrusting  his  head  out  of  his  coffin,  stretched 
his  neck,  and  gazed  up  and  down  the  apart- 
ment, and  then  toward  the  ceiling. 

" '  How  the  devil's  this  ?'  he  at  length  ex- 
claimed, *  the  lamps  are  out  early  to-night,  and 
the  alderman  must  have  put  the  moon  in  his 
pocket,  I  guess  :  that's  the  way  they  serve  us 
poor  Charleys  ;  we  wouldn't  catch  a  rogue  more 
than  once  an  age,  if  we  didn't  take  them  into 
porter-houses  and  get  'em  drunk,  and  study  their 
physiognomies,  and  so  set  them  a  stealing  half 
fuddled !' 

"  '  What's  that  you  say,  my  man  ?'  cried  the 
voice  of  the  portly  gentleman.  'What  fault 
have  you  to  find  with  the  corporation,  I'd  like 
to  know  ?  Do  you  pretend  to  impeach  their 
astronomy,  sir,  and  to  say,  sir,  that  the  moon 
doesn't  rise  when  she  is  set  down  for  in  the 
almanac  ?  I'd  have  you  know,  sir,  the  moon's 
bespoke  three  months  ahead ;  and  that  the  oil- 
dealers  know  when  they  pivt  a  short  allowance 
in  the  lamps  !  I'll  have  you  broke,  if  you 
haven't  a  care  how  you  speak  of  an  alderman  : 
a  word  to  the  wise  in  your  ear,  sir.' 

"  The  watchman  was  making  up  his  mouth 
for  a  reply,  and  it  is  impossible  to  say  what 
choice  specimens  of  rhetoric  might  not  have  been 
furnished  between  them,  but,  at  this  moment, 
the  shop-bell  was  rung  with  great  fuiy.  Sam 
started  up  with  wonderful  alacrity — distin- 
guishing the  ring  at  once  from  all  other  possible 
rings — and  receiving,  as  he  advanced  to  the 
front  of  the  warehouse,  a  thumping  blow  on  the 
side  of  the  head,  was  asked  what  he  meant  by 
leaving  the  shop  open  at  that  time  of  the  niglit, 
and  coffins  out  at  the  door  to  be  rotted  by  the 
night-dew  and  chalked  up  by  young  vagabonds 
in  the  street  ? 

"  This  was  of  course  Sam's  master.    Sam's 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


187 


visiters  mistook  it,  however,  for  a  summons  of 
a  very  different  kind;  the  watchman,  supposing 
it  to  be  an  alarm  of  fire,  rattled  his  club  against 
the  coffin-side  and  sprang  for  the  door ;    the 


fourteen.  That's  for  after-breakfast  work. 
Then  before,  there's  twenty  pound  of  hoop, 
at  twopence  a  pound,  and  a  sheet  of  copper, 
seven  pound,  at  fivepence — thirty-five  and  for- 


portly  getleman  thought  it  a  melodious  supper-  '  ty,  as  good  as  seventy-five  ;  and  all  the  after- 
bell,  and,  disengaging  himself,  exhibited  equal  [  noon  for  aholydayto  find  out  where  this  Pufier 
activity ;  the  Poor  Figure  followed,  hobbling  I  Hopkins  lives,  and  to  hatch  out  an  acquaint- 
along  like  a  waiter  in  a  hurry ;  the  clown,  for  i  ance  with  him.  There's  something  brewing  in 
t^e  call-boy's  notice,  and  somerseted  through  ■  the  wind  'twixt  him  and  that  shabby  old  luna- 
the  door ;  the  sweet  lady  in  white,  for  the  last :  tic,  Hobbleshank ;  something  going  on  that 
peal  of  the  Sunday  summons,  and  glided  away  i  ought  to  be  put  a  stop  to ;  and  as  the  wice 
with  her  children  at  her  side ;  and  the  little '  chance-seller  of  law  won't  interfere  to  sepa- 
parson,  smoothing  down  his  bands  and  calming  '  rate  such  good  friends,  we'll  see  what  Mr. 
his  thoughts  to  the  purpose  of  the  hour,  ta- ;  Small,  Ish  Small,  of  Pell  street,  or  thereabouts, 
king  it  for  the  Wednesday  evening  lecture-call ;  can  do."  He  walked  a  few  paces  farther,  and 
and  so  the  company  dispersed.  j  again  broke  out,  "  Let  me  catch  that  old  fellow 

"  Sam,  busying  himself  in  obeying  the  under-  j  trying  any  of  his  tricks  on  Uncle  Close,  as  he 
taker's  orders,  soon  closed  the  warehouse ;  and  \  did  ten  years  ago,  when  he  pitched  his  famUy- 
as  he  moved  past  the  empty  coffins,  to  his  bed  watch  at  my  crown,  and  we'll  see  if  there  a'n't 
at  the  end  of  the  shop,  and  thought  how  they  a  spice  of  sport  about  it.  Strike  up,  old  'un, 
had  been  lately  filled,  it  occurred  to  him  how  Pm  here !" 

inopportunely  men  might  be  laid  in  their  graves;  I  Saying  this,  he  trotted  down  the  street, 
debtors  lying  nearest  neighbors  to  catchpoles  turned  into  a  by-way,  crossed  that  at  a  good  pace, 
and  deputies,  whose  approach  was  the  curse  of ;  and  speedily  reached  a  corner  building,  from 
their  life  ;  the  clown  and  the  alderman,  par-  j  which  a  great  striped  flag  was  waving  and  a  tu- 
sons  and  profligates,  in  a  tender  vicinage  ;  tap-  !  mult  of  voices  issuing.  Into  this  he  made  his 
sters  and  the  favorers  of  the  pure  stream,  per- 1  way,  selecting  a  suitable  position,  and  at  the 
chance  murderers  and  their  victims,  and  break-  ;  proper  moment  (a  great  deal  of  the  same  sort 
ers  of  troth  and  violators  of  faith  pledged  to  '  of  business  going  on  at  the  time),  he  called  out 
woman,  in  a  proximity  so  close,  that  the  skeleton  ^  the  name  of  Puffer  Hopkins,  which  was  duly 
arm  outstretched  might  reach  into  the  grave  {  entered  by  one  of  the  clerks  of  the  meeting  up- 
where  the  broken  heart  lay,  and  take  its  cold  '  on  a  roll,  and  the  agile  little  performer,  there- 
and  ineffectual  hand  back  into  that  which  had  j  upon,* departed. 

done  it  such  deadly  wrong.  On  judgment  day,  I  This  time  he  selected  a  different  course,  stri- 
when  the  tiump  sounds  among  burials  like  !  king  straight  toward  the  heart  of  the  city,  for 
these,  if  aught  of  fiery  or  human  passion  remain,   several  blocks,  and  emerging  upon   an  open 


what  awful  scenes  wUl  bear  witness  to  the  fan 
cy  of  the  young  'prentice-boy — when  forms 
shall  start  up  and  have  life  again  but  to  glare 
on  other  wakened  forms — to  loathe,  curse, 
scorn,  and  abhor  that  on  which  they  gaze  ! 
Grave-yards  would  then  know  a  strife  and  pas- 
sionate conflict,  that  battle-fields  could  not 
match,  with  all  their  sanguinary  stains,  and 
cries  of  horror,  vengeance,  or  despair." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

PUFFEK  HOPKINS  RECEIVES  AN  APPOINTMENT. 

Toward  the  close  of  an  afternoon,  a  few  days 
after  the  visit  of  Puffer  Hopkins  to  the  auction- 
room,  a  deformed  little  personage  was  strolling 
through  the  street,  with  his  arms  nearly  to  his 
elbows  in  his  breeches'-pockets,  his  head  thrown 
back  a  trifle,  and  his  eyes  turned  up  as  if  he 
were  in  the  very  depths  and  profundities  of  a 
cogitation  of  some  consequence ;  in  short,  it 
was  our  gentleman  of  the  Bottom  Club,  who 
practised  upon  certain  pockets,  as  has  been  seen, 
on  a  a  former  occasion. 

"  Three  pair  of  fowls  at  three  shillings,  makes 
nine,"  said  the  little  gentleman,  "  the  old  red 
rooster  at  five  shillings — though  his  liver's  dis- 
ordered, for  I  smelt  his  breath  this  morning — 


square.  He  now  looked  about  him  for  several 
minutes,  indulging  in  a  severe  scrutiny  of  the 
neighboring  buildings,  and  at  length  fixed  his 
eye  upon  a  dingy,  yellow  house,  which  stood 
facing  the  square,  and  forming  the  fork  or  ex- 
treme point  of  two  streets. 

"  I  think  I  should  know  the  house  by  the  de- 
scription," he  said,  measuring  it  again  with  his 
eye  from  top  to  bottom ;  "  it  isn't  quite  a  pal- 
ace, that's  clear;  I  don't  believe  the  Grand 
Signior  lives  here,  nor  his  highness  the  chief  of 
the  Seneca  tribes.  There's  considerable  pov- 
erty written  in  dirty  paint  all  about  the  front ; 
and,  judging  by  the  windows,  I  guess  it's  had  a 
hard  fight  with  the  brick-front  across  the  way, 
and  got  an  eye  or  two  put  out."  At  this  mo- 
ment the  light  of  a  lamp  fell  from  a  window  of 
the  upper  story,  and  Mr.  Small,  turning  his  face 
up  toward  it,  exclaimed,  "  His  light,  by  all  that 
shines  !  It  an't  a  astral,  anyhow  !  He's  study- 
ing a  speech,  or  mixing  a  dose  of  resolutions, 
now,  and  I'll  step  in  and  surprise  him.  I've  no 
doubt  the  stairs  will  hold  out  till  I  get  up  and 
down,  although  they  look  as  if  they  was  on  their 
last  legs." 

Climbing  a  narrow  and  ill-arranged  way,  he 
attained  the  topmost  landing,  where  he  stood 
for  some  time,  in  doubt  which  door,  of  the  ma- 
ny that  presented  themselves,  to  select,  when, 
turning  suddenly,  as  he  heard  some  one  ascend- 


188 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


ing  the  stairs,  he  stumbled,  and  falling  against 
a  door,  dashed  it  open,  and  landed  in  the  very 
centre  of  a  room.  It  would  be,  perhaps,  a  suf- 
ficient description  of  this  apartment,  to  say  that 
it  was  hardly  large  enough  to  fight  a  boxing- 
match  in,  with  the  attendant  spectators  ;  that, 
besides  the  person  of  Puffer  Hopkins,  it  held 
the  heads  of  Demosthenes  and  John  Randolph, 
a  solitary  chair,  a  small  auction-bought  desk, 
and  a  long  fragment  of  looking-glass  established 
in  one  corner. 

"  Your  humble  servant,  sir ;  your  most  obe- 
dient !  I  thought  I'd  just  stop  as  I  was  passing, 
and  tell  you  you  are  a  regiilarly-elected  mem- 
ber of  the  Vig'lance  Committee  of  this  ward  !" 
said  the  visiter,  grasping  his  cap  in  both  hands, 
assuming  a  countenance  of  great  simplicity  and 
innocence,  and  travestying  a  bow,  a  good  deal 
in  the  style  of  a  theatrical  waiter,  retiring. 

"  By  whose  goodness  is  this  ?"  asked  Hop- 
kins, eagerly. 

"  Mine,  for  lack  of  a  better,  sir.  I  thought 
it  would  be  a  little  sort  of  a  treat,  now  that 
strawberries  are  out  of  season  !"  answered  the 
little  gentleman,  licking  his  lips. 

"  Yours,  sir  ?"  exclaimed  Puffer,  seizing  him 
by  the  hand ;  "  I  owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude 
for  life  for  this.  Don't  I  know  you,  sir  ?  you 
are  a  member  of  the  club,  I  believe  :  the  me- 
morable and  immortal  club  —  the  Bottom,  I 
mean  ?" 

Receiving  an  answer  in  the  affirmative,  he 
ran  on  in  a  very  fluent  and  enthusiastic  '  style, 
pronouncing  his  introduction  to  the  Bottom 
Club  one  of  the  most  fortunate  incidents  of  his 
life  ;  his  acquaintance  with  the  gentleman  be- 
fore him  as  one  of  the  greatest  pleasures  he  had 
ever  known  ;  said  that  he  was  attached  to  his 
party  and  his  principles — no  man  more ;  and 
that  he  was  resolved  to  perform  his  duty  as  a 
member  of  the  Vigilance  Committee  with  the 
utmost  zeal,  promptitude,  and  despatch. 

The  stranger,  although  a  small  man,  was  not 
a  little  astonished  at  this  tide  of  eloquence  (for 
Puflfer  Hopkins  was  in  the  middle  of  a  declama- 
tion to  his  looking-glass  on  some  supposed  fes- 
tive occasion  when  the  visiter  had  broken  in, 
and  which  declamation,  in  the  flutter  of  the  in- 
terruption, he  applied  to  his  unexpected  advent) 
— we  say  he  was  not  a  little  surprised ;  but  it 
•was  with  main  eflTort  he  subdued  his  mirth, 
when,  at  the  end  of  all  these  elegant  promises 
and  professions,  Puflfer  Hopkins  asked  him 
"  what  he  had  to  do  ?" 

Now  there  are  many  things  that  a  member 
of  a  vigilance  committee,  giving  a  liberal  con- 
struction to  the  designation,  might  be  supposed 
to  be  engaged  in  with  great  propriety.  Pos- 
sessing the  sharp  eye  that  of  right  belongs  to  a 
functionary  so  entitled,  he  should  pierce  into 
the  heart  of  hidden  abuses,  following  them  with 
close,  wary  steps,  into  obscure  dens  and  haunts 
^getting  at  awful  secrets  of  crime,  veiled  from 
all  other  eyes — detecting,  through  the  world,  in 
their  thousand  disguises  and  hypocritical  man- 
tles, fraud,  cruelty,  domestic  wrong,  and  the 
whole  brood  of  cozenage  and  knavery. 


It  was  pretty  clear  that  it  was  to  none  of  these 
varieties  of  service  that  Puflfer  Hopkins  was  ex- 
pected to  devote  his  very  promising  talents ; 
and  of  this  Puflfer  himself  had  some  faint  con- 
ception, for  when  he  puzzled  his  brain  in  search 
of  the  duties  of  his  new  character,  it  did  not  oc- 
cur to  him  that  it  had  ever  been  the  business 
of  any  politician,  past  or  present,  or  would  be 
in  all  future  time,  to  subserve  in  any  possible 
way  the  plain,  simple,  every-day  interests  of 
humanity. 

At  this  question,  Mr.  Small  laughed ;  not, 
however,  as  if  any  circumstance  of  the  present 
interview,  or  relating  thereto,  had  struck  him 
as  at  all  humorous,  but  as  if  his  thoughts  were 
fixed  upon  some  remote  incident,  away  off  a 
good  many  miles,  and  arising  from  such  inno- 
cent sources  as  might  be  supposed  to  move  the 
mirth  of  so  simple-minded  a  gentleman.  Laugh 
he  did,  however,  with  such  violence  as  to  com- 
pel him  to  place  a  hand  upon  one  of  his  ribs, 
while  he  planted  his  elbow  against  the  waU  to 
support  the  other. 

From  all  which,  it  might  be  presumed  that 
the  little  gentleman  thought  it  quite  a  diverting 
question,  to  be  asked  what  the  members  of  a 
vigilance  committee  had  to  do.  Laughing,  and 
still  holding  his  sides,  the  dwarf  gentleman 
again  burlesqued  a  bow,  and  hurried  from  the 
apartment,  leaving  Puflfer  Hopkins  in  a  state 
of  no  little  wonder  and  bewilderment. 

Determined,  nevertheless,  to  acquire  a  more 
definite  knowledge  of  the  functions  and  duties 
of  this  majestic  office,  Puflfer  snatched  up  his 
hat,  shifted  himself  into  a  bright  blue  coat  with 
intense  brass  buttons,  and  went  forth.  In  the 
excitement  and  anxiety  of  mind  resulting  from 
the  sudden  knowledge  of  his  appointment,  he 
had  enjoyed  a  brisk  walk  of  two  squares  or 
more  before  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  would 
greatly  further  his  inquiries  if  he  would  take  a 
minute  or  two  to  consider  where  they  should  be 
made. 

After  many  misgivings  and  fluctuations  of 
opinion,  he  at  length  fixed  on  Mr.  Fishblatt, 
and,  for  a  variety  of  reasons,  selected  that  gen- 
tleman as  an  adviser  in  his  present  emergency ; 
to  whose  residence  he  turned  his  steps  with  all 
becoming  expedition.  Glancing  about  for  an 
overgrown  door-plate  and  a  red  front  surmount- 
ed with  gigantic  chimney-pots.  Puffer  was  not 
long  in  discovering  the  domicil  of  which  he  was 
in  search ;  which  domicil  was,  however,  adorn- 
ed, beyond  the  description  of  Mr.  Fishblatt,  by 
an  oblong  sign  stretched  across  the  entire  front, 
and  cutting  the  house  unpleasantly  into  halves, 
indicating  that  the  safe,  cheap,  and  accommo- 
dating corporation  of  the  Phoenix  Fire  Insurance 
Company  harbored  within. 

Mr.  Halsey  Fishblatt,  therefore,  inhabited  a 
second  floor ;  and  af^er  a  due  performance  on  a 
door-bell,  and  ringing  all  the  customary  chan- 
ges, Puffer  was  led  by  a  frouzy-haircd  servant 
girl  through  the  hall,  up  one  flight  of  stairs,  and 
into  a  small  supplemental  building,  in  a  small 
room  whereof — comprehending  the  entire 
breadth  and  length  of  the  same— he  came  upoa 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


189 


Mr.  Fishblatt,  seated  grandly  in  a  very  high- 
backed  chair,  holding  in  his  outstretched  arms 
an  enormous  newspaper,  on  which  his  eyes 
were  fixed  as  keenly  and  comprehensively  as  if 
he  expected  by  the  perusal  of  the  sheet  before 
him  at  that  very  time,  and  the  mastery  of  its 
contents,  to  become  one  of  the  finest  scholars 
and  profoundest  critics  in  the  country.  He  was 
assisted  in  the  achievement  of  this  mighty  pur- 
pose, if  he  entertained  it,  by  a  gorgeous  spirit- 
lamp  which  was  fed  by  a  ball,  and  blazed  away 
on  a  table  at  his  side  like  a  meteor. 

On  the  entrance  of  Puffer  Hopkins,  the 
reader  sprang  to  his  feet,  cast  dov/n  the  paper, 
and  rushing  anxiously  toward  his  visiter,  fixed 
upon  his  right  hand  with  the  tenacity  of  a  grif- 
fin. "  My  dear  fellow,"  cried  Mr.  Fishblatt, 
earnestly,  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  Down  with 
your  hat.  Make  yourself  at  home.  This  looks 
like  home,  doesn't  it  ?  Everybody  thinks  so 
that  comes  here.  I  don't  suppose  you  could 
find  a  snugger  room  of  the  kind  in  the  whole 
planetary  system.  You  see  how  roomy  and  quiet 
it  is :  here  are  all  my  books  around  me — pam- 
phlets, sermons,  speeches,  documents  from  Con- 
gress, documents  from  Legislatures,  catalogues, 
tracts,  and  lexicons.  And  look  here,  sir !"  turn- 
ing about  in  his  chair,  and  running  his  finger 
rapidly  along  a  line  of  great,  grim  volumes  that 
stood  against  the  wall — "  a  bound  newspaper 
from  every  state  in  the  Union,  written  up  in  tip- 
top style ;  classical,  sir,  every  word  of  them — 
classical  and  immortal !  What  do  you  say  now, 
sir !    Isn't  it  very  nice  ?" 

"  I  certainly  think  it  is,"  answered  Puffer, 
contemplating  the  questioner  with  considerable 
astonishment. 

"  There's  something  on  your  mind,"  contin- 
ued Mr.  Fishblatt,  scarcely  waiting  an  answer ; 
*<I  know  it;  I  see  it  plainly — something  that 
harasses  and  worries  you.  You  don't  sleep ; 
you  can't  rest :  it  troubles  you  so.  Come,  out 
with  it,  my  boy ;  let's  have  it  at  once.  What 
is  it  that  makes  you  look  so  anxious  ?" 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  I'm  a  member  of  the  Vigi- 
lance Committee,  and  don't  know  what  my  du- 
ties are,"  answered  Puffer ;  "  and  I  have  taken 
the  liberty  to  come  and  ask  you  what  I  shall  do 
in  my  new  capacity." 

*'  If  I  was  a  member  of  a  vigilance  commit- 
tee," said  Mr.  Fishblatt,  regarding  Puffer  Hop- 
kins with  great  gravity  and  steadiness,  "  I 
should  consider  it  my  duty  to  have  immense 
telescopes  constructed ;  and  I  would  plant  them, 
.sir,  where  I  could  look  into  the  very  interior  of 
every  domicil  in  the  ward,  and  know  what  was 
in  every  man's  pot  for  dinner  .  six  days  in  the 
week.  This  may  not  be  your  view  of  duty, 
sir;  but  I  should  feel  bound  to  have  great 
legers  kept,  with  leaves  that  opened  like  doors, 
and  there  write  down  every  man's  name  in 
large  letters  ;  and  I'd  have  a  full  length  of  him 
drawn  on  the  m.argin,  and  colored  to  the  life. 
I'd  give  his  dress,  sir,,  down  to  the  vest  buttons, 
and  if  there  was  a  mote  in  his  eye,  I'd  have  it 
there  to  be  cross-examined,  when  he  came  up 
to  vote.    Now  don't  say  you  can't  do  this — you 


haven't  the  physical  strength  to  keep  such  a  set 
of  books." 

"Would  you  inquire  so  very  particularly," 
asked  Puflfer,  timidly,  for  he  felt  abashed  by  the 
grand  conceptions  of  the  imaginative  Fishblatt, 
"  into  the  private  habits  of  voters  ?" 

"  I  would,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Fishblatt,  per- 
emptorily; "I'd  know  whether  they  slept  in 
trundle-bedsteads  or  high-posts ;  whether  they 
preferred  cold-sla  ugh  cut  lengthwise  or  crosswise 
of  the  cabbage;  whether  their  shoes  were  hob- 
nailed or  pegged.  Can  you  tell  why  I'd  do  this  ?" 

Puffer  Hopkins  frankly  and  heroically  con- 
fessed that  he  could  not  very  readily,  without 
the  aid  of  Mr.  Fishblatt. 

"  I  knew  you  couldn't,"  said  that  distinguish- 
ed rhetorician.  «  Don't  you  see  that  the  pub- 
lic conduct  of  the  man  is  foreshadowed  in  his 
personal  habits  ?  A  man  that  wears  red  flannel 
shirts  is  always  for  war :  a  man  that  employs 
night-caps  is  opposed  to  riots.  The  voters  that 
browbeit  their  servants  at  home,  sir,  always 
cry  out  for  strengthening  the  executive.  Go 
into  that  man's  house  over  the  way,  sir,  the 
house  with  the  meek  salmon-colored  door ;  that 
door  is  a  hypocrite  and  deceiver,  sir !  Climb 
to  the  fourth  shelf  of  his  pantry  and  you'll  find 
two  red-handled  rawhides ;  that  man  approves 
of  despatching  the  Florida  Indians  by  drugging 
their  brandy  with  ratsbane.  That  man's  on 
his  knees  every  Sunday  in  the  orthodox  chapel, 
wears  out  a  pair  of  knee-cushions  every  year, 
and  has  breeches  made  without  pockets  to  es- 
cape the  importunities  of  beggars  in  the  streets 
and  highways.  Put  him  down  in  your  journal, 
sir,  as  a  knave,  a  villain,  a  low  base  fellow — 
will  you  ?" 

"The  laws  hardly  reach  such  men,"  suggest- 
ed Puffer. 

"  I'd  make  them  reach,"  said  Mr.  Fishblatt, 
confidently,  "  I'd  stretch  'em  till  they  did  reach. 
I'd  hang  such  m.en  higher  than  Haman ;  I'd  in- 
vent every  kind  of  rack  and  thumb-screw,  and 
worry  their  lives  out  by  inches ;  I'd  fill  their 
houses  with  bugs  and  alligators  :  they  should 
have  pirates  to  wait  on  them  at  table;  and 
they  should  sleep  with  bandits  swarming  about 
their  beds,  great  black-whiskered  bandits,  with 
pistols  charged  to  the  muzzle  and  always  on 
the  full-cock.     Would  that  serve  them  right  ?" 

"  I  think  it  would,  strictly  speaking,"  an- 
swered Puffer;  "but,  as  a  member  of  a  vigilance 
committee,  should  I  undertake  to  spy  out  such 
abuses  ?" 

"  Oh,  no ;  your  business  is — have  I  told  you 
what  your  business  is  ? — to  go  along  the  wharves 
and  up  into  alleys,  and  down  into  cellars,  and 
inquire  for  voters,  disseminating  the  right  doc- 
trine by  the  way,  and  making  everybody  of 
your  opinion,  by  having  no  opinion  at  all.  Are 
you  on  the  dock  committee,  or  one  of  the  alley 
committees  ?" 

"Neither,"  answered  the  young  politician, 
"  I  think  mine  is  known  as  the  rear-building 
section." 

"'  Are  you  advised  whether  there  are  any  old 
women  there,  to  give  iron  spectacles  to?  or 


190 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


small  children,  to  nurse  with  gingerbread  ?  or 
any  recent  deaths  in  any  of  the  families,  that 
you  may  sympathize  in  the  bereavement,  by 
wearing  a  strip  of  crape  on  your  hat  ?" 

"  I  have  no  instructions,"  answered  Puffer 
Hopkins. 

"Then  you  had  better  go  prepared  for  all 
emergencies — you  had  better  carry  a  piece  of 
calico  under  your  arm,  to  cut  into  gowns ;  half 
a  dozen  papers  of  confectionary  in  your  pock- 
ets ;  a  gross  of  clay  pipes,  for  the  superannuated 
voters  or  their  aged  relatives  ;  a  bale  of  cordu- 
roys ;  and,  perhaps,  I  only  suggest  this,  a  bas- 
ket of  sheep's  pluck." 

"  What  is  this  last  for  ?"  asked  Puffer,  ga- 
ping with  astonishment  at  the  personal  services 
required  of  him,  as  a  member  of  the  high  and 
mighty  ward  vigilance  committee. 

"To  wheedle  their  dogs  with,"  answered 
Mr.  Fishblatt,  "  if  they  happen  to  keep  any  in 
the  front  yard." 

Surprised  and  perplexed  by  the  requisitions 
of  the  vigilance  branch  of  the  service — as  ex- 
pounded by  Mr.  Halsey  Fishblatt,  the  extraor- 
dinary fervor  of  whose  fancy  Puffer  Hopkins 
had  not  yet  quite  learned  to  appreciate — he  di- 
rected his  steps  toward  his  lodgings  in  the 
Fork,  striving  his  best  to  project  the  means  by 
which  he  should  procure  the  articles  enumera- 
ted, and  the  kind  of  conveyance  by  which  they 
were  to  be  transported  to  voters'  houses. 

As  to  the  latter,  his  mind  wavered  between 
a  porter's  go-cart  and  a  butcher  boy  with  broad 
shoulders,  and,  as  to  the  first,  he  had  not  reach- 
ed a  conclusion  when  he  reached  home ;  where 
he  was  opportunely  relieved  from  further  per- 
plexity for  the  present,  by  having  a  dirty  billet 
placed  in  his  hands,  inviting  him  to  a  meeting 
of  the  very  vigilance  committee  itself  at  the 
headquarters,  at  half-past  seven  that  evening. 

Disposing  of  a  thrifty  meal,  consisting  of  two 
cheap  slices  of  bread,  a  saucer  of  onions  in 
vinegar  (an  excellent  thing  for  the  voice),  and 
a  bowl  of  black  tea,  he  whirled  his  hat  half  a 
dozen  times  about  his  left  hand,  applying  to  its 
nap,  meantime,  the  sleeve  of  his  right  arm, 
buttoned  his  coat  as  smartly  as  he  could,  and 
leaving  word  that  he  had  gone  to  a  public  meet- 
ing, the  young  politician  put  forth. 

A  few  minutes'  rapid  walking,  for  he  was 
behind  his  time,  brought  him  to  the  room  in 
which  the  committee  assembled,  and  halting 
for  a  moment  for  a  general  survey,  he  entered, 
and  assumed  his  seat  on  a  bench  against  the 
wall  with  his  fellow-laborers,  who  were  present 
in  great  force,  looking  as  vigilant  and  shrewd- 
minded  as  their  station  required.  A  member 
was  on  his  legs  expounding,  in  very  animated 
and  felicitous  style,  the  glory  to  be  reaped  by 
any  adventurous  canvasser,  who,  in  the  service 
of  his  country  and  impelled  by  a  desire  to  trans- 
mit a  name  to  his  children,  should  plunge  down 
a  certain  cellar — which  he  described — and  se- 
cure the  names  of  several  desperate  villains 
who  there  harbored  with  the  intent  of  coming 
forth  as  voters  at  the  spring  election,  and  per- 


juring themselves  in  the  very  face  and  eye  of 
Heaven. 

This  gentleman  was  followed  by  a  second  of 
equal  power  and  comprehensiveness  of  vision, 
who  declared,  on  his  personal  honor  and  well- 
known  character  for  integrity,  that  they  might 
look-out  for  a  riot,  and  one  of  a  very  serious 
cast.     He  had  said  serious  cast  because   the 
size  of  the  clubs  in  preparation  was  unusual. 
He  had  a  friend  (thank  Heaven  !)  whose  confi- 
dence he  believed  he  possessed.  He  was  a  wood- 
turner, he  had  been  secretly  employed  to  furnish 
a  gioss  of  heavy  bludgeons  in  the  disguise  ot 
balustrades.     For  this  fact  they  might  take  his 
word.  He  didn't  mention  it  to  alarm  any  gcntle- 
i  man  present.     He  didn't  wish  any  gentleman  to 
'  stay  at  home  or  to  put  himself  at  nurse  on  elec- 
I  tion   day,  to  avoid  anything   unpleasant   that 
I  might  be  abroad  in  the  shape  of  clubs  or  blud- 
j  geons.     For  his  part,  he  had  nothing  to  fear, 
he  only  wished  to  put  gentlemen  of  the  com- 
mittee on  their  guard,  and  to  drive  them  to  take 
into  serious  consideration  the  expediency  of  re- 
viving the  use  of  the  ancient  helmet. 

These  words  had  scarcely  escaped  him,  when 
a  pale  young  gentleman  sprang  up  from  a  table 
at  the  corner  of  the  room,  and  offered  a  resolu- 
tion imbodying  the  suggestions  of  his  friend ; 
which  was  promptly  seconded  by  a  respectable 
and  worthy  tinker  across  the  room,  who  had  a 
presentiment  that  the  helmets  in  question  must 
be  made  of  sheet-iron  quilted  with  tin — which 
would  all  fall  in  his  line  of  trade.  The  resolu- 
tion was,  notwithstanding  this  able  advocacy, 
doomed  not  to  become  an  heroic  determination 
of  the  committee  corporate,  being  extinguished 
and  quenched  for  ever  by  a  flood  of  invective 
and  ridicule  issuing  from  a  gentleman  who  con- 
descended to  perform  journey-work  in  a  hatter's 
establishment,  and  who  properly  enough  regard- 
ed such  an  attempt  as  an  invasion  of  the  rights 
of  the  guild. 

The  early  part  of  the  evening  proved,  there- 
fore, very  tempestuous  and  windy ;  but  as  soon 
as  the  various  gusts  of  debate  and  declamation 
had  blown  over,  a  veiy  plain-looking  gentle- 
man, at  about  ten  o'clock,  rose,  and  beginning 
in  a  very  soft  voice,  which  seemed  to  grow  soft- 
er as  he  advanced,  proved  himself  to  be  a  very 
sensible  fellow,  by  calling  the  attention  of  the 
meeting  to  some  little  particulars  which  had 
been  overlooked.  These  particulars  consisted 
of  the  division  and  organization  of  the  commit- 
tee into  sections,  enrolling  their  names  in  a 
book,  each  section  having  its  own  head  or 
chairman,  and  the  allotment  of  their  duties  to 
the  various  members  of  the  committee. 

There  was  the  dock  committee — they  want- 
ed a  gentleman  on  that,  who  wouldn't  feel  the 
inconvenience  of  a  tarpaulin  hat,  a  wide-skirt- 
ed, shaggy  box-coat,  with  two  sepulchral  pock- 
ets, for  his  fists  to  be  carried  in,  at  the  sidcf, 
and  who  couldn't  well  live  without  a  segar. 
Then,  they  wanted  a  short  man  for  cellars  and 
areas  ;  a  thin  man  to  go  up  the  alleys ;  a  spruce- 
looking  member  to  visit  at  the  quality  houses ;  a 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


191 


supple  man,  of  an  enterprising  turn,  for  rear- 
building  and  garret  service,  and  a  jolly-looking, 
portly  dog,  to  talk  with  the  landlords  and  tavern- 
keepers. 

The  plain  man  described,  in  a  few  words  and 
with  becoming  modesty,  what  he  thought  the 


and  making  the  most  of  their  wrappers,  hurried 
along,  in  a  supreme  unconsciousness  of  the  in- 
habited character  of  any  window  they  might  pass, 
01  the  identity  of  any  possible  friend  in  the  street. 
Others  pushed  along,  thinking  more  ofjhe 
respective  errands  on  which  they  were  bound 


duty  of  the  members  of  the  vigilance  committee  i  than  of  any  violence  of  weather,  and  heeding 
then  and  there  assembled  :  they  should  be  keen-  |  the  plashing  shower  no  more  than  if  it  had  been 
eyed  in  discovering  voters,  artful  and  insinua-   sunshine  and  fair  walking.     Among  these  was 


ting  in  approaching  them,  copious  of  tongue, 
subtle  in  argument,  and  prepared  to  clinch  any- 
thing they  might  choose  to  assert. 

He  thought  vilifying  the  opposition  wasn't 
bad,  if  it  was  done  in  a  Christian-like  way,  and 
by  describing  them  as  "some  persons,"  or, 
*'  there  were  peoi^le  who  he  (the  member)  knew 
couldn't  bear  the  poor ;  who  would  lake  the 


the  resolute  Hopkins,  who,  embowered  in 
cheap  blue  cottan  umbrella,  strided  along,  bent 
on  the  thorough  and  faithful  discharge  of  his 
arduous  duties  as  scourer  or  canvasser  of  the 
ward. 

He  had  selected  for  the  first  visitation,  a  rear 
building  in  a  by-street,  inhabited  by  sundry  gen- 
tlemen of  doubtful  politics,  and,  making  all 


last  potato  out  of  the  poor  man's  pot,"  and  sim-  ■  proper  speed,  he  arrived  in  a  short  time  in  the 
ilar  fetches  of  expression.  :  neighborhood  where  he   intended  to  operate. 

When  this  gentleman  had  occupied  the  floor  Opening  a  blind  gate,  which  worked  with  a  pul- 
for  about  an  hour,  Puffer  Hopkins  very  discreet-  ley  and  closed  swiftly  behind  him.  Puffer  found 
ly  held  himself  to  be  as  well  advised  as  to  the  i  himself  in  a  square  enclosure,  filled  with  carts, 
services  required  as  he  was  ever  likely  to  be;  I  fragments  of  boarding,  old  iron  pots,  broken 


and  determining  in  his  own  mind  not  to  be  easi- 
ly outdone  and  to  set  about  his  portion  of  the 
task  on  the  morrow,  he  departed. 


CHAPTER  Vra. 


ADVENTURES    OF   PUFFER   AS   A    SCOURER. 


pieces  of  gardeir-fence  standing  against  the 
walls,  two  cistern -heads,  and,  at  the  rear,  a 
row  of  cheap  wooden  houses,  with  the  windows 
dashed  out,  sundry  breaches  in  the  casing,  and 
various  red  pots,  supposed  to  contain  stunted 
specimens  of  horticulture,  arranged  in  the  up- 
per windows.  Directly  in  the  middle  of  the 
yard,  there  stood,  under  one  large  ivorj^-han- 
dled  umbrella,  a  couple  of  well-dressed,  white- 
haired  indi\dduals — one  of  whom  was  very 
stout,  portly,  and  commanding,  and  the  other 
very  shrunken,  round  shouldered,  and  obsequi- 
ous— looking  up  at  the  buildings ;  the  portly 


The  sun  had  certainly  made  up  his  mind, 
that  morning,  not  to  see  company ;  and  if  all 
the  vigilance  committees  in  the  seventeen  wards 

had  turned  out  expressly  for  that  purpose,  it  j  gentleman  staring  at  them  with  great  severity 
would  have  been  impossible  for  even  their  well- ,  and  talking  boisterously,  and  the  round  shoul- 
known  and  extraordinary  astuteness  to  have  ,  dered  glancing  up  at  the  portly  gentleman, 
detected  the  slightest  glimpse  of  his  benevolent  meeklj',  and  making  minutes  of  what  he  said, 
features  anywhere  in  the  very  murkiest  sky  of  ;  "  Draught  of  the  chimneys,  heavy;  note  that 
a  November  day.  The  forty-five  spirited  fire-  ,  down,  will  you  ?"  said  the  portly  gentleman, 
companies  of  the  metropolis — who   had  seen   peremptorily. 

proper,  at  a  very  early  hour  in  the  day,  to  take  I  "  I  will,"  said  the  meek  man,  "  it's  down, 
a  run   at  a  horse-shed   near  Bowling   Green,  |  sir." 

which  had  extinguished  itself  the  moment  it  |      "  Supposed   equal  to  two  factory  furnaces, 
was  discovered  nothing  else  could  catch  from  it !  with  the  blowers  on ;  down  with  that — and  put 
— might  with  equal  propriety  have  turned  in  [  my  initial  to  it,  if  you  please." 
and  stayed  at  home,  smoking  long-nines  and  |      "I  have,  in  large  capitals,"  said  the  timid 
talking  over  past   achievements  ;  for  the  rain  |  gentleman. 

came  down  in  torrents,  and  kept  every  combus- 1  "  That's  right,"  said  the  portly  gentleman, 
tible  plank  in  the  city  as  nice  and  moist  as  j  promptly.  "  Scuttles  always  open,  and  chil- 
heart  could  wish.  I  dren  allowed  to  smoke  burnt  rattans — I  see  one 

Omnibus-drivers  and  hackmen  carried  a  of 'em  at  it  now.  Will  you  mark  that  down  ?" 
proud  head,  and  looked  down  on  the  sinful  cried  the  stout  gentleman,  evidently  very  much 
world  of  dry-goods  men  and  in-door  trades- ;  enraged,  and  with  a  startling  emphasis  that 
people,  from  their  box-seats,  with  an  air  of:  caused  the  meek  man  to  jump  out  from  under 
pleasant  disdain  ;  and  the  proprietors  of  livery- 1  the  shelter,  which  compelled  his  superior  to  or- 


stables  peered  forth  from  their  small  office-win- 
dows, smiling  and  making  themselves  happy 
and  comfortable  at  the  prospect,  as  Noah  might 
have  done  on  a  similar  occasion.  Pedestrians 
with  umbrellas  looked  melancholy,  and  buried 
themselves  in  their  blue  cottons  and  brown  silks 
to  indicate  their  misanthropy  ;  and  pedestrians 
without  umbrellas  looked  small  and  miserable. 


der  him  back  twice,  very  distinctly,  before  he 
could  be  induced  to  return  to  his  duty,  and 
chronicle  what  fell  fx-om  the  stout  gentleman's 
lips.  "They  dry  their  hose  at.  No.  nine,  on 
the  back  of  a  rocker  before  the  fire,  and  use  a 
decayed  Dutch-oven  at  No.  eleven — this  last  at- 
tributable to  the  extravagance  of  the  lower  or- 
ders, who  are  too  proud  to  patronise  the  baker." 


192 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


<^  That's  a  very  happy  observation,"  said  the 
meek  man,  "  shall  I  print  it  out  large,  like  the 
play-bills  ?" 

"Stulf !"  cried  the  portly  gentleman,  smiling 
haughtily,  "just  mind  your  business,  and  rec- 
ollect that  all  private  feelings  are  absorbed  in 
the  company's  interests,  will  ye  ?" 

"  I'll  try,"  said  the  meek  man,  timidly. 

« Do !  and  just  say,  if  you  please,  that  the 
first  floor's  occupied  by  a  journeyman  lightning- 
maker." 

"A  journeyman  lightning-maker!"  echoed 
the  meek  man. 

"  None  of  your  nonsense,  now.  Crump — but 
down  with  what  I  tell  you  ;  a  journeyman  light- 
ning-maker in  the  employ  of  one  of  the  theatres. 
Say  we  are  informed  that  he  lives  on  brandy 
(brandy's  a  pretty  inflammatory  article,  I  be- 
lieve, and  cases  of  spontaneous  combustion 
have  occurred ;  put  that  reflection  in  a  note 
and  mark  it  J.  B.  in  the  corner),  and  makes 
lightning  in  the  garret.  Now  for  the  cisterns. 
Have  you  smelt  No.  eleven  V\ 

"  I  have,  sir,"  answered  the  secretary,  ma- 
king a  wry  face,  "  and  it's  uncommon  noxious." 

"  Do  you  know  the  cause  ?"  asked  the  portly 
gentleman,  disdainfully. 

"  I  do  not,  sir,"  answered  the  meek  gentle- 
man, groping  in  his  pockets. 

"  A  child — a  juvenile  small  child — that  went 
to  a  public  school,  took  his  own  life  in  despair 
one  day,  in  that  very  cistern,  sir,  because  he 
couldn't  spell  phthisic,  sir !" 

"  That  was  strange,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"  Very  strange,  Cromp.  The  child  came 
home  in  the  afternoon,  with  the  same  green 
bag — take  notice,  sir — the  same  green  bag  on 
his  arm  that  he'd  carried  for  fourteen  months, 
and  said,  'Mother,  there's  a  pain,'  laying  his 
hand  on  his  head,  '  a  great  violent  pain  here.' 
That  was  all  he  said,  and  then  he  went  up 
stairs,  made  up  his  little  couch,  tied  his  wooden 
horse  to  a  bed-post  with  a  new  riband  about  his 
neck,  put  on  his  Sunday  hat  and  a  clean  apron, 
and  stepping  stealthily  down  stairs,  walked 
comfortably  into  the  cistern,  and  ended  all  his 
agonies." 

"  That's  a  remarkable  aflTair,"  said  the  secre- 
tary with  his  mouth  and  eyes  wide  open. 
"Don't  you  think  it's  a  serious  argument 
against  the  public  schools,  sir  ?" 

"  It's  a  smasher,  Crump,  an  extra-hazardous 
smasher,"  said  the  insurance  president,  for  that 
proved  to  be  his  oflicial  station.  "  There's 
something  wrong  in  the  system  you  may  depend 
on  it,  or  children  would  never  destroy  them- 
selve3  iu  this  way  because  they  can't  spell  diph- 
thong words  of  two  syllables.  Now  to  busi- 
ness, if  you  please.  Say  it's  the  opinion  of  the 
president  that  no  engine  will  ever  consent  to 
draw  AVater  from  the  cistern  of  No.  eleven ; 
that  engines  cWt  be  expected  to  take  little 
boys  or  little  girls  into  their  chambers  and 
extinguish  their  bereaved  parents'  burning 
dwellings  with  the  rinsings.  Firemen  have 
feelings  (this  is  a  moral  axiom  for  the  benefit 


of  the  directors),  engines  have  works  :  and  al- 
though the  coroner  did  sit  on  the  cistern-lid  the 
better  part  of  an  entire  night,  inquiring  into 
this  melancholy  case,  and  sent  down  several 
courageous  small  boys  with  boat-hooks,  and 
called  patriotically  into  the  cistern  himself,  yet 
add,  the  boy  was  never  found ;  and  from  the 
fact  of  deceased's  never  having  been  seen  to 
come  out,  a  strong  suspicion  prevails  in  the 
neighborhood  that  he  is  still  in ;  but  what 
makes  the  corpse  so  very  outrageous  and  stub- 
born nobody  can  say.     Is  that  it,  Crump  ?" 

"  All  down,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Crump. 

"  Stand  out  from  the  umbrella,  then,  if  you 
please,  Mr.  Crump :  business  is  over.  You're 
Crump  and  I'm  Blinker."  And  the  insurance 
president  looked  down  upon  his  assistant  in  the 
most  commanding  fashion. 

Crump  obeyed,  and,  withdrawing  from  the 
brown-silk  protector,  stood  outside,  awaiting 
the  further  pleasure  of  the  portly  gentleman. 

"This  is  a  sweet  day,  Crump,"  said  the 
president,  contemplating  with  evident  satisfac- 
tion the  huge  drops  that  plashed  in  one  of  the 
puddles. 

"  Charming !"  said  Crump,  slily  inserting  a 
cotton  pocket-handkerchief  between  his  coat- 
collar  and  the  back  of  his  neck,  for  Crump  was 
slightly  rheumatic. 

"  Stocks  should  rise  in  weather  like  this," 
said  Mr.  Blinker.  "  The  roofs  are  all  good  and 
wet,  cellars  under  water,  and  a  good  number  of 
garrets  flooded.  Now,  if  we  could  have  a 
little  rain  horizontally,  the  second  stories  would 
be  nice  and  safe.  To  be  sure,  families  might 
suffer  a  little  inconvenience,  but  it  would  be 
morally  impossible  for  fires  to  show  themselves, 
and  I  should  look  in  the  papers  for  two  or  three 
melancholy  cases  of  incendiaries  having  made 
way  with  themselves.     It's  a  pelter.  Crump." 

"That,  I  believe,  is  admitted,"  answered 
that  worthy  individual,  with  a  slight  tinge  of 
impudence  in  his  manner — buttoning  up  his 
side-pockets,  which  began  to  fill,  and  throwing 
his  hands  behind  him  under  his  coat-tails,  which 
arrangement,  as  he  stooped  forward,  formed  a 
commodious  roof  for  the  rain  to  run  off  at. 

"  It's  lucky  we're  not  in  the  marine  line," 
continued  the  president,  glancing  at  the  secre- 
tary, "  goods  not  under  hatches  will  be  nicely 
soaked,  I'm  sure,  particularly  woollens  and 
drabs." 

Now  it  so  happened  that  the  unfortunate 
Crump  was  the  owner  of  a  very  pretty  pair  of 
woollen  drabs — rather  old  fashioned  to  be  sure 
— which,  very  singularly,  he  was  wearing  at 
that  very  moment  as  he  stood  in  the  shower  in  the 
open  yard  ;  but,  as  Mr.  Blinker  was  well  known 
as  a  benevolent-minded  gentleman,  and  above 
all  manner  of  personalities.  Crump  was  bound  • 
to  regard  his  observation  as  one  of  those  happy 
general  reflections  for  which  he  was  equally  re- 
markable. 

"  The  shower  comes  down  so  nice  and 
straight,"  said  Mr.  Blinker,  erecting  his  um- 
brella, and  drawing  himself  close  under  its 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


193 


centre,  at  the  same  time  consulting  his  watch, 
« so  nice  and  straight,  that  it  must  put  out  a 
good  many  kitchen-fires  ;  which  all  helps ;  but 
it's  time  to  be  at  the  ofiice.  Do  you  go  on, 
Crump,  and  have  the  grate  well  piled,  don't 
spare  the  coals,  for  I'm  chilly.  But  stop — 
whose  buildings  are  these,  did  you  say?" 

« I  didn't  say,"  answered  Mr.  Crump,  flushing 
slightly. 

«  Whose  ?"  cried  Mr.  Blinker,  in  his  official 
key,  which  started  the  secretary  into  a  small 
pond. 

"  Fyler  Close's,  sir,"  answered  the  intelligent 
Crump,  speedily. 

"  Humph !  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Blinker.  «  Go 
on ;  and  don't  forget  to  wheel  my  chair  out  and 
warm  my  slippers.  And  if  the  lime-dealer 
calls  for  his  policy  tell  him  it  isn't  made  out, 
and  that  he  may  call  the  first  fair  day.  TJiis 
is  fine  weather  for  slacking  that  article.  Crump ; 
excellent  weather  to  set  houses  on  fire  with 
water  and  white  chalk — do  you  understand? 
Go!" 

At  this  the  secretary  picked  his  way  through 
the  yard,  carrying  his  head  obliquely  to  avoid 
the  rain  that  dashed  directly  in  his  face,  and 
holding  the  gate  for  a  moment,  was  followed 
by  the  superior  functionary,  in  great  stale ; 
who  paused  once  or  twice,  however,  and  turned 
about  to  take  a  glance  at  the  buildings  under 
survey  for  insiirance. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Puflfer  Hopkins,  stepping 
out  from  under  a  shed  where  he  had  ambushed 
himself  during  this  instructive  conversation; 
*'  these  gentlemen  must  be  on  the  relief  com- 
mittee, they  have  a  wonderful  tenderness  for 
poor  people,  and  wouldn't  see  'em  made  martjTS  j 
of  by  a  conflagration,  for  all  the  world.  Let 
me  see ;  I  think  1 11  visit  the  lightning-maker 
in  the  garret,  first.  He's  a  genius,  no  doubt, 
and,  belonging  to  the  melo-dramatic  school, 
may  dazzle  two  or  three  weak  minds  in  the 
neighborhood." 

With  these  words  the  young  politician  pro- 
ceeded to  the  house  which  had  been  pointed  out 
as  the  residence  of  the  lightning-maker,  and 
knocked  gently  at  the  door. 

The  summons  was  answered  by  a  small  girl, 
with  an  unclean  face  and  eyes  that  twinkled 

*  through  the  dirt  like  a  ground-mole's,  who  gave 
him  to  understand  that  the  gentleman  in  ques- 

^tion  was  at  that  moment  in  the  garret  of  the 
building,  busy  upon  a  two-quarter,  and  that  he. 
Puffer  Hopkins,  if  he  went  up  stairs,  had  better 
come  upon  him  cautiously,  lest  he  might,  in  the 
conllision  of  a  sudden  surprise,  let  slip  a  vol- 
cano, or  something  horrible  of  that  nature  in 
the  combustible  line. 

Taking  to  heart  the  suggestion  of  the  small 
1^ adviser,  Puffer  walked  up  stairs,  and  knocked 
at  the  door  of  the  artisan's  laboratory  with 
great  discretion,  beginning  with  a  rap  in  the 
very  lowest  key,  and  ascending  gradually  to  a 
clear  double-knock. 

"  Hold  a  minute,"  cried  a  voice  from  within, 

*  **  till  I  mix  in  a  trifle  of  red  and  blue.    If  you 


should  come  in  now,"  continued  the  voice, 
pondering  and  speaking  a  word  or  two  ©nly  at 
H  lime,  as  if  it  was  interrupted  by  some  manual 
operation,  "  you'd  lose  us  three  good  rounds 
with  the  pit.  They  always  loves  to  see  a  sheet 
of  red  fire,  provided  there's  a  cross  of  blue  in  it." 
In  a  moment  Puffer  was  admitted,  and  dis- 
covered a  lean  man  bending  over  a  mortar  with 
great  staring  eyes  and  cheeks  discolored  with 
brimstone  or  yellow  fumes  of  some  other  kind ; 
and  surrounded  by  black  bottles,  two  or  three 
broken  pestles,  an  iron  retort,  and  various  other 
implements  of  his  trade.  Puffer  introduced 
himself  and  proceeded  at  once  to  the  exercise 
of  his  function  as  a  scourer. 

"  This  profession  of  yours,"  said  Puffer — he 
dared  not  call  it  a  trade,  although  the  poor 
workman  was  up  to  his  eyes  in  vile  yellow  paste 
and  charcoal-dust — "  this  profession,  sir,  must 
give  you  many  patriotic  feelings  of  a  high  caste, 
sir." 

"  It  does,  sir,"  answered  the  lightning-maker, 
slightly  mistaking  his  meaning ;  "  I've  told  the 
manager  more  than  fifty  times  that  lightning 
such  as  mine  is  worth  ninepence  a  bottle ;  but 
he  never  would  pay  more  than  fourpence-ha'- 
penny,  except  in  volcanoes — them's  always  two 
quarters." 

"  I  mean,  sir,"  continued  the  scourer,  "  that 
when  you  see  the  vivid  fires  blazing  on  Lake 
Erie — ^when  Perry's  working  his  ship  about  like 
a  velocipede,  and  the  guns  are  bursting  off,  and 
the  enemy  is  paddling  away  like  ducks — is  not 
your  soul  then  stirred,  sir  ?  Do  you  not  feel 
impelled  to  achieve  some  great — some  glorious 
act  ?  What  do  you  do — what  can  you  do — in 
such  a  moment  of  intense,  overwhelming  excite- 
ment ?" 

*'/  generally,"  answered  the  lightning-maker, 
with  an  emphasis  upon  the  personal  pronoun, 
as  if  some  difference  of  practice  might  possibly 
prevail,  "  /generally  takes  a  glass  of  beer,  with 
the  frotli  on." 

"  But,  sir,  when  you  see  the  dwelling-house 
roof,  kindled  by  your  bomb-shells,  all  a-blaze 
with  the  midnight  conflagration — the  rafters 
melting  away,  I  may  say,  with  the  intense  heat, 
and  the  engines  working  their  pumps  in  vain — 
don't  you  think  then,  sir,  of  some  peaceful  fam- 
ily, living  in  some  secluded  valley,  broken  in 
upon  by  the  heartless  incendiary  with  his  demon 
matches,  and  burning  down  their  cottage  with 
all  its  out-houses  ?" 

"  In  such  cases,"  answered  the  lightning-ma- 
ker, "  I  thinks  of  my  two  babies  at  home,  with 
their  poor  lame  mother ;  and  I  makes  it  a  point, 
if  my  feelings  is  very  much  wrought  up,  as  the 
prompter  says,  to  run  home  between  the  acts 
to  see  that  all's  safe,  and  put  a  bucket  of  water 
by  the  hearth.    Isn't  that  the  thing  ?" 

"  I  think  it  is ;  and  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  talk 
so  feelingly,"  answered  Puflfer  Hopkins ;  «^our 
next  mayor's  a  very  domestic-minded  man — ^just 
such  a  man  as  you  are,  only  I  don't  believe  he'd 
be  so  prudent  and  active  about  the  bucket  on 
the  hearth." 


194 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


At  this  the  lightning-maker  smiled  pleasant- 
ly to  himself,  and  unconsciously  thrust  a  large 
roll  of  brimstone  in  his  cheek. 

"  Is  this  your  natural  complexion  that  you 
have  on  this  morning  V  resumed  Puffer  Hop- 
kins, seeing  how  well  the  personal  compliment 
took,  and  glancing  at  the  lightning-maker's  yel- 
low chaps.  "  If  it  is,  the  resemblance  between 
yourself  and  the  gentleman  I  have  mentioned 
is  more  striking  than  I  could  have  expected. 
His  nose  is  a  copper.  Isn't  yours  inclining  a 
little  that  way  ?" 

*'  I  believe  it  is,"  answered  the  journeyman 
lightning-maker,  complacently. 

"  Your  eye  is  a  deep  gray,  I  think,  as  far  as 
I  can  see  it  by  this  light :  that's  what  the  Com- 
mittee of  Nomination,  when  they  waited  on  the 
next  mayor,  thought  was  his." 

In  the  flutter  of  nerves  created  by  the  scour- 
er's instituting  these  pleasant  comparisons,  the 
lightning-maker  unadvisedly  brought  together 
a  couple  of  hostile  combustibles,  which  occa- 
sioned the  premature  bursting  of  a  small  bottle 
of  azure  lightning,  without  scenery  to  match ; 
and  a  small  skylight  was  opened  thereby  through 
a  decayed  shingle  in  the  roof.  Instructed  by 
this,  of  the  tropical  climate  of  the  lightning-ma- 
ker's garret,  and  thinking  that  a  sufficient  train 
had  been  laid  for  a  future  vote.  Puffer — who 
had  been  advised  of  the  residence  of  a  stout 
cobbler  in  the  neighboring  attic — trotted  up  a 
ladder,  and  through  the  open  scuttle,  and 
scrambling  over  the  pitched  roof,  plunged  down 
a  similar  opening  in  the  next  house,  and  came 
very  suddenly  upon  the  object  he  sought.  The 
burly  shoemaker  was  seated  on  a  cobbler's 
bench,  working  away  merrily  enough.  At  his 
side  was  laid  a  long  clay  pipe,  filled  ready  to  be 
lighted,  and  hard  by  him  a  bundle  of  chattels, 
corded  up  and  arranged  apparently  for  instant 
transportation. 

"  How  is  this  ?"  cried  the  cobbler,  as  his  eye 
caught  the  person  of  Puffer  Hopkins ;  "  this 
isn't  fair — nor  is  it  legal  in  any  courts,  whether 
of  chancery  or  common  law.  Writs  don't  de- 
scend, sir — I  know  enough  for  that.  No  depu- 
ty-sheriff was  ever  enough  of  an  angel  to  come 
from  above.  I  resist  process !  Do  you  hear 
that  ?" 

Saying  this,  the  cobbler  started  up,  and  seiz- 
ing his  bench,  planted  it  on  end  in  front  of 
the  corded  bale  of  chattels,  and  standing  be- 
tween the  two,  he  glared  fiercely  through  the 
circular  broken  seat  of  the  bench  on  the  sus- 
pected deputy. 

A  few  words,  however,  calmed  his  agitation : 
he  threw  down  his  bench,  resumed  his  seat, 
and,  in  token  of  his  perfect  satisfaction  and 
pleasure  in  the  explanation  Puffer  had  given  of 
the  character  in  which  he  visited  him,  he  kin- 
dled his  pipe  and  smoked  away  in  good,  long, 
hearty  puffs. 

Growing  communicative,  as  their  intercourse 
continued,  Puffer  at  length  learned  that  the 
gentleman  was  the  proprietor  of  the  Dutcli  oven 
down  stairs  J   the  terror  of  Mr.  Blinker,  the 


!  president ;  was  greatly  distressed  by  creditors, 
who  hunted  him  with  catchpoles  and  marshals 
from  morning  till  night ;  that  all  his  proprietary 
interest  on  the  lower  floors  lay  in  the  oven 
aforesaid,  and  a  very  comfortable  little  fat  wife 
(whose  pride  and  comfort  consisted  in  a  turkey 
browned  before  a  slow  fire),  and  other  little 
necessaries  allowed  by  law.  The  corded  bale 
held  his  valuables  ;  and  with  these  he  was  pre- 
pared to  mount,  at  a  moment's  warning,  through 
the  scuttle,  and  to  convey  himself  to  the  peak 
of  the  house,  where  he  made  it  a  point  to  sit  ia  , 
the  shadow  of  a  broad  chimney  and  smoke  his 
pipe  at  ease,  until  the  cloud  of  pursuers  waa 
fairly  dispersed  or  blown  over. 

"  They  shall  never  catch  me  while  I  live," 
ciied  the  cobbler,  energetically.  "  If  they  come 
on  the  roof,  I'll  climb  down  the  lightning-rod 
with  that  bundle  on  my  back.  I  can  do  it,  and 
if  one  of  the  rascals  attempts  to  climb  up  to  me, 
I'll  drop  it,  and  break  his  neck  off  short — de- 
pend on  that.  My  dear  fellow,  I'd  be  at  the 
expense  of  the  board,  lodging,  and  education  of 
a  South  American  condor,  and  teach  him  to  bear 
it  off  in  his  beak,  before  they  should  touch  a 
thread  of  it.     Now  you  know  my  mind  !" 

At  this  he  struck  a  thick  heel,  on  which  he 
was  at  work,  a  thumping  blow  with  his  ham- 
mer, and  kicked  his  lapstone  across  the  whole 
breadth  of  the  garret. 

Puffer  Hopkins  of  course  applauded  the  spirit 
of  the  cobbler,  and  artlessly  suggested  that  no 
man,  with  the  soul  of  a  man,  would  submit  qui- 
etly to  such  impertinent  intermeddling  with  his 
private  affairs. 

"  However,  my  friend,"  he  continued,  scour- 
ing as  industriously  as  he  well  knew  how,  "  I 
trust  this  will  not  always  be  so.  These  gen- , 
tlemen  of  the  law  may  yet  have  their  combs 
cut.  I  don't  think  they  will  always  be  al- . 
lowed  to  crow  and  chanticleer  it  over  honest 
men !" 

"  Why  not  ?"  asked  the  cobbler,  looking  at 
Puffer  Hopkins  anxiously,  and  planting  his 
great  hands  upon  his  knees. 

"  For  no  very  particular  reason,"  answered 
the  scourer,  "  except  that  I  have  heard  it  sug- 
gested that  our  new  common  council — mind,  I 
say  our  new  common  council — will  abolish  the 
office  of  sheriflf,  and  all  others  that  interfere 
with  the  enjoyment  of  a  man's  property  by  him- 
self. They'll  do  away  with  writs  and  execu»j 
tions,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,"  said  Pufier, 
coolly—"  that's  all !" 

"  Say  you  so  ?"  shouted  the  cobbler,  spring- 
ing from  his  bench  and  seizing  Pufier  by  the 
hand — "  I'm  your  man !  Now  try  your  luck  on 
the  down-stairs  people  ;  don't  let  me  keep  you 
back  a  minute.  Try  the  bereaved  mother  down 
stairs.  Her  husband's  a  wavering :  have  him 
by  all  means.  Dogs  !  you've  done  me  more 
good  than  the  sight  of  the  big  boot  in  the  square 
the  first  time  I  set  eyes  on  it.  God  speed  you  ! 
Luck  to  you !" 

With  these  ejaculations,  the  cobbler  dismissed 
his  comforting  visiter,  who  hurried  below,  and 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


195 


opening,  according  to  the  instructions  he  had 
received,  the  first  door  to  the  right,  arrived  at 
a  new  field  in  the  domain  to  be  canvassed. 

Taking  a  rapid  and  comprehensive  survey. 
Puffer  Hopkins  was  aware  that  he  had  entered 
the  apartment  of  the  bereaved  mother;  for 
there  upon  the  mantel,  in  a  glass  case,  dressed 
in  crape,  stood  the  identical  wooden  horse,  with 
the  riband  about  his  neck  that  had  been  at- 
tached to  the  bed-post  by  the  little  misanthrope, 
on  the  day  he  had  taken  his  own  life  in  the  cis- 
tern. 

As  he  discovered  this,  a  gloom  suddenly  came 
over  the  countenance  of  the  scourer,  and  he 
approached  the  afflicted  parent  with  an  aspect 
as  wo-begone  and  dolorous  as  the  wood-cut 
frontispiece  of  the  most  melancholy  mourner's 
companion  ever  printed. 

"  Mr.  Hopkins,  of  the  ward  committee,"  said 
Puffer,  advancing  and  taking  the  bereaved  one 
by  the  hand.  "  The  good  man  of  the  house  is 
not  in,  I  think  ?" 

**No,  he  isn't,  sir,"  she  answered;  "  it's  ve- 
ry little  that  he  is  in  now,  since  the  event — he 
can't  bear  the  sight,  poor  man,  of  that  grievous 
monument  there" — pointing  to  the  quadruped 
in  the  glass  case — "  always  in  his  sight.  It 
e'en  a'most  drives  him  mad." 

Puffer  Hopkins  wondered — if  the  sight  of  a 
miserable  caricature  of  a  horse  in  wood,  under 
a  glass  cover,  was  so  near  making  a  lunatic  of 
him — why  he  didn't  go  mad  at  once,  like  a  sen- 
sible man,  and  shiver  it  all  in  atoms,  which 
would  have  done  something  toward  making  it 
invisible ;  but  he  didn't  utter  these  thoughts, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  kept  them  hidden  in  the 
very  darkest  recess  of  his  bosom. 

"You  do  right,  madam,"  continued  Puffer, 
*'  to  keep  that  constantly  before  your  eyes.  It's 
a  softening  object — a  mellowing  spectacle — for 
the  heart  to  contemplate.  Oh,  no;  there  is 
nothing — there  can  be  nothing" — pursued  the 
scourer,  in  a  voice  choked  with  agony,  and  turn- 
ing away  as  if  he  was  too  manly  to  expose  his 
feelings,  "  like  a  mother's  grief.  A  mother's 
grief — it  is  a  sacred  and  a  solemn  thing ;  and 
when  the  affliction  comes  thus — in  this  ghastly 
shape — it's  too  much  to  think  of.  Who  can 
repress  their  tears  at  the  thought  of  the  agony 
of  this  family,  on  the  day  of  this  fatal  discov-  i 
ery  ?  The  father  frantic  with  sorrow  and  ex-  • 
ertions  to  get  the  body ;  sisters  and  brother^ — 
how  many  have  you,  madam  ?" 

"  Five  small  ones — one  at  the  breast  '  i 

"  Five  little  ones,  shouting  for  the  departed 
angel ;  and  his  mother — his  poor,  bereaved, 
broken-hearted  mother — when  she  thinks  of 
the  suit  he  had  on,  his  nice,  tidy,  Sunday  suit, 
bends  over  the  cistern  and  drops  in  her  tears 
till  it  overflows  ! — Oh,  there's  a  picture  for  the 
moralist  and  the  patriot  !'* 

"  Don't,  sir,  don't,"  cried  the  afflicted  mother. 
"  Don't — your  eloquence  quite  breaks  my  heart ; 
i^  makes  me  feel  it  all  over  again." 

«  I  will  not,"  said  Puffer,  "I'll  resist  my  feel- 
ings, and  say  no  more  about  it ;  not  if  you'll  be 


good  enough  to  take  this  little  order  on  the  dry- 
goods  dealer— -just  so  that  the  poor  boy,  if  he 
should  ever  be  found,  may  be  put  in  a  decent 
shroud ;  he  was  a  small  boy,  I  think — the  or- 
der's for  a  small  boy,  a  very  small  boy ;  and 
oblige  me  by  telling  your  husband  that  Puffer 
Hopkins,  of  the  vigilance  committee,  called. 
Good  day — good  day — poor  child!"  Uttering 
these  last  words  with  a  pathetic  glance  at  the 
toy  on  the  mantel,  and  heaving  a  profound 
sigh,  the  scourer  closed  the  door. 

With  the  door,  he  closed  his  labors  for  the 
day,  and  shaped  his  course  homeward,  satisfied 
that  he  had  done  his  country  some  slight  ser- 
vice, and  that  two  or  three  minds,  at  least, 
had  been  sufficiently  enlightened  to  vote  the 
proper  ticket  at  the  next  charter  election. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AN   ENTERTAINMENT   AT   MR.    FISHBLATT's. 

A  FEW  mornings  after  his  adventures  as  scour- 
er. Puffer  Hopkins  was  sitting  at  his  desk  in  the 
Fork,  earnestly  engaged  in  the  preparation  and 
comnosition  of  a  handbill,  for  the  approaching 
election.  That  this  was  a  sufficiently  arduous 
undertaking  for  the  young  politician,  was 
proved  by  the  great  multitude  of  model  pla- 
cards strewn  about  the  floor,  from  which  he  at 
intervals  solaced  himself  with  a  line  or  two ; 
by  the  blank  looks  with  which  he  at  times  en- 
tirely halted  in  his  task;  and  by  the  painful 
gaze  he  occasionally  directed  toward  the  wall, 
as  if  he  expected  to  discover  there  handwriting 
wherewith  to  eke  out  the  unfinished  sentence. 
Having  a  good  eye  for  catching  phrases,  and 
considerable  readiness  in  sounding  words  that 
would  tell  well  in  the  popular  ear,  the  compo- 
sition presently  flowed  apace;  line  upon  line 
lengthened  out.  Puffer  reciting  each  aloud  as  it 
was  finished,  and  in  the  course  of  about  two 
hours,  a  thundering  manifesto,  doomed  soon  to 
echo  I>ack  from  wall,  shutter,  bulk-head,  and 
houpeside,  great  words  of  fearful  import,  and 
to  rfet  the  whole  world  of  meeting-hunters  and 
Tjol/ticians  astir,  was  completed. 

Puffer  Hopkins  was  clearing  his  throat  and 
preparing  for  a  grand  rehearsal  of  this  master- 
piece, when  he  was  suddenly  confronted  by  a 
frouzy-headed  small  girl,  who  had  got  into  the 
apartment,  it  seemed  to  him — for  he  had  no  no- 
tice of  her  entrance — by  some  underhand  jug- 
glery or  legerdemain,  and  who,  assuming  a  face 
of  great  mystery,  levelled  at  him  a  diminutive 
billet,  with  a  faint  streak  of  gold  about  its  , 
edges,  and  his  own  name  written  elaborately 
on  the  back. 

"  Compliments — hopes  as  how  you'll  come — 
and  wishes  the  bearer  to  say,  wouldn't  feel 
cheerful  if  Mr.  Hopkins  should  fail;"  said  the 
frouzy-haired  girl  reciting  something  that  had 
been,  evidently,  ticketed  and  laid  away  in  her 
mind,  to  be  delivered  when  called  for. 


19G 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


Three  lines  of  writing  and  a  date  within,  | 
worked  out,  obviously,  with  jfainful  toil  and  a  i 
great  variety  of  pens,  explained  the  object  of  | 
the  small  visiter,  in  a  request  that  "  Mr.  P. } 
Hopkins  would  favor  Mr.  H.  Fishblatt  with ! 
company  at  seven  o'clock  this  (Thursday)  even- 
ing, at  the  sign  of  the  brass-plate  and  chimney-  { 
pots,  as  before ;"  giving  him  at  the  same  time 
street  and  number. 

Puffer  was  in  fine  spirits,  for  he  had  been  suc- 
cessful in  his  literary  labors — and  what  au- 
thor's heart  is  not  a-glow  when  his  invention 
proves  ready,  and  his  hand  runs  free  across  the  | 
page  ? — and'  he  accepted  the  note  with  great  I 
complaisance,  and  bade  the  frouzy-haired  mes- 
senger (who  stood  staring  at  the  huge  text 
scattered  about  the  floor,  as  if  the  great  black 
letters  might  be  ogres,  giants,  or  some  other 
monsters)  inform  Mr.  Fishblatt  he  would  attend 
his  summons  with  the  utmost  pleasure. 

He  was  as  good  as  liis  word ;  and  two  hours 
before  the  time  named  in  the  invitation.  Puffer 
began  to  prepare  for  the  party  at  Fishblatt's.  \ 
First  and  foremost,  he  drew  forth  from  a  case, 
in  the  corner  of  his  lodgings,  a  brass-buttoned, 
blue  coat,  of  a  popular  cut,  and  fell  to  beat- 
ing it  over  the  shoulders  and  down  the  back 
with  a  yardstick,  as  if  he  had  under  his  hand 
the  body  and  person  of  his  direst  enemy  in  the 
world ;  then  he  twisted  the  right  arm  up  and 
dashed  at  the  place  where  the  ribs  might  have 
been  ;  then  he  fell  upon  the  breasts  and  pum- 
melled them  horribly ;  and  then,  casting  aside 
his  stick,  he  fastened  fiercely  on  the  collar,  and 
gave  tlie  whole  a  mighty  shaking,  as  if  he! 
would  have  the  very  life  cn\t  of  it.  A  pair  of  light 
drab  cloth  pantaloons,  dragged  from  the  same 
confinement,  shared  in  like  manner  at  his 
hands  ;  a  striped  vest  was  stretched  on  the  back 
of  a  chair  like  a  rack ;  then  his  boots  were 
forced  into  a  high  polish,  the  pantaloons  drawn 
on,  the  vest  released,  and  the  coat  occupied  by 
its  legitimate  lord,  and  Puffer,  first  attitude- 
nizing  a  little  before  the  long  glass,  and  run- 
ning his  fingers  through  his  hair — to  get  his 
head  as  nearly  as  possible  into  the  model  Ke  had 
in  his  eye  of  a  great  politician,  whose  portrait 
was  in  the  gallery  at  the  museum — was  ready 
for  the  party.  Sallying  gently  forth,  and  marchv 
ing  steadily  through  the  streets,  with  a  secret 
conviction  that  every  eye  in  the  metropolis  was 
fixed  immovably  upon  him,  he  shortly  discov- 
ered the  great  brass  plate  of  Halsey  Fishblatt 
gleaming  through  the  dark,  where  he  knocked, 
waited  for  a  minute  in  a  state  of  awful  suspense, 
and  was  admitted,  as  before,  by  the  message- 
bearer,  who  came  to  the  door  with  a  face  wrin- 
^kled  with  smiles,  and  strongly  suggestive  of 
'something  very  nice  and  choice  to  be  had  with- 
in. The  small  girl  asked  Puffer  to  be  good 
enough  to  go  to  the  third-story  back  room,  and 
thither  he  proceeded  ;  encountering  on  his  way, 
and  at  the  base  of  the  second  flight  of  stairs, 
a  fry  of  dolorous-looking  gentlemen,  who  lin- 
gered about  the  parlor-door,  pulling  down  their 
wristbands  and  contemplating  it,  as  it  opened 


and  shut,  with  as  much  dread  as  if  it  had  been 
the  s:ate  of  the  doomed ;  while  others  hovered 
about  the  great  balustrade  of  the  staircase,  in 
waiting  for  the  descent  of  their  lady  partners 
from  the  third-story  front  room  above.  Every 
now  and  then  an  angelic  creature,  in  a  white 
gown  and  abundant  pink  ribands,  came  down 
this  Jacob's  ladder,  and,  fastening  upon  the 
arm  of  one  of  the  sentinels,  they  marched  into 
the  parlor  with  great  state.  Returning  from  his 
toilet  up  stairs,  Pufier  Hopkins  followed  the 
general  current,  and  discovered  a  scene  the  so- 
lemnity whereof  was  exceedingly  impressive 
and  disheartening. 

The  walls  of  the  parlor  upon  which  he  had 
entered  were  lined  all  round  with  well-dressed 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  sitting  as  erect  as  corpses, 
and  gazing  into  the  empty  space  in  the  middle 
of  the  apartment,  as  if  some  curious  meteoro- 
logical phenomenon  were  going  on  there,  in 
which  they  all  had  a  special  interest.  At  the 
announcement  of  Pufl'er  Hopkins  by  a  pale 
young  gentleman  at  the  door,  the  corpses 
waked  up  a  little,  some  twittered  spasmodical- 
ly, a  few  moved  uneasily  in  their  chairs,  and 
by  the  time  Pufl^er  had  attained  a  seat  in  the 
corner,  the  company  had  again  subsided  into 
its  condition  of  tomb-like  repose. 

They  were  presently,  however,  again  wa- 
kened— and  with  rather  more  success — by  the 
entrance  of  the  host,  Mr.  Fisliblatt  himself, 
bearing  before  him,  firstly,  a  huge  ruffle,  which 
stood  straight  out  from  his  bosom  like  a  main- 
sail, and  secondly,  reposing  in  the  shadow  of 
the  said  ruffle,  a  black  teaboard  of  proportion- 
ate dimensions,  garnished  with  small  jugs  or 
tumblers  of  lemonade. 

Mr.  Fishblatt  walked  very  erect  and  majes- 
tically, and  holding  the  waiter  at  arms'  length 
— smiling  pleasantly,  as  a  gentleman  always 
does  when  he's  engaged  in  a  business  he  knows 
himself  to  be  altogether  too  good  for,  but  which 
the  crisis  of  affairs  requires  him  to  look  after 
— presented  it  to  the  ladies  all  around,  begin- 
ning at  the  left  hand,  as  he  was  bound  to  do, 
and  skipping  ever  so  many  thirsty  gentlemen 
who  gloated  on  the  small  jugs  ;  and  then  com- 
ing down  toward  the  right  hand,  as  he  was  like- 
wise bound,  he  allowed  the  thirsty  gentlemen  to 
^lean  from  the  waiter  the  tumblers  that  re- 
ni^ined.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Mr.  Hal- 
sey Fishblatt  all  this  time  held  his  peace;  on 
the  contrary,  the  bearing  of  the  waiter  was  not 
a  tithe  of  his  toils,  for  he  kept  strenuously  urg- 
ing, wheKiver  he  went,  the  propriety  of  taking 
a  tumbler — the  necessity  of  a  draught  of  the 
lemonade  to  cool  themselves,  and  particularly 
soliciting  and  entreating  the  ladies  to  make  a 
paradise  of  his  (Mr.  Fishblatt's)  parlors,  by 
enjoying  themselvea  with  all  their  might  and 
main. 

The  lemonade  had  scarcely  vanished  and  the 
empty  tumblers  been  gathered  and  borne  out  of 
sight,  when  it  was  announced — to  the  discom- 
fiture and  confusion  of  the  company — that  the 
I  celebrated  and  distinguished  representative  of 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


197 


the  thirteenth  ward  in  the  city  councils — Al- 
derman Punchwind,  by  name — was  in  the  house 
— having,  as  it  was  understood,  done  Mr.  Fish- 
blatt  the  honor  to  call  in  and  partake  of  the 
agreeable  hospitalities  that  were  then  and  there 
going  forward.  Mr.  Fishblatt,  at  the  thought 
of  so  august  a  presence,  recoiled  a  little,  but 
recovering  speedily,  a  deputation  was  immedi- 
atisly  sent  out,  consisting  of  Pufler  Hopkins  and 
two  young  gentlemen  who  wore  large  watch- 
seals  and  were  rather  ambitious  of  office  and  em- 
ployment of  this  kind,  to  wait  upon  his  eminence. 
In  a  few  minutes  a  heavy  tread  was  heard  up- 
on the  stair,  a  commotion  in  the  entry,  and  in 
stalked,  in  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  a  portly,  ca- 
pacious, and  solid  gentleman,  of  such  dimen- 
sions as  to  resemble  not  a  little  a  great  school- 
globe,  stepped  out  of  its  brass  ring,  and  taking 
a  walk  of  pleasure.  In  he  marched,  accompa- 
nied by  his  delegation,  who  clung  close  to  his 
skirts  to  watch  the  impression  his  presence 
might  make  on  the  commonalty  assembled. 

Puft'er  Hopkins  had  a  glimmering  reminis- 
cence of  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  very  much  like 
the  alderman's,  escaping  into  a  pantry  at  the 
end  of  the  hall  as  he  came  in  at  the  beginning 
of  the  evening,  worn  by  Crump — could  it  be  so  ? 
— Crump,  the  meek  secretary  who  had  been 
so  browbeaten  in  the  shower  by  Mr.  Blinker. 
His  brows  overshadowed  by  the  huge  hat,  and 
his  chin  buried  in  a  capacious  collar,  Alderman 
Punchwind  paused  for  a  minute  at  the  door, 
glanced  about  slowly  and  with  an  air  of  solemn 
importance,  and  then,  without  removing  his  hat 
or  uttering  a  word,  stalked  across  the  parlor, 
proceeded  to  fill  a  glass  from  the  sideboard, 
where  relays  of  refreshment  in  liberal  quanti- 
ties were  arranged,  and  at  this  moment,  deign- 
ing to  turn  around  and  recognise  the  company, 
he  intimated  by  a  look  that  he  would  drink  all 
their  good  healths ;  which  he  did,  very  emphatic- 
ally absorbing  his  wine  much  as  the  Norwegian 
Maelstrom  might  if  it  were  a  corporate  alder- 
man and  fed  at  the  public  charge.  Having  dis- 
posed of  the  wine,  the  alderman  next  devoted 
his  attention  to  the  cake  and  other  eatables,  of 
which  great  batches  disappeared  from  time  to 
time ;  with  a  pause  now  and  then,  to  allow  him 
to  vary  the  entertainment  with  a  friendly  re- 
turn, just  to  show  he  hadn't  forgotten  it,  to  the 
decanter;  which  proceedings  were  watched 
with  painful  interest  by  Mr.  Fishblatt's  guests 
— who  were  horrified  at  the  miraculous  disap- 
pearance of  the  provision  for  the  party,  and 
who  looked  upon  the  performance  much  as  they 
would  at  the  elephant  at  the  menagerie,  feed- 
ing with  a  bale  or  two  of  hay,  or  the  pagan 
anaconda  at  the  museum,  lunching  on  a  pair  of 
fowls  and  a  live  rabbit,  without  so  much  as  a 
grace  to  the  meal. 

As  soon  as  Alderman  Punchwind  had  con- 
cluded his  corporate  banquet  by  stripping  the 
board  of  something  more  than  two  thirds  of  its 
contents,  solid  and  liquid,  he  wiped  his  lips, 
and  marching  steadily  toward  the  centre  of  the 
rooms,  there  planted  himself  by  the  side  of  a 
^^  ^  13 


column  and  looked  abroad  upon  the  company, 
fixing  his  eye,  now  and  then,  with  peculiar 
sternness,  on  some  young  lady  who  happened 
to  be  fairer  than  her  neighbors. 

After  he  had  enjoyed  this  recreation  for  some 
time,  various  members  of  the  company  were 
brought  up  by  Mr.  Fishblatt  and  introduced  (by 
consent)  to  the  distinguished  functionary,  who 
kept  his  ground  manfully  and  received  them  all 
with  an  air  of  bland  and  gracious  condescen- 
sion ;  allowing  each  of  them  to  take  him  by  the 
hand  and  to  enjoy  a  few  minutes'  contempla- 
tion of  his  very  classic  and  expressive  features, 
and  then  pass  off,  making  room  for  others. 
I  While  this  was  proceeding,  attention  was 
j  drawn  toward  the  door,  by  the  entrance  of  a 
very  uppish  gentleman  of  a  severe  aspect,  who 
carried  himself  with  great  state  and  port,  and 
cast  his  eyes  disdainfully  about,  as  if  he  held 
the  individuals  of  both  sexes  and  all  ages  there 
assembled  supremely  cheap  and  of  no  account 
whatever  in  making  up  anji.hing  like  an  accu- 
rate scale  of  society. 

This  disdainful  and  evidently  select  person- 
age was  no  other  than  John  Blinker,  Esq., 
first  director  and  president  of  the  Phoenix  Fire 
Company  below  stairs,  who,  as  soon  as  he  had 
heard  there  was  a  live  alderman  in  the  room, 
came  fonvard  extending  his  hand  and  smiling 
pleasantly,  quite  anxious,  it  would  seem,  to 
conciliate  the  favor  of  a  mighty  alderman  and 
common  council-man.  These  overtures  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Blinker  were  received  by  the  alder- 
man, however,  with  an  air  of  slight  disdain, 
which  caused  the  president  to  cower  and  fall 
back  a  little  until  Mr.  Punchwind  thought 
proper  to  relax  his  features,  when  the  presi- 
dent advanced  again,  and  had  the  satisfaction 
at  last,  and  after  many  difficulties,  of  taking 
him  by  the  hand. 

"  Do  I  understand  that  the  fire-limits  of  the 
city  are  to  be  extended  ?"  asked  Mr.  Blinker, 
whose  mind  hovered  about  the  fiery  principle 
I  of  his  calling  like  a  moth  about  a  flame,  after 
waiting  in  vain  for  a  communication  from  the 
alderman. 

The  question  was  asked,  but  not  answered  ; 
for  Alderman  Punchwind,  reclining  his  head  a 
little  toward  his  questioner,  allowed  a  smile  to 
spread  over  his  features — as  much  as  to  say, 
you  don't  know  how  important,  how  critical, 
and  how  solemn  a  question  you  have  put  to  me 
— and  said  not  a  word. 

«I  think  it  would  be  an  advantage  to  the 
city  to  have  them  extended,  sir.  I  hope  I  am 
not  so  unfortunate  as  to  differ  in  opinion  with 
Alderman  Punchwind !"  said  Mr.  Blinker  meek- 
ly- ... 

The  alderman  only  smiled  again,  mtimatmg 

thereby,  apparently,  that  there  were  state  rea- 
sons why  this  anxious  interrogatory  of  the  great 
president's  couldn't  be  answered  just  then. 

At  this  moment,  Puffer  Hopkins,  who  had 
overheard  the  questions  of  Mr.  Blinker,  and  en- 
tertaining a  becoming  reverence  for  the  distin- 
guished individual  before  him— feeling,  too, 


198 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


perhaps,  that  a  modicum  of  metropolitan  infor- 
matiott  from  the  very  fountain  head,  on  a  sub- 
ject in  which  he  felt  an  interest,  from  his  fre- 
quent professional  pilgrimages  to  political  meet- 
ings, lectures,  and  other  night-resorts,  might  be 
serviceable — impelled  by  some,  or  all  of  these 
considerations,  Puffer  proceeded  to  ask,  in  a 
tone  of  profound  respect,  "  Whether  they  were 
to  have  new  windows  in  the  public  lamps  ?" 

"  New  lamp-windows  did  you  ask  ?"  retorted 
the  alderman,  as  plainly  as  he  could  without 
the  trouble  of  opening  his  lips. 

"  I  did,  sir,"  reiterated  Puffer  Hopkins,  be- 
ginning to  feel  rhetorically  inclined,  and  so  un- 
derstanding the  learned  gentlemen, "  and  know- 
ing the  interest  felt  in  the  answer,  and  your 
ability  to  give  us  a  clear  and  decisive  reply,  I 
put  it  to  you  in  this  public  manner ;  whether 
we  are  to  have  new  glasses  in  the  public  lamps ! 
A  gust  of  wind  in  our  streets  of  a  dark  night 
is  equal  to  an  eclipse  of  the  sun  in  broad  day, 
in  their  present  dilapidated  condition.  The 
darkness  of  Egypt  overspreads  this  citj',  sir,  at 
times ;  a  Siberian  darkness  where  bears  and 
catamounts  might  dwell,  perhaps,  if  it  were 
not  for  the  city  police  and  our  vigilant  magis- 
tracy." 

The  alderman  paused  and  looked  about  him 
with  a  grave  and  majestic  air.  He  seemed  re- 
luctant to  respond. 

"It's  your  duty,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Fishblatt, 
coming  in  at  this  crisis,  standing  directly  in  front 
of  the  alderman,  and  looking  him  steadily  in 
the  face,  "  to  inform  us  of  your  views  on  this 
all-important  subject.  The  happiness  of  this 
community  is  dependent  on  it,  sir.  There'll  be 
an  immense  oversetting  of  hacks,  breakage  of 
legs,  and  fracture  of  skulls,  if  things  remain  in 
their  present  condition,  I  can  tell  you.  This 
metropolis  is  as  black  now,  sir,  at  night,  as  the 
bottom  of  an  ink-bottle,  and  people  float  about 
the  streets  at  random,  like  so  many  bugs  on  the 
surface  of  a  dark  pool.  What's  all  the  crime 
of  this  great  city  owing  io,  sir  ?  Some  wiU  say 
its  intemperance  and  a  neglect  of  the  public 
pumps.  Others  will  say  it's  ignorance,  and 
neglect  of  the  public  schools.  Some  will  tell 
you  it's  because  we've  got  too  many  peniten- 
tiaries and  houses  of  refuge,  and  others  will 
tell  you  it's  because  they're  too  few.  Pumps, 
penitentiaries,  and  public  schools,  can't  explain 
it ;  it's  your  miserable  public  lamps,  sir  !  It's 
your  knavish  oil-men,  and  your  rascally  glaziers, 
that  are  corrupting  us  every  day  and  every  night 
— more  particularly  at  night.  They're  the  origin 
of  your  dissolute  sons,  your  profligate  daugh- 
ters, your  sinful  judges,  and  your  dishonest 
clerks.  Nobody  comes  out  at  noon  and  makes 
a  beast  of  himself  in  the  street.  Keep  the 
city  well  lighted  and  you  keep  it  virtuous,  sir. 
You  should  have  a  lamp  at  the  front  of  every 
tenement,  and  where  the  streets  are  so  narrow 
that  the  houses  might  catch  from  the  wick, 
you  should  have  men  moving  up  and  down  with 
great  lanterns,  and  keep  all  the  thoroughfares 
and  alleys  in  a  glow.    You  wouldn't  have  a 


murder  once  in  a  century,  and  as  for  burglaries 
and  larcenies,  they'd  be  forgotten  crimes,  like 
the  Phoenix,  sir,  and  the  Megalosaurius  !" 

At  the  termination  of  this  earnest  appeal  the 
company  had  gathered  in  a  body  about  the  per- 
son of  the  alderman,  and  stood  waiting,  with  .i 
intense  interest  for  his  answer.  Alderman. 
Punchwind,  hereupon,  canvassed  the  assem- 
blage with  great  deliberation,  and,  having 
finished,  elevated  the  fore-finger  of  his  right 
hand  and  passed  it  significantly  down  his  nose, 
despatched  a  sagacious  wink  toward  Mr.  Blin- 
ker with  his  sinister  eye,  and  mildly  muttering 
"  Smoked  beans,"  departed. 

Can  it  create  surprise  to  know  that  the  com-  ^ 
pany  there  assembled  by  invitation  of  Mr. 
Fishblatt,  were  astounded  at  this  strange  and 
unseemly  exit  of  the  distinguished  gentleman 
from  the  thirteenth  ward  ?  that  Mr.  Fishblatt 
was  horrified  and  stricken  with  amaze  ?  that 
Mr.  Blinker  was  indignant  ?  that  the  delegation  .  ^ 
that  had  waited  upon  the  alderman  felt  slightly  #^ 
humiliated  and  abashed  at  the  conduct  of  their 
superior?  That  Pufler  Hopkins  was  profound- 
ly penetrated  with  a  sense  of  the  uncertainty 
of  human  affairs — for  had  there  not  been  here 
an  individual  occupying,  but  a  minute  before, 
the  highest  conceivable  pinnacle,  the  very 
Himalayah-top  of  human  greatness  attainable 
at  a  small  party — and  hadn't  that  individual, 
with  most  suicidal  rashness,  pitched  himself 
off  headlong  into  the  very  centre  of  a  low  vul- 
gar kitchen-garden,  by  an  allusion  to  fumigated 
beans  ? 

The  entertainment  was  now,  in  truth,  at  an 
end ;  and  although  fragments  of  cake  and  fag- 
ends  of  decanters,  generously  left  by  Alderman 
Punchwind,  were  from  time  to  time  brought 
forward,  the  spirits  of  the  party  flagged.  Mr. 
Fishblatt  hung  his  head  ;  and  when,  at  a  few 
minutes  of  midnight,  the  insurance  president  ^ 
disappeared,  the  party  gradually  broke  up ;  two 
or  three,  at  first,  leaving  at  a  time,  and  then  a 
shoal  of  half  a  dozen,  and  in  less  than  an 
hour  the  rooms  were  deserted. 

Puffer  Hopkins,  who  had  gallantly  assumed 
the  charge  of  a  young  lady  with  a  pair  of  pier- 
cing black  eyes,  who  lived  in  a  remote  suburb 
with  which  Puffer  was  by  no  means  familiar, 
spent  the  remainder  of  the  night,  up  to  three 
o'clock,  in  piloting  the  young  lady  homeward, 
and  the  balance,  till  dawn,  in  discovering  his 
way  back  again  through  divers  crooks  and 
crosses,  through  streets  that  ran  at  first  directly 
for  half  a  mile  into  town,  and  then  directly  for 
half  a  mile  more  out  again ;  getting  now  and 
then  into  a  road  that  had  no  outlet,  and  then  into 
one  that  had  an  outlet  that  led  into  nothing. 

The  mysterious  proceedings  of  Alderman 
Punchwind,  it  should  be  stated,  remain  to  this 
day  unexplained.  On  inquiry  a  few  days  after 
the  entertainment,  Mr,  Fishblatt  was  assured 
that  on  the  night  in  question.  Alderman  Punch- 
wind,  the  authentic  and  accredited  representa- 
tive of  the  thirteenth  ward,  was  in  his  own 
room  laboriously  employed  on  a  report  of  fifly- 


t 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


199 


three  pages  foolscap,  on  the  subject  of  spiles 
and  pier-heads,  and  hadn't  left  it  for  a  moment, 
except  to  step  over  the  way  to  his  neighbor  the 
timber-merchant,  to  get  a  few  facts  to  put  in 
his  report.  It  therefore  only  remained  for  ru- 
mor to  say  that  this  was  the  apparition  of  the 
alderman ;  which  was  confirmed  with  the  super- 
stitious by  Mr.  Punchwind's  being  carried  off 
just  seven  days  afterward  by  an  apoplexy,  at 
one  of  the  city  suppers.  Others  thought  it 
might  have  been  all  a  dream  and  delusion  on 
the  part  of  the  company,  who  may  be  reason- 
ably supposed  to  have  been  at  the  time  under 
the  influence  of  Mr.  Fishblatt's  good  cheer  : 
and  others  again — and  certain  mysterious  smiles 
on  the  part  of  the  frouzy-haired  servant  girl 
hinted  as  much — would  not  be  beaten  from  the 
belief  that  it  was  Crump  ;  Crump,  the  humble 
secretary  of  the  Phoenix  Fire  Company,  him- 
self; who  had  adopted  this  method,  it  was  sug- 
gested, of  enjoying  one  first-rate  banquet  which 


I  Through  this  choice  precinct  they  sped,  Hob- 
bleshank  pushing  swiftly  on,  and  his  pursuer  fol- 
lowing at  a  distance  with  equal  pace,  darting 
in  at  entry-doors  and  out  again  in  a  glance,  to 
avoid  discovery,  if  the  old  man  should  look 
back ;  and  so  they  soon  entei'ed  the  mouth  of 
Doyer  street — the  Corkscrew  lane — through 
which  it  needs  skilful  pilotage  to  bear  one  safe- 
ly, every  house  a  turn,  and  every  kerbstone  set 
at  a  different  angle,  for  thus,  like  a  many-joint- 
ed snake,  Doyer  street  creeps  out  of  the  damp 
and  green-grown  marsh  of  Pell  street,  upon 
the  open,  sunny  slope  of  Chatham  square. 

Following  the  whim  of  the  street,  which 
must  needs  have  its  way,  they  got  forth  into 
the  broad  region  of  the  square  along  which 
Hobbleshank  speeded  at  a  good  round  rate, 
while  Mr.  Small  regaled  himself  with  an  elee- 
mosynary ride  on  the  foot-board  of  a  hackney- 
coach,  where  he  sat  comfortably  balanced  and 
keeping  the  old  man  in  view  until  they  reached 


his  own  salary  didn't  admit  of,  and  at  the  same  :  Mulberry  street,  when  he  dismounted — ^just  in 
time  of  retaliating  the  severities  of  his  superior ;  I  time  to  evade  the  crack  of  a  whip  from  the  box- 


having  the  entire  pleasure  of  both  amusements 
the  feast  and  the  revenge,  to  himself,  which 
was  very  characteristic. 

For  ourselves  we  rather  incline  to  this  last 
solution,  inasmuch  as  the  subject  of  Mr.  Fish- 
blatt's party  was,  from  the  time  of  the  starting 
of  this  hypothesis,  a  forbidden  subject  thence- 
forth and  for  ever  in  the  office  of  the  Phoenix 
Company,  by  express  order  of  Mr.  Blinker, 
who  said  it  was  altogether  too  frivolous  to 
think  of. 


*       CHAPTER  X, 

HOBBLESHANK  AT   HIS   LODGINGS. 

The  interest  with  which  Mr.  Fyler  Close 
watched  the  flight  of  Hobbleshank  was  by  no 
means  diminished,  when  he  discovered  faring 
forth  from  behind  a  stable-door,  where  he  had 
lain  in  ambush,  and  keeping,  at  an  easy  dis- 
tance, diligently  in  the  track  of  the  wrathful 
old  gentleman,  no  other  than  Ishmael  Small. 
Speeding  along  in  a  ver}-^  eccentric  route,  some- 
times on  the  pavement,  again  in  the  middle  of 
the  road,  and  then,  with  one  foot  on  the  kerb 
and  one  in  the  gutter,  Hobbleshank  made  his 
way  through  the  straitened  purlieu  of  Pell 
street — Pell  street  that  lies  just  off  the  great 

thoroughfare  of  the  Bowery  with  a  world  of  its  ■  chamber  and  busied  herself  in  various  house- 
own,  where  great  mackerel-venders'  trumpets,  |  hold  offices. 

nearly  as  long  as  the  street  itself,  are  blown  j  These  scarcely  noticed  the  entrance  of  Hob- 
all  day  long ;  where  vegetable-wagons  choke }  bleshank,  who  opened  the  door  gently,  and, 
the  way  and  keep  up  a  reek  of  greens  and  pot-  stealing  in,  proceeded  to  a  corner  of  the  room, 
herbs  until  high  noon,  and  where,  if  all  the  where,  taking  a  chair  and  turning  his  back  up- 
signs   and    omens   that   pervade  the   street —  j  on  them,  he  bowed  his  head  upon  his  hand  and 


seat — and  followed  Hobbleshank  warily  into  a 
building  some  dozen  or  two  paces  off  of  Ihe 
main  street.  It  was  a  dark,  ruinous,  gloomy- 
looking  old  house, — built  on  a  model  that  was 
lost  twenty  years  ago  and  never  found  again — ■ 
and  had  a  wide,  greedy  hall,  that  swallowed  up 
as  many  chairs,  tables,  and  other  fixtures,  as 
the  various  tenants  chose  to  cast  into  it. 

Up  the  broad,  rambling  stairs  Hobbleshank 
ascended,  and  by  the  time  he  had  attained  a 
cramped  room  at  the  head  of  the  second  flight, 
Mr.  Small  had  accomplished  the  same  journey, 
crept  along  and  clambered  up  a  narrow  cornice 
in  the  throat  of  the  haU,  and  gaining,  by  an 
exercise  of  dexterity  peculiar  to  himself,  a  small 
window  in  the  wall,  was  looking  very  calmly 
and  reflectively  through  the  same  at  two  aged 
women  upon  whose  presence  Hobbleshank  had 
entered. 

One  of  them  sat  by  the  hearth;  she  wa3 
small  and  shrivelled,  with  a  pinched  and  wrin- 
kled countenance — so  shrivelled  and  thin,  and 
seemingly  void  of  life-like  qualities,  as  if  she 
hovered  only  on  the  borders  of  the  world,  and 
was  ready  to  go  at  any  moment's  summons. 
The  other  was  stouter,  though  she  too  was 
wrinkled  with  years  and  bore  in  her  features  the 
traces  of  many  past  cares,which  she  seemed  zeal- 
ous to  make  known  by  larding  her  discourse 
with  great  sighs,  which  she  heaved  at  the  rate 
of  twenty  a  minute,  while  she  bustled  about  the 


sights,  sounds,  and  smells — are  of  any  worth, 
the  denizens  lead  a  retired  life,  with  a  lenten 
diet,  ignorant  of  what  the  great  world  beyond 
may  think  of  beefless  dinners  or  breakfasts  af- 
ter Pythagoras. 


was  silent. 

"  I  tell  you — you  have  been  a  blessed  woman, 
Dorothy — that  you  have,"  cried  the  elder,  in  a 
sharp,  wiry  voice  from  the  chimney-comer, 
where  she  was  painfully  employed  in  rubbing 


200 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


her  withered  palms  together  over  the  blaze,  "  a 
blessed  woman.  There  was  my  firstborn,  Tom, 
with  as  handsome  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  as  moth- 
er ever  looked  at,  didn't  he  fall  into  the  old 
brewery  well,  and  die  there,  like  a  malt-rat, 
shouting  for  help,  which  came,  of  course,  just 
the  minute  after  he  was  stifled.  Always  so — 
always  so,  I  tell  you  !" 

"  Whose  roof  was  blown  off  in  the  great  Sep- 
tember gale — yours  or  mine.  Aunt  Gatty  ?  Pd 
like  to  know  that,"  rejoined  the  other,  heaving 
a  sigh  of  course.  "  Whose  son  was  buried  in 
a  trance  for  three  days  and  better,  and  when 
he  comes  to  again  has  to  be  taught  his  alpha- 
bet all  over  like  a  suckling  child  ?  Your  loss — 
Lord  preserve  us  ! — was  a  drop  in  the  bucket, 
so  speaking,  when  the  brewers  wound  it  up — 
nothing  more." 

And  the  stout  old  lady  laughed  gently  at  the 
thought  of  the  brawny  brewers  tugging  away 
at  the  rope  for  so  lively  a  hoist,  and  then  fell 
straightway  to  sighing. 

"  Why,  you  talk  like  a  simpleton,"  answered 
the  other,  sharply,  "  a  natural  simpleton  in  a 
dotage ;  there  was  a  child  of  mine,  Dorothy, 
you  mind  it  well — you  used  to  say  he  had 
hawk's  eyes — so  wild  and  bright  and  glancing. 
That  boy  went  mad,  I  think,  and  struck  at  me 
— me,  his  mother — and  that  you  know,  too,  for 
many's  the  look  you've  taken  at  the  old  scar — 
me,  who  had  watched  his  steps  all  through  in- 
fancy and  childhood  and  boyhood,  up  to  the 
very  manhood  that  gave  him  strength  to  strike  ; 
smote  her  down  to  the  earth-was  it  he  or  the 
fiend  that  did  it  ? — and  would  have  snatched 
her  life  away,  but  for  the  men  who  beat  him 
off  like  a  dog.  There  was  Joe,  too,  my  dear," 
continued  Aunt  Gatty,  "that  went  down  of  a 
dark,  drearisome  night,  in  the  wild  Gulf  stream, 
crying  Heaven's  help  !  in  vain,  and  snatching 
at  the  waves,  as  Old  Buncle,  the  shipmaster, 
told  me,  like  a  madman."  The  old  woman 
shook  as  in  a  palsy,  and  waved  her  head  pain- 
fully to  and  fro,  as  she  recited  these  passages 
of  past  trouble. 

"  True,  true,  true,"  said  her  companion,  who 
had  paused  in  her  labor  and  watched  her  for  a 
moment,  "  true,  just  as  true  as  that  Jacob — my 
Jacob,  I  used  to  call  him,  but  now  he's  any- 
body's or  nobody's — was  carried  off  to  prison 
by  cruel  men,  ten  times  fiercer  than  your  Gulf 
streams  and  your  tornadoes — had  his  limbs 
chained,  and  was  put  to  hewing  great  blocks  of 
stone  like  a  devil  on  penance — taken  away 
from  good  day  wages  and  bound  in  a  jail — " 

"Peace!  you  foolish  women!"  exclaimed 
Hobbleshank,  starting  up  at  this  moment  from 
the  deep  silence  in  which  he  had  been  buried, 
turning  toward  them  and  lifting  both  his  arms 
tremblingly  up,  "  I  can  read  you  a  page,  a  black 
page  out  of  the  book  of  lamentations — that 
should  make  the  blood  creep  in  your  old  veins 
like  the  brook -ripples  in  December.  There's  a 
quiet,  serene  farm-house — a  quiet,  serene  farm- 
house— with  a  fathei,  a  mother,  yes,  merciful 
God !  a  young,  happy,  beautiful  mother."    He 


paused  and  bowed  his  head,  but  in  a  few  min- 
utes he  proceeded,  "  and  a  young  child  that  has 
just  crept  out  upon  the  bleak  common  of  this 
world  of  ours,  lying  in  her  bosom,  as  it  might 
be  Adam  and  his  spouse,  in  some  chosen  corner 
of  their  old  garden.  Some  devil  or  other  secret- 
ly ingulfs  all  the  fortune  of  that  household,  tor- 
tures with  a  slow,  killing  pain,  the  father  of  ^ 
the  family,  by  ever  lending  to  him  and  ever' 
driving  him  for  horrid  interest — making  him 
toil  and  moil  in  that  great  inexorable  mill  of 
usury  and  borrowing  till  his  brain  turns — his  ' 
old  reason  totters  like  a  weak  tower  that  shakes 
in  the  wind.  He  flies  from  his  home,  wander- 
ing to  and  fro,  he  knows  not  whither-^straying 
back  to  it  at  times,  after  long  lunatic  absences  ; 
and  one  day — there's  a  word  that  should  prick 
your  foolish  old  hearts  like  a  sword's  point — 
coming  suddenly  back,  he  finds  his  fair  young 
wife  dead ! — yes,  dead !  starved  into  a  skeleton 
so  pale  and  ghastly,  that  anatomists  and  men  of 
death  would  smile  to  look  on  it — and  the  boy,  the 
boy  that  should  have  gone  with  her,  she  loved 
him  so,  into  the  grave  she  had  travelled  to 
through  hunger,  or  have  stayed  back  to  inherit 
that  roof  that  was  his  and  cheer  up  this  sad  old 
heart  that  is  mine — snatched  away,  secretly, 
nobody  could  tell  how,  or  when,  or  whither — 
and  the  very  nurse  that  should  have  tarried  to 
keep  company  with  death  in  that  house  of  sor- 
row— was  likewise  fled ;  and  I,  an  old,  shat- 
tered, uncertain,  poor  creature,  left  alone  in 
the  midst  of  all  this  desolation — as  if  it  became 
me — and  had  only  waited  for  me  as  its  rightful 
master  and  emperor.  Well,  God's  blessing 
with  you — and  if  you  have  seen  greater  trouble 
than  that,  you  have  borne  it  merrily  and  are  . 
miracles  of  old  women  to  have  lived  through  it 
to  this  day !" 

Saying  this,  the  old  man  started  up  from  his 
chair,  and  staggering  across  the  room,  trem- 
bling in  every  limb,  he  hurried  into  a  small 
chamber  at  the  end  of  the  apartment  and  cast 
himself  upon  his  couch.  The  two  old  women, 
abashed  by  the  passion  and  energy  of  the  speak- 
er, were  silent  for  a  while  and  moved  not  a 
limb.  They  both  sat  looking  toward  the  door 
where  Hobbleshank  had  entered,  as  if  they  ex- 
pected him  momently  to  emerge. 

"  A  sad  tale ;  a  sad  tale,  in  truth ;"  at  length 
said  the  younger.  "  Was  the  boy  never  heard 
of?" 

"  Never,  that  I  know,  from  that  dark  day  to 
this,"  answered  the  other  mumbling  as  she 
spake  and  shrinking  back  into  the  chimney,  as 
if  what  she  recalled  stood  shrouded  before  her 
in  a  deadly  form ;  "  search  was  not  made  for 
him  until  years  after  the  mother's  death  ;  the 
worms'  banquet  had  been  set  and  cleared  away 
many  a  day,  when  the  old  man  who  had  wan- 
dered away  as  soon  as  the  funeral  was  over,  the  ^ 
Lord  knows  whither,  came  back  and  loitered 
and  lingered  about  his  former  residence,  the  old 
farm-house  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  day  after 
day,  watching  in  vain,  hour  by  hour,  for  the 
forthcoming  of  some  one  who  could  tell  the  his- 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


201 


tory  of  what  was  past.  The  building  is  closed 
and  deserted,  and  has  no  historian  but  itself,  or 
such  as  would  not  tell,  if  they  could,  the  fate 
of  the  lost  child,  or  the  secret  of  his  death  if 
dead  he  be." 

"And  where  is  the  nurse  ?" 

"  Absent,  missing,  drowned,  or  murdered,  or 
dead  in  due  course  of  nature  ;  nobody  can  tell. 
The  house  is  deserted  and  gone  to  decay  and  is 
said  to  belong  to  a  wretched  miser,  whose  right 
came,  somehow  or  other,  through  the  child's 
death.  There's  the  whole  story,  and  this  old 
man  who  came  to  live  with  me  so  long  ago — 
even  before  you  knew  me — and  has  never  once 
spoken  of  it  till  this  night,  is  the  only  wreck  of 
the  troubles,  and  cares,  and  crosses,  that  howl- 
ed about  it  till  they  found  entrance  twenty  years 
ago.  Something  has  stirred  him  strangely  or 
he  would  not  have  spoken  this  night." 

"  Perhaps  his  mind  is  failing,"  said  the  other, 

I"  for  when  that's  ebbing  away  it  always  un- 
covers what  is  at  the  bottom,  and  brings  to  light 
things  hidden  in  its  depths  for  years." 
"  He  may  have  seen  some  obj'ect  associated 
with  old  times  that  has  touched  him,''  answered 
Aunt  Gatty,  "  visited,  perhaps,  the  farm-house 
itself;  or  hare  chanced  upon  some  person  con- 
nected with  these  terrible  events." 

"  It  may  be  so.  But  let  us  to  bed,  my  dear 
old  friend,  and  pray  that  the  Spirit  of  Peace  be 
in  the  old  man's  slumbers," 

"  Amen !"   said   her   companion ;    and,    ex- 
tinguishing their  light,  and  carefully  drawing  a 
f.  curtain    before    the    chamber-window    where 

I '       Hobbleshank  lodged,  that  the  morning  beam 
r^         might  not  disturb  his  repose,  they  were  soon 
sheltered  in  the  quiet  and  darkness  of  night  that 
wrapped  them  all  about. 

Ishmael  Small,  who  had  greedily  watched 
them  all  through,  after  stretching  his  blank 
features  forward  into  the  gloom  of  the  apart- 
ment to  catch  any  further  word  that  might 
chance  to  fall,  crept  down  from  his  post  of  ob- 
servation and  stole  cautiously  away. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

MR.   LEYCRAFT    RAMBLES    PLEASANTLY    ABOUT. 

By  the  time  Ishmael  Small  had  returned  to 
the  street  darkness  had  set  in,  and  was  growing 
along  all  the  thoroughfares  into  the  wide- 
bodied  mantle  worn  by  so  many  stragglers  and 
evil-minded  persons,  and  supposed  to  be  a  com- 
modious cloak  for  all  sorts  of  villanies  and 
misdemeanors.  As  Ishmael  came  into  the  open 
way,  his  eye  fell  upon  a  tall,  gaunt  figure,  that 
kept  before  him,  not  altogether  in  a  straight 
line,  but  winding  about  through  the  crowd  of 
laborers  and  'prentices  that  began  to  set  up 
Chatham  street  at  this  hour,  in  a  strong  cur- 
rent ;  not  halting  at  any  time,  exactly,  but  paus- 
ing every  now  and  then  in  its  progress,  and 
glancing  about  into  the  faces  of  those  it  en- 


countered. Mr.  Small  observed  that  the  tall 
figure  occupied  itself  exclusively  in  gazing  into 
men's  faces,  and  into  none  of  these  save  such 
as  seemed  to  be  in  the  early  prime  of  life.  The 
figure  would  look  about  and  contemplate  a  face 
in  this  way  for  a  moment,  and  then  disengaging 
itself  from  the  crowd,  as  if  thwarted  in  its  pur- 
pose, would  hurry  forward,  until  it  plunged 
again  into  another,  and  renewed  the  never-end- 
ing scrutiny. 

On  the  traces  of  this  personage  Ishmael 
hung,  until  they  reached  Doyer  street,  and  into 
this  crooked  by-way  it  hastened,  first  casting  a 
swift  glance  back  upon  the  throng  that  speed- 
ed by,  and  Ishmael  Small  followed. 

The  tall  figure  glided  stealthily  along  close 
up  by  the  house-walls,  and  peered  in  wherever 
he  could  at  the  casements,  coming  at  times  to 
a  dead  pause,  putting  his  face  against  the  win- 
dow and  looking  long  and  painfully  within,  as 
if  he  were  bound  to  have  an  inventory  of  every 
article  in  the  apartment. 

In  this  way  he  toiled  through  the  street,  until 
he  had  reached  its  farthest  extremity,  where  he 
crossed,  entered  a  covered  stable-way,  and  took 
up  his  station  against  the  wall,  his  eyes  still 
gleaming  restlessly  about,  and  his  body  bent 
forward  into  the  partial  darkness  to  catch  sight 
of  any  face  that  chanced  to  pass. 

"Evening,  Emp'ror,"  said  Ishmael  Small, 
crossing  over  at  this  juncture,  and  approaching 
him — lifting  his  cap  at  the  same  time  with  an 
air  if  profound  respect — "  taking  the  census, 
eh?" 

"  I  wish  I  was,"  said  the  other,  sternly,  pluck- 
ing his  hat  over  his  brow,  "  I'd  have  a  chance 
then  of  learning  whether  he  lives  among  men 
yet." 

"You  have  the  queerest  fancy  for  faces  I 
ever  did  see,  Mr.  Leycraft,"  said  Ishmael,  turn- 
ing his  own  delightful  countenance  comically 
up  toward  Leycraft's,  "  the  verj  funniest  taste 
foi  juvenile  noses  that  was  ever  heard  of. 
Nothing'll  serve  you  but  a  first-swath  mug, 
about  twenty-three  year  old,  with  a  small 
blackberry  mole  under  the  left  eye.  Is  that  it  ?" 
"  That  describes  the  child  that  was  put  foully 
out  of  the  way,"  answered  Leycraft,  "  so  long 
ago,  that  it  seems  as  if  all  had  passed  in  an- 
other world,  and  yet  as  fresh,  by  Heaven,  as  if 
it  belonged  to  yesterday." 

"  There's  a  plenty  of  boys  in  this  street," 
answered  Ishmael,  "  and  in  the  next,  and  the 
next  to  that,  thad  'ud  answer,  Emp'ror;  you 
can  have  your  pick,  perhaps  you  won't  get  the 
black-berry  under  the  eye,  but  then  you  can  get 
lots  of  hair-lips  and  boar-teeth,  burnt  faces  and 
scald  heads,  and  what  do  you  say  to  a  lad  with 
a  portmantle  on  his  shoulders,  like  Ishmael 
Small,  for  example." 

"  Do  you  think  Fyler  Close  has  any  clew  to 
the  boy,  dead  or  alive  ?"  asked  Leycraft,  paying 
no  heed  to  the  suggestion  of  Ishmael. 

"  Lord  !  He  know  anything  of  the  scape- 
grace," exclaimed  Mr.  Small,  turning  about  so 
that  the  light  of  a  stable  lamp  that  hung  above 


202 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


them  should  fall  directly  on  his  blank  visage, 
*'  bless  you,  Mr.  Leycraft,  he's  ignorant  as  the 
Mogul — the  great  grand  Eastern  Mogul,  that 
takes  tea  with  the  moon.  He  knows  nothing, 
nor  cares  nothing  !" 

Mr.  Leycraft  grasped  the  seat  with  both 
hands,  and  bending  down,  looked  sternly  into 
the  countenance  of  his  companion,  but  discover- 
ing there  nothing  to  the  purpose,  soon  returned 
to  his  former  position,  and  standing  almost 
bolt  upright,  gazed  straight  forward,  as  if  he 
would  pierce  the  utmost  limits  of  the  darkness 
with  his  glance. 

"  I'd  give  my  soul  if  the  boy  were  alive  !" 
he  at  length  exclaimed  with  startling  energy, 
reining  in  his  breath  as  he  spake,  and  dis- 
charging each  word  with  the  force  of  a  missile ; 
*'  alive !  Ragged  though  he  might  be,  maimed, 
blind,  in  prison,  the  commonest  vagabond,  or 
vilest  felon  that  stalks  a  prison-hall;  yea, 
though  he  stood  before  me  now  and  with  his 
raised  hand  should  strike  me  to  the  earth,  I'd 
leap  up  to  greet  him,  and  would  bid  him  wel- 
come back  to  God's  light,  readier  than  his 
mother's  lips  hailed  his  first  coming  into  life  !" 
"  Why  don't  you  go  to  bed  and  sleep  off  this 
nonsense  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Small ;  "  the  youth's 
abed  somewhere  or  other,  I'll  warrant ;  if  not 
in  a  four-poster,  may  be  in  a  church-yard  crib. 
Sleep's  the  physic  for  your  excellency." 

*'  Curse  it !  I  can't  sleep,"  rejoined  Leycraft, 
"  I  have  put  myself  on  board  sloops  and  dirty 
coal-smacks,  and  toiled  away  at  the  ropes  till 
my  palms  were  blistered ;  have  let  myself  to 
carry  logs  and  great  iron  sticks  of  timber,  by 
the  day,  and  yet,  when  night  came — night  that's 
nothing  but  a  hideous  dream  to  men  like  me — 
I've  laid  down  and  shut  my  eyes,  and  just  as 
slumber  began  to  come  pleasantly  upon  me,  a 
hand,  a  small  hand  seemingly,  but  as  strong  as 
a  giant's  would  be  laid  on  my  arm,  would  shake 
me,  and  rousing,  I  beheld  that  accursed  child's 
eyes  looking  steadily  in  mine,  broad  awake  and 
glittering,  but  not  half  so  cheerful  as  broad 
day ;  and  then  shaking  his  head  mournfully,  for 
a  minute  or  two,  it  would  move  away,  leaving 
me  gasping  and  struggling  for  breath  on  the 
hard  couch,  like  a  drowning  man.  Blast  my 
face,  I'm  but  a  dead-alive  after  all;  pleasant 
company  this,  every  night,  but  a  little  too  much 
of  it !" 

While  Leycraft  ejaculated  this  passage  in  an 
under-breath,  Mr.  Small  stood  aside  and  grin- 
ned cheerfully,  as  if  at  an  imaginary  spectacle 
of  a  very  pleasant  nature,  which  might  ,be 
going  on  at  a  short  distance  before  him ;  at  one 
minute  he  leaned  forward  with  an  ideal  opera- 
glass  at  his  eye;  then  he  clapped  his  hands 
gently,  as  if  the  sport  were  well-conducted,  and 
then  he  fell  back,  as  against  a  comfortable  sup- 
port, and  laughed  as  if  it  were  too  much  for 
him.  All  this  he  did  as  if  entirely  unconscious 
of  the  presence  of  Mr.  Leycraft  or  any  one 
whatever. 

*'  Blast  you  !"  cried  Leycraft,  fixing  his  eye 
sharply  upon  Ishmael,  "  You  don't  make  a  mock 
of  me,  do  you,  young  radish-legs  ?  eh  !** 


*'  Lord  bless  your  excellency !"  rejoined  Mr. 
Small,  waking,  as  by  surprise,  from  an  agree- 
able revery,  "  you  can't  seriously  mean  such  a 
thing.  I  was  thinking  just  then  of  a  combat  I 
had  seed  once  at  the  thea-ter  betwixt  a  fine 
speckled  India  tiger,  and  a  little  pock-marked 
man  in  a  military  jacket.  The  brute-beast  was 
too  much  for  him  I  guess,"  continued  Ishmael, 
smiling  pleasantly  directly  in  Mr.  Leycraft's 
face ;  "  the  way  he  got  the  fangs  first  here  and 
then  there,  now  in  the  head,  now  in  the  bosom, 
was  very  agreeable  to  a  young  operative  sur- 
geon what  was  aside  o'  me  in  the  pit,  very 
agreeable  I  can  assure  you." 

"  In  God's  name,  Ishmael,"  said  Leycraft,  his 
mood  changing  abruptly  from  that  of  extreme 
fierceness  to  one  of  earnest  entreaty,  "  Tell  me 
what  you  know  of  this  matter  !  If  the  child  be 
dead,  let  me  go  and  gather  up  his  bones  and 
give  them  decent  burial  at  least !" 

"  Suppose  the  lad  died  where  you  think  he 
did,  Emp'ror,"  said  Ishmael,  evading  a  direct 
answer,  "  it  was  a  natural  death  without  drugs 
or  doctors,  that's  a  comfort  I'm  sure." 

"  A  natural  death,  do  you  call  it !"  cried 
Leycraft,  "  the  death  of  a  pilfering  weasel  or 
a  foul  mud-rat  rather.  There's  a  plenty  of  na- 
ture in  great  black  woods  that  swarm  with 
bats  and  hideous  birds  of  darkness,  where  no 
step  comes  but  that  of  villains  fled  from  city 
justice,  and  where  the  earth  is  dank  with  slime 
and  sluggish  ooze.  A  cradle  and  a  calm  pillow, 
with  a  face  or  two  to  look  in  upon  it  when  one 
dies,  is  rather  nearer  the  mark  !" 

"  And  it's  a  very  pleasant  subject  to  talk  of 
too,"  said  Ishmael.  "  There's  no  place  like  a 
open  stable-way  for  an  agreeable  interview, 
unless  it's  in  the  jail  entry.  *  Mr.  Leycraft's 
case  is  a  very  bad  one,'  says  the  keeper  with 
his  twist  in  his  mouth.  '  Not  so  bad,  after  all,' 
says  the  keeper's  man,  knocking  the  bunch  o' 
keys  agin  his  leg.  *It  was  only  a  juvenile? 
boy.' " 

"  Blast  you  again !"  exclaimed  Leycraft, 
seizing  Ishmael  this  time  by  the  collar,  and 
holding  him  in  a  hard  gripe,  "  do  you  mock  me 
for  journey-work  I've  done  for  that  old  devil," 
pointing  toward  the  lodgings  of  Mr.  Fyler 
Close,  "  do  you  tell  me  I  may  come  to  hang  for 
the  job !  There'll  be  three  pairs  on  the  tree 
my  brave  fellow,  the  day  John  Leycraft  swings ; 
three  ripe  villains  and  you'll  be  the  youngest, 
and  that  old  chap  who  begins  to  smell  over-ripe, 
shall  have  the  middle  place,  out  of  respect  to 
his  talents  !" 

Ishmael  again  protested  that  he  was  friendly, 
and  that  he  was  only  striving  with  his  little 
wit  to  help  Mr.  Leycraft  realize  a  pleasant 
scene  that  he  might  one  day  come  to  be  a  party 
to ;  to  which  explanation  Mr.  Leycraft  would, 
however,  by  no  means  hearken,  but  draggmg 
Ishmael  forth  by  the  collar  into  the  street,  he 
pushed  him  from  him  with  great  vehemence, 
and  while  Mr.  Small  reeled  off  laughing  to 
himself  as  he  staggered,  Leycraft  turned  his 
back  upon  him  and  hastened  away. 

At  first  he  hurried  forward  with  his  head 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


203 


down  and  his  hands  clenched  like  one  bound  on 
a  task  that  must  be  performed,  but  presently, 
as  he  got  into  the  throng  of  a  thoroughfare, 
another  purpose  seemed  to  enter  his  mind,  and 
raising  his  eyes  suddenly  he  began  to  peer  about 
like  one  wakened  from  a  dream.  Then  he 
watched  every  face  that  passed  him ;  sometimes 
singled  out  one  from  all  others,  and  followed  it 
for  a  while  until  it  crossed  a  light,  and  then  he 
fell  back  as  if  he  had  made  a  fatal  mistake  ; 
and  then  taking  up  another,  and  another,  and 
another,  he  renewed  the  pursuit,  and  again  fell 
off  into  a  state  of  blank  despair.  At  times, 
too,  he  would  strike  from  the  crowd  into  by- 
streets, lone  and  deserted,  where  no  soul  was 
to  be  seen,  and  walking  here  for  awhile,  cast 
his  thoughts  back  upon  what  had  passed — would 
to  God  there  were  no  such  past  time — years  and 
years  ago. 

"  I  remember  well,"  he  said  to  himself  in 
one  of  these  pauses  "  how  the  old  devil  brought 
the  work  about ;  *  Leycraft,'  said  he,  with  a 
very  pleasant  and  cheerful  smile  on  his  counte- 
nance, '  there's  a  sweet  child,  it's  young,  quite 
young,  that's  never  been  in  that  piece  of  wood- 
land,' pointing  to  the  hemlocks  to  the  north- 
west, *  in  its  life,  near  as  it  is.  Now  it's  quite 
a  warm  evening  and  the  wood  will  be  much 
cooler  than  the  close  room ;  the  mother's  dying 
within  there — she  can't  last  above  a  couple  of 
hours — not  beyond  day-break  at  the  best,  and 
I'm  quite  curious,  as  she  must  go  to  heaven, 
for  she's  a  delightful  woman  as  ever  was  made, 
I'm  quite  curious  to  see  which'll  get  there  first, 
the  mother  postmarked  by  the  doctors,  or  the 
young  lad  franked  by  the  night  air.  It's  a  very 
curious  little  problem,  isn't  it  ?'  I  of  course, 
fool,  double- woven,  three-ply  ass  that  I  was — 
answered  to  his  wish,  and  when  night  fell, 
having  the  very  sighs  and  moans  of  the  poor 
dying  lady  in  my  ear,  bore  the  child  away.  An 
apoplexy  the  first  step  I  had  taken  would  have 
been  Heaven's  blessing  on  the  job." 

At  that  moment  a  sick  man  was  borne  by  in 
a  curtained  litter.  Leycraft  heard  a  groan,  as 
of  severe  suffering  and  anguish  from  within ; 
and  this  goaded  his  restless  and  uncomfortable 
thoughts  anew. 

"He,  the  generous,  noble-hearted  gentle- 
man that  he  is,  allowed  me  a  lodging  in  the  gar- 
ret as  long  as  I  chose,"  said  he,  or  rather,  re- 
cited to  himself,  as  he  formed  the  thought  in 
his  own  mind — '*  I  might  as  well  have  lodged  in 
the  oven  of  eternal  flame;  the  whole  house 
cried  out,  from  peak  to  foundation,  against  the 
deed  I  had  done.  The  first  night — good  Heav- 
en— can  I  ever  forget  it  ? — I  slept  well  for  a 
few  hours,  the  agony  of  doing  the  crime  had 
exhausted  me ;  but  when  I  awoke,  it  was  from 
a  dreadful,  dreary  fantasm,  made  up  of  howling 
crowds  in  pursuit,  dark,  chill  woods,  and  a 
whole  army,  it  seemed,  of  innocent  children, 
surrounding  and  pleading  with  me,  or  cursing, 
I  don't  know  which.  Before  me — in  a  gloomy 
comer  of  the  garret — I  saw,  where  the  moon, 
beam  fell  upon  it  through  a  rent  in  the  roof 


and  dressed  it  in  ghastly  light,  the  very  child  I 
had  slain.  It  stood  like  a  spectre,  stiff,  cold, 
threatening  and  rebuking  me  with  its  snake's 
eyes  and  visage  of  churchyard-marble.  At  first 
I  was  smitten  aghast — but  soon  the  devil 
stirred  within  me,  and,  rushing  from  my  bed, 
I  seized  upon  an  old  revolutionary  sword — one 
that  had  been  dyed  long  ago  in  a  black  Hes- 
sian's blood,  and  stood  at  the  bed-head — and 
advancing  upon  the  apparition,  struck  at  it.  It 
moved  not ;  I  struck  again  and  again — it  was 
still  dumb.  In  this  way  I  wrestled  with  it, 
grasping  my  sword  fast  with  a  death-hold,  all 
night,  at  least,  till  I  fell  down  where  I  had 
fought,  like  one  in  a  swoon.  When  morning 
dawned  I  turned  my  eyes  fearfully  toward  the 
quarter  of  my  adversary,  and  then  discovered 
that  I  had  been  battling  all  night  long  with 
nothing  but  the  picture  of  a  little  old  man — in 
all  seeming  an  ancestor  of  the  murdered  child — 
and  that  I  had  pierced  it  at  a  hundred  points. 
A  hideous  night — God,  thanks  be  to  him,  sends 
few  such  to  men  !" 

Whenever  his  thoughts  ceased  to  toil  with 
visions  like  these,  he  renewed  his  inquisition 
among  the  crowds  through  which  he  was  pass- 
ing, or  which  he  hurried  on  to  meet.  In  this 
way  he  struggled  with  himself  or  speeded  for- 
ward the  better  part  of  the  night.  Toward  day, 
when  one  might  have  supposed  he  would  have 
sought  home  and  rest,  wriggling  his  way 
through  lanes  and  crooked  streets  that  plunged 
down  into  the  heart  of  the  city,  he  entered  au 
alley  of  tenpin-players,  and  casting  aside  his 
coat  without  a  word,  joined  a  grim-looking  man 
who  had  amused  himself  with  tossing  the 
balls,  one  over  the  other,  against  flies  upon  the  I 
ceiling,  till  Leycraft  came  in.  They  rolled 
away  for  hours ;  bowling  at  the  pins  as  if  they 
had  been  men,  and  knocking  six  at  least  in 
head  at  each  stroke. 


CHAPTER  XH. 

A   FURTHER   ACQUAINTANCE   WITH   FOB,   THE 
TAILOR. 

It  was  in  the  peak  of  the  ForK,  even  higher 
up  than  Puffer  Hopkins,  that  Fob,  the  tailor, 
lodged,  and  there  Puffer,  ascending  by  ladder- 
steps,  one  pleasant  morning  about  this  time, 
found  him  nestling,  like  a  barn-swallow,  under 
the  eaves,  with  his  legs  gathered  under  him, 
after  the  immemorial  fashion  of  the  craft. 

The  room  which  was  occupied  by  Fob,  was 
scarcely  more  than  an  angle  in  the  roof;  the 
ceiling  was  formed  by  the  slope  of  the  housetop, 
and  it  was  lighted  by  a  small  dormer  window 
which  bulged  out  of  the  roof  like  an  eye,  and, 
being  the  only  dormer  in  the  neighborhood, 
stared  boldly  down  into  the  yards  and  alleys 
adjacent.  It  enjoyed  the  further  privilege,  from 
its  great  elevation,  of  peering  off  beyond  the 
river,  into  a  pleasant  country  prospect  in  the 


204 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


suburbs  of  Williamsburgh,  and  furnished  many 
cheerful  rural  images  to  any  one  that  looked 
forth.  Besides  this  paramount  advantage  of 
the  dormer,  there  was  within  the  apartment 
a  pair  of  glass  bottles  on  a  small  mantel,  gar- 
nished with  sprigs  of  asparagus  stuck  in  at  the 
top;  a  chain  of  birds'-eggs  hung  against  the 
|.  wall  over  the  shelf;  an  old-fashioned  clothes- 
'  press,  very  much  broken  up  and  debilitated,  at 
'  the  foot  of  a  dwarf  truckle-bed ;  parts  of  old 
spinning-wheels,  rusty  stirrups  and  sur-cingles, 
the  back  of  a  mouldy  and  moth-eaten  saddle, 
and  other  ancient  trumpeiy  in  a  corner,  and 
suspended  at  the  window,  overlooking  a  pot  of 
plants,  a  cage  with  a  blackbird  in  it,  busily  en- 
gaged in  passing  up  and  down  from  a  second- 
story  perch  to  the  ground-floor  of  his  tenement. 
Although  Puffer  had  many  times  before  vis- 
ited the  lodgings  of  the  little  tailor,  he  had 
not  failed  each  time  to  express,  by  his  manner 
at  least,  a  degree  of  surprise  and  bewilderment 
at  the  peculiar  appointments  and  furniture  of 
the  apartment.  To  come  up  out  of  the  noisy 
and  brawling  street,  where  everything  was  so 
harsh  and  city-like,  into  a  little  region  where 
everything  was  quietly  contrived  to  call  up  re- 
mote places,  with  the  thought  of  a  life  so  dif- 
ferent, so  simple,  and  pastoial,  compared  with 
the  dull  tumult  below,  was  like  magic,  or  play- 
house jugglery  ;  and  such  a  feeling  betrayed  it- 
self in  the  countenance  of  Puffer  Hopkins. 

"  You  wonder,  I  doubt  not,  to  see  this  black- 
bird here — don't  you  ?"  said  the  tailor,  detect- 
ing the  question  which  Puffer's  looks  had  often 
asked  before ;  "  what  business  have  I  with  a 
blackbird,  unless  I  might  fancy  that  I  could 
catch  the  cut  of  a  parson's  coat  from  the  fash- 
ion of  his  deep  sable  feathers.  That  blackbird, 
sir,  is  to  me  and  my  opinions,  what  the  best 
and  portliest  member  of  Congress  is  to  the  mind 
of  this  metropolis.  He  has  come  a  great  way 
out  of  the  country,  from  the  very  fields  where  I 
was  born,  and  where  my  childhood  frolicked, 
to  remind  me  of  the  happy  hours  I  have  passed 
and  the  sweet  dreams  I  have  dreamt,  in  the 
very  meadows  where  he  and  his  brethren  chat- 
tered on  the  dry  branches  of  the  chestnut-tree. 
He  stands  to  me  for  those  fields  and  all  those 
hours  and  occasions  of  the  past.  I  am  a  fool 
for  being  so  easily  purchased  to  pleasure,  and 
so  I  am  !*' 

Puffer  had  indicated  by  the  attentive  ear  and 
glistening  eyes  with  which  he  had  regarded 
his  poor  neighbor,  that,  although  a  politician 
and  a  crowd-hunter,  he  had  yet  something  in 
his  heart  that  answered  these  conceits  of  the 
fancy-stricken  tailor. 

"  This  pot,  too,  of  worthless  flowers,"  con- 
tinued Fob,  "  my  neighbors,  every  morning 
and  evening,  see  me  water  them,  and  wonder 
how  I  can  so  waste  my  time.  They  see  in  it 
nothing  but  a  few  coarse  weeds  in  a  cheap 
earthen  pot.  I,  and  thank  God  for  it,  recognise 
in  it  the  great  green  wood,  where  summer  and 
I  haunted  when  we  were  young  together.  I 
hear  in  every  breath  that  stirs  them,  the  rust- 


tling  of  the  noonday- wind,  as  it  spake  to  me  long 
ago,  in  a  quiet  nook  of  tlie  old  ancestral  wood- 
side  ;  and  the  pattering  of  the  rain  on  their  leaves 
renews  the  sound  of  that  ancient  brook,  whose 
voice  was  like  a  prophet's,  to  cheer  and  encour- 
age all  that  green  region  in  its  growth.  From  its 
banks  these  flowers  were  plucked  and  brought 
into  this  heart  of  humanity,  to  give  me  a  thought 
at  times  of  the  good  childhood  that  was  buried 
by  me  long  ago  where  they  had  their  birth." 

Puffer  still  listened  and  said  not  a  word. 

"  Oh,  how  many  delicious  discoveries  in  the 
tall  grass ;  how  many  stealthy  approaches ; 
how  many  swayings  in  perilous  branches,  and 
mad  antics  in  tree-tops  ;  how  many  boisterous 
pursuits  of  the  young  bird  and  lucky  arrests  of 
winged  fugitives,  resound  and  come  back  and 
repeat  themselves  in  this  speckled  string  of 
birds'  eggs  hanging  against  the  dingy  wall !" 

As  he  spake,  the  large  black  eyes  of  the  tai- 
lor grew  more  lustrous,  and  still  the  more  from 
the  tears  which  stole  out  and  back  again  with 
the  emotions  that  stirred  him. 

Fob  had  scarcely  finished  his  earnest  decla- 
mation, when  they  heard  creaking  steps  upon 
the  stair,  and  in  a  minute  or  two,  while  they 
listened,  the  door  was  thrust  open,  and  a  per- 
son of  no  little  consequence,  if  his  own  counte- 
nance was  to  be  taken  as  a  commentary  on  his 
pretensions,  came  forward.  He  was  a  fine, 
sleek,  well-fed  gentleman,  of  a  good  middle 
stature,  apparelled  as  daintily  and  cleanly  as 
one  could  wish;  and  judging  by  his  jet-black 
hair  and  whiskers,  which  shone  again  with  oil 
or  some  other  ointment ;  his  shapely  and  well- 
cut  coat,  which  sat  to  his  back  like  a  supple- 
mentary skin ;  his  pantaloons,  so  straight  and 
trim  that  the  legs  must  needs  move  rectilinearly 
or  not  at  all ;  his  hat,  with  its  smooth,  glossy  nap ; 
his  boots,  quite  as  polished  and  serenely  bright ; 
and  the  massy  gold  chain  that  stretched  like  an 
arc  of  promise  over  the  azure  heaven  of  a  deep- 
blue  vest :  judging,  we  say,  by  all  these,  this 
personage  must  have  been  the  first  favorite  of 
all  the  guilds  and  craftsmen,  whose  business  it 
is  to  prepare  a  gentleman  for  a  promenade. 

"  Are  those  pants  finished.  Fob,  I  mean  the 
superior  with  open  fronts  and  patent  straps  ?" 
said  the  sleek  visiter,  swelling  as  he  spake  and 
staring  over  the  little  tailor's  head  very  fiercely, 
as  if  he  meditated  boring  a  couple  of  holes  in 
the  wall  beyond  with  his  glances.  "  Curse  it, 
sir,  my  boy  sat  up  in  the  ware-house  till 
midnight  expecting  you  every  moment.  What  -jjlf, 
do  you  think  I'm  made  of,"  he  continued,  dash-  * 
ing  his  elegant  heel  on  the  floor,  "  cast-iron  or 
New  Hampshire  granite  ?    Eh  ?" 

"  I  worked,  sir,"  answered  Fob,  looking  up 
timidly  into  the  face  of  the  sleek  gentleman, 
"  till  my  needle  grew  so  fine  I  couldn't  see  it ; 
and  by  the  time  I  got  down  the  right  leg,  the  ■**  ^ 
moon  was  set ;  my  candles  all  burnt  out,  and  I 
fell  back  on  my  lapboard,  sir,  and  slept  till 
dawn,  when  I  took  up  my  last  stitch  with  the 
rise  of  the  sun.  You  shall  have  them  by  three 
this  afternoon,  if  you'll  be  good  enough  to  wait." 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


205 


"Rot  your  slow  fingers,  do  you  call  that 
work  V  pursued  the  visiter.  "  Get  in  a  new 
supply  of  lights,  and  keep  it  up  all  night — your 
wages  wouJd  bear  it.  Here  am  I,  paying  you 
at  the  extravagant  rate  of  ninepence  an  hour 
for  your  labor,  and  you  grumble — do  you  ?" 

"I  do  not,  sir,"  said  Fob,  meekly,  "I  am 
satisfied,  perfectly  satisfied.  I'm  bound  to 
make  clothes  for  gentlemen,  and  it  pleases  me 
to  see  gentlemen  wear  them,  if  they  suit." 

"Do  you  know,  Fob,  that  it's  my  private 
opinion,"  continued  the  sleek  visiter,  "  my  pri- 
vate opinion,  if  you  had  fallen  a  corpse  on  that 
board,  and  had  never  got  up  again— it  would 
have  done  you  great  honor  ?" 

Fob  assumed  a  puzzled  look  at  this,  as  if  he 
didn't  exactly  fathom  and  comprehend  how  that 
could  be. 

"  I  should  like  to  know,"  resumed  the  well- 
apparelled  visiter,  "  whether  it  isn't  as  credit- 
able to  a  man  to  lose  his  life  on  a  pair  of  pa- 
tent-strapped, open-fronted  pantaloons,  as  in  a 
ditch,  with  a  ball  in  his  head,  or  a  great  bag- 
net  in  his  belly — tell  me  that,  will  you  ?  If 
some  man,  you,  for  instance,  would  only  make 
a  martyr  of  himself  in  getting  up  a  new-fangled 
coat,  or  a  vest  extraordinary,  the  craft  of  cloth- 
iers  would  make  a  saint  of  him.  Overwork 
yourself.  Fob,  and  be  found  by  a  coroner's  'quest 
stone-dead,  with  the  pattern  griped  in  your 
hand,  and  I'll  bury  you  at  my  own  expense  ! 
'Gad  I  will — and  that  as  soon  as  you  choose  !" 

To  this  pleasant  proposition  Fob  made  no  an- 
swer, but  smiled  doubtfully  and  glanced  up  at 
his  bird  in  the  cage,  thinking,  perhaps,  he'd 
rather  be  black  and  idle,  and  in  prison  like  him, 
than  a  feeble-bodied  tailor,  working  for  journey- 
man's wages,  with  a  delightful  circle  of  calling 
acquaintance,  like  the  gentleman  there  present, 
among  Broadway  masters  and  down-town  cloth- 
ing-merchants. 

*' Never  mind  that  now,"  said  the  master, 
"  you  may  think  of  it.  Don't  fail  to  run  down 
at  three,  with  the  pants  on  your  arm— »mark 
me,  now.  Fob ;"  and  he  shook  his  finger  as  he 
turned  for  the  door.  "  I've  got  a  wedding-coat 
to  give  out  to  you,  to  be  ready  for  Monday 
evening,  so  there  may  be  a  little  light  Sunday- 
work  for  you.  You  needn't  put  any  button- 
holes in  the  coat-tails,  as  you  did  once  before, 
if  you  please.  The  blunder  didn't  take  with 
the  fashionables,  although  it  was  quite  original 
and  fresh.  Down  by  three  or  I  cut  you  off 
from  our  shop !" 

With  this  solemn  admonition  and  menace, 
the  high  and  mighty  master  tailor  from  Broad- 
way descended  the  narrow  steps  with  great 
caution ;  and  getting  once  again  into  the  free 
and  open  street,  and  on  a  good  level  pavement, 
launched  out  into  some  of  his  finest  paces,  at 
which  he  was  soon  so  well  pleased  as  to  begin 
smiling  to  himself,  and  kept  on  in  both  recrea-  j 
tions,  smiling  and  launching  out,  till  he  reached ' 
his  shop-door,  where  he  entered  majestically  in. 

After  the  Broadway  master  had  departed, 
Fob  laid  aside  his  implements  and  the  garment  1 


he  was  busy  on,  and  getting  down  from  his  lap- 
board,  walked  to  the  window,  where  he  stood  ga- 
zing earnestly  out,  beyond  the  river,  for  several 
minutes. 

"  I  am  sometimes  surprised,"  he  at  length 
said,  returning,  and  taking  a  Seat  on  the  cor- 
ner of  his  board,  while  a  little  globule,  tha 
wonderfully  resembled  a  tear,  stood  in  the  cor- 
ner of  his  eye,  " I  am  sometimes  surprised,' 
said  he,  "  at  the  passionate  fondness  with  which 
my  mind  dwells  on  the  country.  But  it  has 
always  been  so.  When  I  was  a  mere  child,  and 
my  father  lived  then  in  the  citj',  how  I  used  to 
yearn  after  a  sight  of  the  green  fields.  I 
watched  the  months  as  they  waned  away,  with 
one  hope,  and  that  was,  that  August  would 
soon  be  here  and  take  me  with  its  holjday  coach 
away  to  the  dusty  turnpike,  the  long  green  lane, 
and  the  low  roof  of  the  homestead.  At  school  I 
bent  over  my  desk,  and  folding  my  hands  upon 
my  eyes,  to  help  the  labor  of  fancy,  would  strive 
with  all  my  might  to  call  up  vividly  some  little 
scene  or  spot  that  I  loved  or  preferred  to  others. 
When  the  world  was  rough  with  me,  even  at 
that  eaily  time,  I  would  hie  away  in  thought  to 
the  side  of  a  shady  pool  that  I  knew  of,  and 
quench  my  thirst  and  drown  my  troubles  in  wa- 
ters purer  and  more  limpid,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  than  any  other  that  ever  flowed  or  bub- 
bled up  from  the  earth." 

In  explanation  of  the  character  of  his  poor 
neighbor.  Puffer  afterward  learned,  that  the 
homestead  of  Fob's  ancestors,  for,  poor  and 
wretched  as  he  now  seemed,  the  fanciful  tailor 
once  had  ancestors — the  homestead  which  Fob 
loved  next  after  his  own  soul,  every  rood  of 
which  was  fairy  ground  to  his  memory,  peopled 
with  lovely  shapes,  having  power  to  stir  the 
fountain  of  tears,  every  nook  and  angle  asso- 
ciated in  his  fancy  with  precious  hours  long 
passed  away;  that  this  dear  homestead  had 
been  wrested  out  of  the  hands  of  its  rightful 
heritors,  and  was,  by  law  and  custom,  a  for- 
bidden realm  to  him.  In  spite  of  this,  it  was 
Fob's  wont  to  visit  it  secretly  every  year,  at 
midsummer,  to  wander  silently  about  its  familiar 
fields  and  dusky  woods,  and  returning  when  he 
had  gathered  a  store  of  pleasant  thoughts  and 
fancies  to  last  him  a  twelvemonth,  to  bring  back 
such  memorials  and  relics — like  those  which  gar- 
nished his  garret — as  would  suggest  to  his 
mind  the  kindliest  recollections  of  his  favorite 
haunts. 

"Among  many  images  which  perpetually 
come  into  my  mind  associated  with  that  old 
past  time,"  resumed  the  little  tailor,  after  a 
pause,  "  there  is  one  more  distinct,  more  fixed 
and  impressive  than  any  other.  I  know  not 
why,  nor  do  I  know  how  it  should  occur  to  me 
so  forcibly  now  that  you  are  here.  There  was 
a  strange  old  man,  who  many  years  ago  was  a 
wanderer  along  the  Scaresdale  road ;  they  said 
he  had  spent  his  school-holydays  somewhere 
there — I  marked  him  and  loved  him  for  that — 
and  whose  wild  actions  were  a  constant  theme 
at  half  the  country  firesides.    I  saw  him  once 


J» 


206 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


— at  midnight,  or  very  near  that  time — upon 
the  shore  of  the  Sound,  where  I  had  been  walk- 
ing up  and  down,  for  I  chanced  to  be  a  sorrow- 
er myself.  He  had  cast  off  his  hat,  and  stood 
facing  the  water  with  his  hair  streaming  wild- 
ly back,  and  his  eyes  gleaming  forth  upon  the 
wave,  with  all  the  splendor  of  madness.  He 
cried  aloud  as  if  in  discourse  with  the  billows. 
« Has't  anything  to  lend  to  day  ?  I  must  have 
money — disgorge,  or  I  shall  starve — my  wife  is 
hungry — my  boy  cries  for  bread  !  Foam  will 
not  feed  him — nor  will  these  loud-sounding 
rebuffs  of  yours !  Wave  on  wave — cent  per 
cent — how  they  jump,  and  frolic,  and  climb 
each  other  at  a  compound  pace.  Oh,  what  a 
leger  of  interest  must  there  be  on  the  other 
shore,  when  v/e  reach  it !  God's  there,  keep- 
ing count — mark  that  !' 

The  Sound  was  in  a  stormy  state ;  a  ship  | 
was  passing  that  wrestled  fiercely  with  the  bil- 
lows that  tumbled  against  her  sides  and  rushed 
in  the  way  of  her  prow,  and  kept  her  in  a  per- 
plexing grasp,  struggling  in  vain  to  get  free. 
The  old  man  caught  sight  of  this.  '  Dash  and 
howl  and  drag  her  down,  will  you  V  he  shouted, 
*  that's  the  true  death-grapple,  and,  old  ship, 
you  must  yield.  See  !  she  shivers  against  a 
rock  and  down  she  pitches,' — at  this  the  vessel 
struck  a  bulging  crag,  and  was  in  a  moment 
broken  into  a  thousand  fragments.  *  Pull  her 
in  pieces,  joint  by  joint,  and  make  shreds  of 
her,  as  I  do  of  this — yes,  this  cursed  scroll  that 
the  old  engulfing  miser  gapes  for  in  the  city  ! 
So — so — thus  !'  Saying  this  he  snatched  from 
his  breast  what  seemed  a  large  square  of 
parchment,  and  tearing  it  into  tatters,  scattered 
it  with  the  wind,  along  the  beach  !" 

"  "What  became  of  the  fragments — were  they 
never  gathered  ?"  asked  Puffer  Hopkins. 
"  They  were — and  by  me,"  answered  Fob. 
"  And  where  are  they  now  ?" 
"  The  Lord,  that  hath  a  record  of  all  things 
lost,  only  knows  !"  he  answered.     "  I  collected 
them,  patched  them  together,  and  after  passing 
from  hand  to  handy  without  much  advantage  to 
any,  they  were  thrown  into  some  old  trunk  or 
garret,  where,  doubtless,  they  are  mouldering 
now — and    in    all    human    chances,    passing 
through  the  same  process  their  once  owner — 
that  poor,  wild,  sorrow-stricken  old  man  is  un- 
dergoing in  some  almshouse  burial-ground  !" 

"  Do  you  recollect  nothing  of  the  purport  of 
this  recovered  paper  ?"  asked  Puffer  Hopkins. 
«  Only  this  much,"  answered  Fob,  "  that  it 
was  a  conveyance  of  house  and  land,  with  the 
singular  provision  that  no  transfer  or  sale  of 
the  property  could  be  good  and  sufficient  while 
the  child  or  son,  I  forget  now  his  name,  was 
living.  The  names,  the  dates,  much  more  the 
boundaries,  have  all  fled  from  my  memory ; 
but  I  shall  never  forget  the  wild  tones  and 
eager  looks  of  the  old  creature  that  made  the 
deed  into  fragments;  whose  voice  seemed  to 
echo  the  sea,  and  who  borrowed  from  it  the 
method  of  his  acts  !" 
It  suddenly  entered  the  mind  of  Puffer  Hop- 


kins, whose  attention  had  been  strongly  fast- 
ened upon  the  narrative  of  the  little  tailor,  that 
the  old  man,  that  this  sufferer,  of  so  long  since, 
and  who  was  supposed  by  Fob  to  lie  in  his 
grave,  might  be  none  other  than  his  kind  and 
singular  companion  whom  he  had  followed  from 
the  public  hall.  He  was  full  of  the  thought, 
and,  interchanging  scarcely  another  word  with 
the  tailor,  he  left  the  garret,  pondering  on  what 
he  had  heard,  and  striving  to  gather  out  of  it 
something  that  might  bear  on  what  seemed  the 
distracted  fortunes  of  Hobbleshank. 


CHAPTER  Xm. 

THE   ECONOMY   OF  MR.   FYLER    CLOSE   AND 

ISHMAEL   SMALL. 

RECovERrNG  from  the  blow  administered  by 
Mr.  Leycraft,  Ishmael  promptly  regained  his 
legs,  and  putting  them  into  active  service,  he 
moved  down  with  good  speed — the  night-air 
was  sharp  and  pinching — upon  a  neighboring 
shop  window,  and,  knocking  up  his  cap-front, 
employed  a  minute  or  two  in  gazing  through 
the  pane,  at  what  lay  inside. 

"  There's  fine  slices  of  liver  in  there,"  said 
Ishmael  to  himself,  "  and  excellent  chops,  and 
all  sorts  of  greens.  A  pound  or  two  of  chops 
would  be  very  nice  with  carrots ;  and  so  would 
a  slab  of  liver.  But  I  guess  I'll  take  a  small 
porter-house  steak,  without  the  bone,  for  this 
time  only !" 

He  accordingly  proceeded  to  invest  a  small 
sum  in  the  delicacy  in  question,  skewered  it, 
and  concealing  it  in  an  ingenious  brown  paper 
hood,  bore  it  exultingly  away. 

"  Something  to  wet  the  fibres,  of  course,"  he 
resumed,  as  he  approached  a  grocer's,  "  some- 
thing to  drown  the  young  critturs  in ;  a  pint 
of  fresh  cider  from  the  Newark  keg  ;  the  very 
choicest  squeezin's  of  a  thousand  pippins  ! 
That'll  do !"  This  beverage  was  procured, 
and,  in  a  borrowed  pitcher,  was  put  in  coinpa- 
ny  with  the  steak  ;  and  skipping  along  faster 
than  ever,  bounding  nimbly  over  any  obstacle 
that  crossed  him,  he  was  in  a  very  few  minutes 
in  the  hall  that  passed  the  broker's  door.  Light- 
ly as  he  stepped  along,  the  ear  of  the  old  man 
was  too  quick  for  him,  and  in  answer  to  a  sum- 
mons from  within,  he  halted,  placed  his  steak 
and  pitcher  privily  on  a  chair  in  the  corner  of 
the  hall,  and  turning  a  baker's  measure  that 
stood  by  over  them,  for  a  screen,  entered. 

The  lodgings  of  Mr.  Close,  were,  as  Ishmael 
now  entered  them,  if  anything,  more  desolate 
than  ever.  There  was  the  dull,  bare  floor,  the 
naked  walls,  the  great  cold  chimney,  breath- 
ing, instead  of  warmth  and  comfort,  a  dreary 
chillness  through  the  room  ;  and  the  shivering 
broker  seated  by  the  hearth,  as  if  he  would  coax 
himself  into  a  belief  that  a  cheery  fire  was 
crackling  upon  it. 

The  only  light  the  apartment  was  allowed, 

% 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


207 


came  in  through  the  open  windows  in  the  rear, 
and  was  contributed  by  the  various  candles  and 
lamps  of  the  neighborhood.  In  this  half-light- 
ed gloom,  Mr.  Small  entered,  removed  his  cap, 
and  stood  by  the  door.  He  was  hailed  at  once, 
but  in  a  very  feeble  voice,  by  Mr.  Close. 

"  Don't  stand  there,  Ishmael,  take  a  chair 
by  the  hearth;  it's  much  pleasanter  thdn  by 
the  door."     Ishmael  came  forward  and  did  so. 

"  Don't  you  perceive  a  difference  ?"  said  Mr. 
Close,  as  soon  as  Ishmael  was  seated.  "  Don't 
you  think  of  the  many  pleasant  fires  that  have 
blazed  on  this  very  hearth,  and  doesn't  that 
make  you  feel  cheerful  ?" 

Ishmael  confessed  that  it  was  a  comforting 
thought. 

"  Yet  pleasant  as  it  is,"  pursued  Mr.  Fyler 
Close,  "  as  this  is  a  Thursday,  I'd  like  to  be 
out ;  out  in  the  open  air,  hurrying  through  the 
streets  at  my  best  pace.  What  do  you  think 
of  that  ?" 

"To  class-meeting,  of  coujse,"  suggested 
Ishmael,  with  the  faintest  possible  smile  on  his 
delightful  features. 

"To  be  sure — but  my  age  and  infirmities, 
Ishmael,  won't  allow  me,  you  know,"  answered 
Fyler,  pleasantly,  "  to  attend  those  delightful 
social  and  moral  gatherings,  as  I'd  liketo." 

"  Certainly  not,"  rejoined  Mr.  Small,  grin- 
ning slightly. 

"  Nor  to  be  at  missionary  lectures,  dropping 
in  my  little  mite  for  the  heathen,"  continued 
Fyler,  "  nor  at  the  chapel,  listening  to  the  na- 
tive African  giving  an  account  of  the  vices  and 
wild  beasts  that  beset  the  aboriginal  negro  in 
that  benighted  country.  What  a  loss  to  an 
evangelical  mind !" 

"  Dreadful,  sir,"  answered  Ishmael.  "  And 
there's  the  privilege  of  subscribing  to  a  new 
cloak  for  the  minister,  and  helping  make  up  a 
box  of  trousers  and  clean  linen  for  the  Tus- 
caroras  !" 

"  Very  true,  Ishmael — very  true  !  I'm  a  mel- 
ancholy old  fellow,  doing  nothing  but  sit  here 
all  day  long — with  people  coming  in  and  beg- 
ging me  to  take  twenty  per  cent,  interest,  coax- 
ing me  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  to  ruin  'em ; 
and  when  I  have  done  it,  coming  back  to  break 
my  furnitur'  up  like  old  crockery — just  to  get 
me  into  temper,  and  make  me  mar  my  Christian 
deportment.  That's  what  I  call  ingratitude, 
Ishmael." 

"  The  very  basest  sort,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Small, 
"  caught  in  the  wild  state,  caged,  and  marked 
on  the  peak  of  the  den,  '  This  here's  the  mon- 
ster !' " 

"  Providence  is  a  wonderful  thing,  Ishmael," 
continued  Fyler  Close. 

"  Very  much  so,"  answered  Mr.  Small,  lift- 
ing his  knavish  gray  eyes  to  a  great  spider  on 
the  wall,  sitting  in  the  middle  of  his  web,  where 
the  light  of  a  bright  lamp  shone  from  without, 
in  waiting  for  a  gold-spotted  fly,  caught  by  the 
legs  in  a  mesh. 

"  Now  I  suppose  you  followed  old  Hobble- 
shank  providentially,  down  to  his  den — eh,  Ish- 


mael ?"  said  Fyler,  leering  on  Mr.  Small.  Ish- 
mael replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"  And  no  doubt  you  happened  to  put  your 
head  through  the  window  and  overhear  what 
the  old  gentleman  said.  He  wasn't  very  noisy, 
I  hope." 

"  Not  more  thanthe  Hen  and  Chickens,  in  a 
storm!"  answered  Ishmael.  "Why,  sir,  he 
made  a  speech  that  'ud  have  done  honor  to 
a  United  States  senator ;  and  the  two  old 
women  whimpered  like  a  couple  of  water- 
spouts. A  delightful  speech,  sir,  and  all  about 
that  boy  again." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  and  didn't  he  tell  'em  how  like  a 
father  I  had  been  to  him ;  and  how  I  advised 
him  not  to  bother  his  head  about  what  was  past 
and  gone  for  good — and  the  old  women,  hadn't 
they  something  to  say,  too,  Ishmael  ?" 

"  Not  much ;  the  old  story,"  answered  Mr. 
Small,  "  about  the  old  house,  and  the  nurse, 
and  all  that  sort  o'  thing." 

"  All  in  the  dark  as  much  as  ever  ?"  asked 
Fyler,  pulling  his  whiskers  with  all  his  might, 
in  order  to  throw  an  expression  of  great  suf- 
fering into  his  countenance. 

"  I  guess  so ;  and  old  lunatic's  wits  are 
breaking  under  him,  and  won't  carry  him 
through  the  winter.  That's  better  yet— don't 
you  think:  it  is  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  by  no  means,"  responded  Mr.  Close. 
"  We  should  always  hope  for  the  best.  It 
would  be  a  very  painful  thing — a  very  painful 
thing,  indeed,  Ishmael,  to  have  the  worthy  old 
gentleman  go  mad,  out  of  mere  ugliness  and 
spite — because  he  can't  find  a  boy  that  he 
thinks  he's  the  father  of.  Don't  you  see  that  ?" 

"  Very  melancholy  indeed,"  said  Ishmael, 
who  began  to  think  remorsefully  of  the  neg- 
lected cheer  in  the  hall,  "  so  much  so  that  I 
don't  feel  equal  to  a  conversation  on  the  sub- 
ject. Won't  you  be  good  enough  to  excuse 
me?" 

"  Certainly — I  have  too  much  respect  for 
your  feelings.  Go,  by  all  means,  Ishmael,  and 
the  sooner  you're  abed,  reflecting  on  the  wil- 
fulness of  man,  and  the  mysterious  ways  and 
goings-on  of  Providence,  the  better  for  you ! 
Good  night ;  you'll  be  in  bed  at  once,  I  hope. 
Keep  yourself  nice  and  warm,  Ishmael." 

"  I'll  try,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Small,  artlessly, 
"  although  it's  a  piercer  out  o'  doors,"  and 
partly  aside,  "  what  a  precious  old  man — a  per- 
fect martyr  to  his  feelings." 

The  door  was  closed ;  the  old  man  leapt  up, 
and  dancing  about  the  room,  running  forward 
every  now  and  then  to  the  window  and  staring 
into  the  open  casements  that  furnished  the  free 
light  to  his  chamber,  rubbed  his  hands  together 
with  very  glee. 

Ishmael  paused  for  a  moment  without,  to 
look  through  a  private  crevice  in  the  wall  and 
enjoy  the  spectacle ;  then  uncovered  his  steaks 
and  pitcher,  and  taking  them  in  his  hand,  bore 
them  up  stairs,  and  entered  the  apartment  im- 
mediately over  Mr.  Close.  This  was  scarcely 
more  than  a  loft  at  the  very  top  of  the  house  j 


I 


208 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


with  beams  and  rafters  cutting  it  crosswise  and 
lengthwise  in  every  direction;   which  beams 
were  garnished  with  a  great  number  of  sus- 
pended market-baskets ;  coils  of  ancient  iron 
hoops ;  great  pieces  of  tarred  cable ;  and  here 
and  there,  bunches  of  rusty  keys  of  all  possible 
sizes — some  pecfect   giants,  suited  for  great 
warehouses,  and  others  scarcely  large  enough 
for  ladies'  writing-desks.     The  room,  poor  and  ' 
parti-furnlshed  as  it  was,  had  an  air  of  com- 1 
fort,  from  the  circumstance  of  the  walls  being 
lined  on  every  side  with  coats,  trowsers,  vests,  | 
roundabouts,  and  cloaks,  hung  upon  pins  about, 
in  great   abundance  and  variety ;    and  when 
Ishmael,  stepping  gently  about  the  room,  gath-  i 
ered  togetlier  from  corners  and  hiding-places,  ■ 
fragments  of  wood  and  shaving,  heaped  them 
in  the  chimney  and  lighted  a  lire  that  blazed : 
and  crackled  up  the  flue,  throwing  out  a  wa- 1 
vering  flame  into  the  gloom  of  the  apartment,  i 
it  seemed  as  if  the  room  swarmed  with  visiters,  I 
who  stood  shrouded  in  their  various  apparel 
against  tlie  wall,  and  only  waited  an  invitation 
from  Ishmael  to  come  forward  and  make  them- : 
selves  merry  over  his  fire.  I 

When  Ishmael  saw  how  cheerily  the  fire 
sparkled  on  the  hearth,  he  could  not  hold  from 
laughing  gently,  and  thinking  of  the  old  gen-  \ 
tleman  below  stairs.  Then  he  took  down  from  j 
.  the  wall  an  old  rusted  gridirion,  planted  it  up-  \ 
on  the  coals,  and  spreading  his  steak  upon  the  I 
bars,  watched  the  process  that  followed  with  j 
an  eager  eye.  In  a  few  minutes  it  was  finished  i 
to  a  turn,  and  while  a  pleasant  savor  steamed  i 
up  and  filled  the  garret  with  a  grateful  smell,  1 
Ishmael  arrayed  his  cheer  on  a  lalue  plate  on  a  ! 
little  mantel  or  shelf  that  overhung  the  hearth ;  ! 
placed  a  small  loaf  (a  perquisite  from  the  ba-  j 
ker)  with  a  knife  and  fork  at  its  side;  and 
di'awing  a  well-worn  countinghouse-stool  from 
a  corner,  vaulted  upon  it  with  an  easy  leap, 
and  first  perching  his  heels  upon  a  round  near 
the  top,  and  placing  the  blue  plate  on  his  knee, 
entered  with  steady  glee  upon  the  business  be- 
fore him. 

The  meal  was  despatched,  as  all  meals  are 
that  are  relished  hugely;  and  when  it  was 
fairly  at  an  end,  Ishmael  jumped  up,  and  stand- 
ing for  a  minute  on  the  very  top  of  the  stool, 
and  raising  his  hand  above  him,  he  brought 
down  from  a  beam  a  long  clay  pipe  and  a  hand- 
ful of  well-dried  tobacco  ;  bent  down  and  light- 
ed it  with  a  coal ;  and,  balancing  his  seat  up- 
on its  hind  legs,  fell  back  against  the  wall,  and 
watched  the  smoke  complacently,  as  it  was  lost 
among  the  rafters. 

All  this  process  seemed  to  operate  with  a 
kindly  influence  on  Mr.  Small,  and  as,  from 
time  to  time,  he  removed  the  pipe  from  his  lips, 
he  discovered  that  he  was  in  a  fine  narrative 
humor,  and  having  no  one  to  talk  to,  was  driv- 
en, from  the  sheer  necessity  of  the  case,  to  talk- 
ing to  himself. 

"  That's  not  so  bad,"  said  Ishmael,  glancing 
about  at  the  various  distenanted  garments  that 


;  filled  the  room,  "  fourpence  a  day  for  trowsers, 
and  sixpence  for  the  use  o'  respectable  men's 
coats  with  skirts ;  all  for  honest  voters  that 
goes  to  the  polls  in  other  people's  clothes  out 
o'  respect  to  their  memory.  Nick  Finch  is  a 
capital  'lectioneerer,  and  dresses  up  his  voters 
as  pretty  and  natural  as  any  man  ever  did ; 
but  if  Nick's  friends  only  knew  what  dignified 
'  gentleman  had  wore  their  coats  and  trowsers 
I  before  'em,  they'd  carry  their  heads  more  like 
lords  and  commodores  than  franchise  citizens. 
Here's  this  nice  suit  of  crow-black,"  pursued 
Mr.  Small,  turning  about  and  fixing  his  eye  up- 
on the  garments  in  question.  There  wasn't  a 
nicer  parson  in  the  whole  hundred  and  forty 
pulpits,  than  that  gentleman  afore  he  took  to 
private  drinks,  and  began  to  borry  money  of 
Uncle  Close  on  his  gilt-edged  prayer-books  and 
gi'eat  bibles  out  o'  the  pulpit.  He  used  to  look 
quite  spruce  and  fine,  I  can  tell  you,  when  he 
first  come  here;  then  his  beard  began  to  stub- 
ble out ;  then  his  boots  was  foxy ;  and  then 
he'd  come  with*  his  hat  knocked  in,  and  his 
pockets  full  of  small  stones,  which  he  tried  to 
pass  ott'  on  the  old  'un  for  change.  When  he 
got  to  that  Uncle  Close  had  him  took  up  by  the 
police  for  a  deranged  wagrant ;  and  that  was 
the  last  of  you,  old  fellow  !" 

"  Volunteer  firemen  is  queer  chaps !"  con- 
tinued Ishmael,  casting  his  eyes  upon  a  shaggy 
white  overcoat  with  enormous  pearl  buttons. 
"  Bully  Simmons  was  one  of  the  primest,  and  'ud 
play  a  whole  orchestra  on  a  fire-trumpet,  on 
the  way  to  a  one-story  conflagration.  But  fires 
was  too  much  for  him — they  come  on  too  thick 
and  shiny  on  wet  nights  !  First,  Bully  lost  his  ap- 
petite, and  then  he  sold  out  all  his  red  shirts ; 
then  he  lost  the  use  o'  his  legs,  and  couldn't 
travel  a  ladder,  with  a  pipe  in  his  hand ;  and 
that  made  him  part  with  his  best  figured  hoists, 
every  one  of  'em ;  and,  one  night,  Bully  tried 
his  voice  agin  a  nor'wester  that  was  howling 
among  the  flames  of  a  big  factory,  and  when 
he  found  himself  beaten  out,  he  stood  at  the 
back  of  old  Forty  and  shed  tears  into  an  engin'- 
bucket  like  rain ;  stopped  at  the  old  gentle- 
man's on  his  way  home,  and  sold  out  his  fire-hat, 
his  belts,  his  boots,  and  that  great  rough  jack 
et,  for  a  song ;  borrowed  a  coal-heaver's  shirt 
to  go  home  in,  and  turned  agin  engines  for  life. 
Bully's  a  very  moral  man,  they  say,  now,  and 
takes  in  the  tracts  by  handfuls  every  time  they 
come  round,  for  shavin'  paper." 

As  Ishmael  sat  perched  upon  his  stool,  fra- 
ming, in  this  way,  a  memoir  of  each  boot,  vest,  «A 
and  overcoat,  or  meditating  the  course  of  the  ' 
next  day's  business,  an  humble  tap  was  given  at 
the  door,  the  door  slowly  opened,  and  a  for- 
lorn-looking personage,  in  a  shabby  hat,  cov- 
ered with  dust,  as  was  also  his  whole  person, 
from  crown  to  boot,  and  having  under  his  arm 
a  small  parcel,  came  in.  Advancing  timidly, 
removing  his  hat,  and  standing  before  Ishmael 
— while  he  looked  piteously  in  his  face,  he  ac- 
costed him. 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


"  Please,  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  "  is  there 
no  corner  of  a  bed  a  poor  traveller  might  have, 
with  a  morsel  to  keep  down  the  famine  of  a 
,        long  day's  march  ?" 

To  this  appeal  Mr.  Small  made  no  answer, 
but  reclining  against  the  wall,  assumed  to  fall 
into  a  profound  slumber. 

"  Do,  for  Heaven's  sake,  hear  me  !"  contin- 
ued the  stranger.  "  Wake  and  hear  me  !  I  have 
come  from  burying  an  only  child  in  the  country, 
and  have  neither  crust  nor  couch  to  keep  oif 
the  cold  and  hunger  this  night." 

"Hallo!  what's  ail  this?"  cried  Ishmael, 
feigning  at  that  moment  to  waken  from  his 
sleep.  "  Who's  here  ?  Thieves  !  thieves  !  Do 
you  mean  to  murder  us  in  cold  blood  ?" 

The  poor  stranger  stood  shivering  before 
him,  with  his  hat  crushed  in  his  hand. 

"  There  are  nij^hieves  here,"  said  the  stran- 
ger, as  soon  as  he  could  be  heard.  '•  No  man's 
life  to  be  taken  but  mine,  from  sheer  lack  of 
food." 

"  Oh,  you're  a  beggar,  are  you  ?"  said  Ish- 
mael, rubbing  his  eyes  -vrith  his  knuckles. 
"  Why  didn't  you  stop  below,  at  the  old  man's  ? 
He  would  have  helped  you,  I'm  quite  sure." 

"  So  he  would — so  he  would,  sir,"  said  the 
traveller,  "  but  he's  poor  too — poorer  than  I. 
His  health  was  broken,  he  told  me ;  he's  cut 
off  from  all  his  religious  comforts,  and  sits 
watching  there,  in  that  cold  room,  the  pleasure 
of  Providence.  He's  a  nice,  a  worthy  old  man ; 
that  I  judged  by  what  he  said.  He  referred 
me  to  you ;  there  was  a  benevolent  young  gen- 
tleman up  stairs,  he  said,  that  would  do  any- 
thing I  asked." 

"  He  did,  eh  ?  And  so  you  come  to  me,"  said 
Ishmael,  smiling  mildly  upon  the  stranger. 
<'  Lodgin'  in  a  garret  and  old  clothes  cem-e-te- 
ry ;  as  if  I  had  a  scrap  to  spare.  You're  a  wag 
— I  know  you  are  ;  but  you  shouldn't  play  oft^ 
your  humor  on  poor  lads  that  lives  in  the  roof. 
Oh,  no — it  won't  do — and  just,  by  way  of  apol- 
ogy for  your  rudeness,  be  good  enough  to  give 
my  compliments  to  the  first  watchman — you 
know  what  watchmans  are,  I  guess — you  meet 
at  the  door.  Tell  him  to  lend  you  his  overcoat 
— he's  sure  to  do  it — borry  his  rattle  for  a  cane 
— rattles  make  first-rate  walking-sticks,  and 
waddle  home  as  fast  as  you  can.  Good  night, 
turnip  patch !" 

The  poor  stranger  dropped  his  head,  and, 
without  murmur  or  answer,  went  away. 
jy,  Mr.  Small  now  felt  that  he  was  wrought  to 
as  comfortable  a  state,  intellectually  and  phys- 
ically, as  was  attainable  by  such  a  gentleman 
as  himself,  and  turned  his  eye  bedward.  Cast- 
ing his  coat  off,  and  dexterously  jerking  a  boot 
from  either  leg,  as  he  stood,  into  a  remote  cor- 
ner, he  pulled  down  from  their  pegs,  every  one 
of  them,  all  the  coats,  vests,  and  other  garments 
in  the  apartment,  into  a  heap  upon  his  truckle- 
bed,  and  creeping  under  the  same,  his  knavish 
gray  eyes,  alone,  peering  out  from  under  the 
mass,  he  fell  into  a  tranquil  sleep. 
O 


CHAPTER  XrV. 

PUFFER    HOPKINS    ENCOUNTERS    HOBBLESHANK 
AGAIN. 

There  could  be  no  doubt — apart  from  what 
had  occurred  to  Mr.  Small — that  a  general  elec- 
tion was  close  at  hand ;  and  that  the  city  was 
rapidly  falling  into  a  relapse  of  its  annual  fe- 
ver. The  walls  and  stable-doors  broke  out  all 
over  with  great  placards  and  huge  blotches  of 
declamation  ;  an  erysipelas  of  liberty,  temples, 
and  muscular  fists,  clenched  upon  hammers, 
appeared  upon  the  foreheads  of  the  pumps  ;  the 
air  swarmed,  as  with  forerunners  of  a  plague, 
with  ominous  flags,  streaked  from  end  to  end 
with  a  red  and  white  and  spotted  inflammation ; 
journeyman  patriots  and  self-sacrificing  office- 
seekers  began  to  shout  and  vociferate  as  in  a 
delirium;  in  a  word,  unless  the  customary 
blood-letting  incident  to  a  charter  contest  af- 
forded relief,  the  patient  was  in  a  fair  way  of 
going  stark  mad,  and  losing  the  humble  share 
of  sense  with  which  it  looks  after  its  washing 
and  ironing,  and  provides  for  its  butcher's  and 
baker's  dues  during  the  rest  of  the  year.  It 
could  scarcely  be  expected  that  Puflfer  Hopkins 
should  escape  the  general  endemic ;  on  the 
contrary,  it  being  his  first  season,  the  symp- 
toms were  in  him  extremely  violent  and  furi- 
ous. From  morning  till  night  he  sat  at  his 
desk  like  one  spell-bound,  fabricating  resolu- 
tions, preambles,  and  reports  of  retiring  com- 
mittees, by  the  gross ;  or  starting  up  every  now 
and  then  and  stalking  the  room  vehemently, 
and  then  returning  and  committing  the  em- 
phatic thoughts  that  had  occurred  to  him  In 
his  hurried  travel,  to  the  record  before  him ; 
varying  this  employment  with  speeches  with- 
out number,  delivered  in  all  possible  attitudes, 
to  imaginary  audiences  of  every  temper,  com- 
plexion, and  constitution. 

Sometimes  he  had  very  distinctly  before  him, 
in  his  mind's  eye,  an  assemblage  where  the 
carting  interest  prevailed,  and  where  the  re- 
duction of  corporation  cartmeu's  wages,  for 
instance,  might  be  undergoing  an  examina- 
tion. 

*'  Gentlemen,"  said  Puffer  to  the  prospective 
audience,  "  gentlemen,  I  put  it  to  you  whether 
twenty  cents  a  load  will  pay  a  cartman  and  a 
cartman's  horse  ?  Gentlemen,  I  see  a  prospect 
before  me  for  any  man  that  undertakes  to  work 
for  such  prices.  In  six  months  he  is  a  pauper, 
his  children's  paupers,  his  horse's  a  pauper,, 
and  what's  better,  walks  up  and  down  the  ave- 
nue, where  he's  turned  out  to  die,  like  the  ap- 
parition of  a  respectable  dirtman's  horse  that 
had  been ;  meeting  the  aldermen  as  they  ride 
out  in  their  jaunts,  and  rebuking  'em  to  the 
face  for  their  niggardly  parsimony.  Hasn't 
a  cartman,  a  dirt-cartmau,  rights,  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  Hasn't  he  a  soul ;  and  why  should  he 
submit  to  this  inhuman  system ;  why  should  the 
sweat  of  the  poor  man's  brow  be  wrung  out  ta^ 


210 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


fertilize  the  soil  of  the  rich  man's  field  ?"  (Im- 
aginarj'  cheers,  beginning  in  a  gentle  «  G'  up/' 
and  ending  in  an  earthquake  hurrah  !) 

Then  his  audience  consisted  of  a  great  num- 
ber of  individuals,  who,  from  their  being  clad 
in  nice  broadcloth  coats,  and  always  having 
their  beards  closely  trimmed,  are  supposed  to 
be  gentlemen  and  Christians. 

"  Fellow-citizens  !"  cried  Mr.  Hopkins,  "we 
all  see  what  they're  driving  at ;"  alluding  to 
the  other  party,  of  course ;  "  they're  at  work 
undermining  the  pillars  of  society — that's  what 
they  would  have.  Not  a  man  of  'em  but  would 
plant  a  keg  of  powder  under  every  pulpit,  on 
Sunday  morning,  and  blow  all  our  respected 
clergy  to  heaven  in  a  twinkling.  They're  in- 
fidels and  agrarians,  fellow-citizens,  and  when 
they'd  done  that,  they'd  let  the  pews  out  for 
apple  stands,  and  fall  straightway  to  eating 
soup  out  of  the  contribution-plates.  If  you 
don't  beat  'em  at  the  next  election,  if  you  don't 
rouse  yourselves  in  your  strength  and  over- 
whelm these  monsters  and  jacobins,  I  despair 
of  my  country — I  despair  of  mankind;  and 
you'll  have  a  herd  of  vipers  saddled  on  you 
next  year  for  a  corporation  !" 

Abandoning  this  disagreeable  region,  Puffer 
relieved  himself  by  the  fiction  of  a  room  full  of 
stout,  rosy,  comfortable-looking  gentlemen,  who 
groaned  in  spirit  under  a  great  burden  of  city 
charges,  and  whose  constant  saying  it  was, 
that  they,  figuratively  only,  were  eaten  up  with 
taxes. 

"  The  city  aldermen,  the  common  council  of 
tliis  mighty  metropolis,"  said  Pufier,  "  is  noth- 
ing but  a  corporation  of  boa-constrictors — a 
board  of  greedy  anacondas — that  swallow  lot 
after  lot,  house  upon  house,  of  the  freeholders, 
as  if  they  were  so  many  brick-and-mortar  sand- 
wiches. Commissioners  of  street-opening  run 
the  plough  through  a  man's  sleeping-room  of 
a  morning  before  he's  out  of  bed;  and  clap  a 
set  of  rollers  under  his  dwelling  and  tumble  it 
.into  the  river,  as  if  it  were  so  much  old  lum- 
ber. Will  you  submit  to  this  ?  Never !  The 
spirits  of  your  forefathers  protest  against  it ; 
your  posterity  implore  you  to  snatch  their 
bread,  their  very  subsistence  from  the  maw  of 
these  gigantic  wolves  in  pacific  apparel !  The 
little  children  in  their  cradles  raise  their  hands 
and  ask  you  to  save  them  from  ruin !" 

It  is  impossible  to  conjecture  to  what  regions 
of  rhetoric  and  simile-land  the  imagination  of 
Puffer  Hopkins  might  have  conveyed  him,  now 
that  he  was  fairly  on  the  wing ;  for  at  this 
moment,  and  in  the  very  midst  of  these  pleas- 
ant fables  and  suppositions,  Puffer  received  by 
the  hand  of  a  messenger,  a  notice  from  the  chief 
or  executive  committee,  directing  him  to  pro- 
ceed forthwith  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Nicholas 
Finch,  an  electioneering  agent,  and  secure  his 
services.  Now,  Puffer  had  heard  of  Nick  Finch, 
as  he  was  familiarly  entitled,  before ;  believed 
him  to  be  as  thorough-going j  limber  tongued, 
and  supple-jointed  a  fellow  as  could  be  found  in 


the  county;  and  therefore  relished  not  a  little  the 
honor  of  effecting  a  negotiation  for  his  distin- 
guished talent.  Without  delay  he  hurried  forth, 
rousing  by  the  way  the  messenger,  who  being 
a  fellow  besotted  by  drink  and  stupefied  with 
much  political  talk,  in  taprooms  and  elsewhere, 
had  halted  in  one  of  the  landings,  and  there, 
retiring  penitentially  to  a  corner,  had  gone  off 
into  a  profound  and  melodious  slumber.  Per- 
forming this  agreeable  duty,  and  lending  the 
gentleman  an  arm  to  the  street.  Puffer  proceed- 
ed to  the  quarters  where  he  understood  Mr. 
Finch  held  his  lair.  He  soon  approached  the 
pr<icinct,  but  not  knowing  it  by  number,  he  put 
the  question  to  one  of  a  group  of  lads  playing 
at  toys  against  a  fence  side.  A  dozen  started 
up  at  once  to  answer. 

"  Nick  Finch — Nick  Finch,  sir — over  here, 
sir,  this  way,  through  the  alley!"  And  word 
having  passed  along  that  a  gentleman  was  in 
quest  of  Mr.  Fiach,  Puffer  was  telegraphed 
along  from  window  to  window,  area  to  area, 
until  he  was  left  at  the  foot  of  an  alley,  by  an 
old  woman  who  had  gallopped  at  his  side  for 
several  rods,  who  shouted  in  his  ear,  "Up 
there,  sir,  up  there !"  and  hobbled  away  again. 
Left  to  himself,  Puffer  entered  by  a  gate,  and 
making  cautious  progress  along  a  boarded  lane,  > 
arrived  in  front  of  a  row  of  common  houses, 
to  which  access  was  obtained  by  aid  of  outside 
steps,  fastened  against  the  buildings.  Ascend- 
ing the  first  that  offered,  he  rapped  inquiringly 
at  the  door,  was  hailed  from  within  by  a  deci- 
sive voice,  and  marched  in.  The  apartment 
he  had  invaded  was  an  oblong  room,  with  a 
sanded  floor,  a  desk  on  a  raised  platform  at  the 
farthest  extremity,  a  full  length  George  Wash- 
ington in  perfect  white,  standing  in  one  cor- ; 
ner,  and  a  full  length  Hamilton,  bronzed,  in " 
the  opposite.  Against  the  wall,  and  over  a 
fireplace  in  which  a  pile  of  wood  was  crack- 
ling and  blazing,  was  fastened  the  declaration 
of  Independence,  with  all  those  interesting 
specimens  of  handwriting  of  the  fifty-two  sign- 
ers, done  in  lithograph ;  and  across  a  single 
window  that  lighted  the  room,  where  he  had 
entered,  was  stretched  a  half  American  flag, 
cut  athwart,  directly  through  all  the  stars,  and 
suspended  by  a  tape. 

The  owner  of  the  voice,  a  short,  thick-set 
man,  with  a  half-mown  beard,  a  hard,  firm 
countenance,  and  apparelled  in  a  cart -frock, 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  apartment ;  and  be- 
fore him,  ranged  on  a  bench,  sat  a  dozen  or  so 
ill-dressed  fellows,  whose  countenances  were 
fixed  steadily  on  his. 

"  Come  in,  sir,  come  in,"  said  the  thick-set 
man.  "  Don't  hesitate — these  are  only  a  few 
friends  that  are  spending  a  little  time  with  me ; 
paying  me  a  sociable  visit  of  a  day  or  two,  that's 
all."  It  occurred  to  Puffer  that  if  these  fel- 
lows were  actually  visiters  of  the  gentleman  in 
the  cart-frock,  that  he  had  decidedly  the  most 
select  circle  of  acquaintance  of  any  one  he 
could  mention. 


] 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


211 


"  I'm  glad  you've  come,  sir,"  continued  the  ! 
electioneerer.     "  I've  been  expecting  vou  some 
days." 

«  Then  }'ou  know  me  ?"  said  Puffer. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  answered  the  other.  *'  Al- 
low me  to  introduce  you  to  my  friends.  Gen- 
tlemen "  (turning  to  the  line  of  ragged  gentry  on 
the  bench),  "  Puffer  Hopkins,  Esq.,  of  the  Op- 
position committee.  Rise,  if  you  please,  and 
give  him  a  bow." 

The  ragged  gentry  did  as  they  were  bid,  and 
straightway  sat  down  again,  as  if  the  unusual 
exertion  of  a  salute  had  entirely  exhausted 
them. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  interrupt  business,"  said 
Puffer.  "  You  seemed  engaged  when  I  came 
in." 

"  I  was,"  answered  tlie  electioneerer,  "  and 
you  entered  just  in  the  nick  of  time  to  aid  me. 
You  must  act  as  an  inspector  of  election  ;  you 
have  a  good  person,  a  clear,  full  voice,  and  will 
judge  my  voters  tenderly.  Take  this  chair,  if 
you  please  I"  Saying  this,  he  at  once  induct- 
ed Puffer  into  a  seat  behind  the  desk  on  the 
raised  platform,  placed  before  him  a  green  box, 
and  proceeded  to  distribute  among  the  gentle- 
men on  the  bench,  a  number  of  small  papers 
curiously  folded,  which  they  received  with  a 
knowing  smile. 

"  Now,  2:entlemen,  go  up  as  I  s:ive  the  sig- 
nal," said  Mr.  Finch.  «  Mr.  Peter  Foil,  will 
you  have  the  goodness  to  deposite  your  ballot  ?" 

At  this  one  of  the  company  who  had  found 
his  way,  by  some  mysterious  dispensation, 
into  a  faded  suit  of  black — it  was  the  bro- 
ken-down parson's — but  whose  hair  was,  nev- 
ertheless, uncombed,  and  his  hat  in  very  re- 
duced circumstances,  shambled  across  the  floor 
and  made  a  show  of  inserting  a  vote  in  the 
green  box  before  Puffer  Hopkins. 

"  That  will  never  do,  sir,"  said  the  election- 
eerer, rather  sternly,  as  he  was  crossing  back 
again.  "  You  shuffled  up  to  the  counter  as  if 
3'ou  were  shoaling  through  the  market,  accord- 
ing to  your  well-known  habits,  stealing  pigs' 
feet  of  the  butchers  to  make  broth  o£;  and  when 
you  attempted  1o  give  the  inspector  your  ticket, 
any  one  could  have  sworn  you  bad  been  a  fish- 
vender's  secretary,  thrusting  your  hand  in  a 
basket  to  pull  out  a  flounder  or  a  bunch  of  eels ; 
try  it  aarain !" 

Mr.  Foil  renewed  the  attempt— this  time, 
with  greater  success. 

"That's  better,"  said  Mr.  Finch,  encour- 
agingly, "  worthier  the  respectable  man  whose 
clothes  you've  got  on ;  more  of  the  air  of  a  civ- 
ilized being.    Now,  Mr.  Runlet." 

At  this  a  heavy-built  personage  proceeded 
to  perform  his  duty  as  a  franchise  citizen,  but 
in  so  cumbrous  a  gait  and  with  so  weak  an  eye 
to  the  keeping  and  symmetry  of  his  part,  as  to 
call  down  a  severe  rebuke  from  Mr.  Finch. 

« You  pitch  about  as  if  you  were  on  your 
own  ploughed  land  at  Croton,  and  not  down 
here,  earning  handsome  wages  on  the  pave- 
ment for  doing  freeman's  service.     You  must 


walk  more  level,  and  not  up  and  down  like 
a  scart  buffalo.  Carry  your  arms  at  your 
side,  and  don't  swing  them  akimbo,  like  a 
pair  of  crooked  scythe-sneaths.  You'll  do  bet- 
ter with  your  dinner  to  steady  you  !" 

After  Mr.  Runlet,  a  third  was  summoned, 
who  wore  the  garments  of  the  volunteer  fire- 
man ;  but  was  condemned  as  failing  most  la- 
fnentably  in  his  swagger,  and  missing  to  speak 
out  of  a  corner  of  his  mouth,  as  if  he  carried  a 
segar  in  the  other.  After  several  trials  he 
amended  his  performance,  and  succeded  at  last 
in  bullying  the  inspector  with  a  grace,  and  get- 
ing  his  vote  in  by  sheer  force  of  impudence. 

Another  was  called,  who,  springing  up  with 
great  alacrity,  endued,  in  a  pair  of  stout  cordu- 
roys, with  a  shirt  of  red  flannel,  rolled  back 
upon  his  arms  over  one  of  white,  a  great 
brawny  fellow,  pitched  about  from  one  quarter 
of  the  room  to  another,  putting  it  into  imagi- 
nary antagonists  with  all  his  might;  at  one 
time  knocking  one  on  the  head  with  his  broad 
hand,  then  teasing  another's  shins  with  a  side- 
way  motion  of  the  leg,  and  discomfiting  a  third 
with  a  recoil  of  a  bony  elbow,  to  the  unquali- 
fied satisfaction  and  delight  of  Mr.  Finch  and 
all  lookers-on,  and  then  retiring  to  his  seat,  ap- 
parently exhausted  and  worn  out  with  his  sav- 
age sport. 

About  half  the  company  had  been  drilled  and 
exercised  in  this  manner,  when  a  door  was  sud- 
denly thrown  open  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
apartment,  a  shre%vish  face  thrust  in,  and  a  shrill 
voice  appertaining  thereto  called  out  that  din- 
ner was  read3',  and  had  better  be  eaten  while 
it  was  hot.  Puffer  Hopkins  caught  sight  of  a 
table,  spread  in  a  room  that  was  entered  by  a 
descending  step  or  two.  The  voters  in  rehear- 
sal started  to  their  feet,  and  cast  longing  eye3 
toward  the  paradise  thus  opened  to  their  view, 
and  before  Mr.  Finch  could  give  order  one  way 
or  the  other,  they  had  broken  all  bounds,  and 
rushed  down,  like  so  many  harpies,  on  the  ban- 
quet spread  below. 

"  If  my  eyes  are  not  glandered,"  cried  Mr. 
Finch,  as  soon  as  they  were  gone,  "  this  is  cap- 
ital sport.  Dang  me,  Mr.  Hopkins,  if  I  wouldn't 
rather  drive  a  tandem  through  a  china-shop 
than  manage  these  fellows.  I've  polished  'em 
a  little,  you  see ;  but  they're  too  thick  on  the 
wall  yet,  they  daub  and  plaster  and  don't  hard- 
finish  up.  You'd  like  to  have  'em  for  a  day  or 
two,  wouldn't  you  !" 

Puffer,  descending  from  the  inspector's  seat, 
which  he  had  filled  during  the  rehearsal  with 
all  the  gravity  he  could  command,  and,  compli- 
menting Mr,  Finch  upon  the  show  of  his  men, 
admitted  that  he  would,  and  that  he  was  there 
on  that  very  business. 

"  There  isn't  a  better  troop  in  town,  though  I 
say  it,"  pursued  the  agent,  "  a  little  rough,  but 
there's  capital  stuff  there.  I  don't  flatter  when 
I  assert  that  Nick  Finch  gets  up  finer  and  stur- 
dier rioters  than  any  man  in  town.  Only  look 
at  that  chap  in  the  red  shirt— he's  a  giant,  a 
perfect  Nilghau  with  horns,  in  a  crowd  !" 


212 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


Puffer  answered  that  he  thought  that  prop- 
osition couldn't  be  safely  denied. 

"  Perhaps  my  sailors  an't  got  the  salt  water 
roll  exactly  ;  but  they'll  pass  pretty  well  I  rec- 
kon for  East  river  boatmen  and  Hellgate  pilots, 
and  that's  full  as  good ;  you  want  twelve  men 
for  three  days'  work,  in  how  many  wards  ?" 

"  The  whole  seventeen  if  you  please ;"  an- 
swered Puffer.  "  I'm  afraid  to  try  'em  in  so 
many,"  continued  Mr.  Finch.  "You  might 
have  'em  for  five  river  wards,  and  one  out  o' 
town ;  and  the  volunteer  fireman  (he's  first 
rate  when  he's  warmed  with  a  toddy),  for  any 
number.  Terms,  twenty-five  dollars  per  diem, 
as  they  say  in  Congress." 

"  It's  a  bargain,  sir,''  said  Puffer,  seizing  the 
virtuous  gentleman  by  the  hand.  "You'll 
bring  them  up  yourself?" 

"  I  will,  you  may  depend  on  it ;  you're  a  lucky 
man — the  other  side  offered  me  twenty,  and  as 
much  oats  as  my  horse  could  eat  in  a  week,  but 
it  wouldn't  do." 

With  this  understanding  Puffer  left ;  the  agent 
crying  after  him  to  call  in  on  Monday  week, 
when  they  would  be  finally  broken  in — "  You 
make  a  capital  inspector ;  all  you  want  is  age 
and  silver  spectacles  to  make  you  as  respectable 
a  rogue  as  ever  sat  behind  a  green  box !" 

Breathing  the  word  "  mum"  in  an  under 
tone,  and  shaking  his  head  in  reproof  at  the 
hardihood  of  the  agent.  Puffer  descended  into 
the  yard. 

He  had  reached  the  ground,  and  was  turning 
to  leave  the  place,  when  he  discovered  moving 
across  the  extremity  of  the  yard  a.nd  passing 
into  a  house  many  degrees  poorer  than  the 
agent's,  a  figure  bent  with  years ;  he  walked 
with  a  slow  shuflfling  gait,  and  pausing  often, 
wrung  his  hands  and  looked  keenly  into  t^e 
earth,  as  if  all  his  hopes  lay  buried  there.  Puf- 
fer knew  not  whether  to  advance  and  greet  the 
old  man  as  his  heart  prompted,  or  to  withdraw ; 
when  he  raised  his  head  as  if  he  knew  the  foot- 
step that  was  near,  and,  discovering  Puffer  Hop- 
kins, started  from  the  dotage  of  his  walk  and 
manner,  hastened  across  the  ground,  and  while 
his  face  brightened  at  every  pace  he  hailed  him 
from  the  distance. 

"  God  bless  you, — God  bless  you,  my  boy !" 
cried  Hobbleshank.  "  Where  have  you  tarried 
so  long  ?  You  have  not  forgotten  the  old  man 
so  soon,  eh  ?  If  you  knew  how  often  I  had 
thought  of  you,  you  would  have  paid  me  but 
fair  interest  on  my  thoughts  to  have  called  at 
the  old  man's  lodgings,  and  asked  how  the 
world,  a  very  wilful  and  wicked  one,  had  gone 
with  him  ?    Am  I  right  ?"  , 

"  You  are,  you  are,"  answered  Puffer,  who 
could  not  fail  to  be  touched  by  the  kindly  eager- 
ness of  the  old  man.  "  I  have  abused  your 
goodness,  and  was  repenting  of  my  folly  but 
this  morning — I  meant  to  call." 

"  You  did !"  said  the  old  man  quickly.  «  Well 
never  mind  that,  but  come  with  me." 

With  this  they  entered  a  low  building,  the 
roof  of  which  was  moss-grown  and  hung  over 


like  a  great  eyebrow,  and  the  door  sustained 
by  a  single  hinge,  stood  ever  askew,  allowing 
snow,  tempest,  and  hail,  to  beat  in  and  keep  a 
perpetual  Lapland  through  the  hall.  Opening 
the  first  door  they  entered  a  square  room,  cold,  ^ 

bare,  and  desolate-looking,  with  no  soul  appar- 
ently present. 

"How  is  this?"  said    Hobbleshank.     " 
thought  Peter  Hibbard  dwelt  here." 

"  So  he  does,"  answered  a  broken  voice  from 
the  corner  of  the  apartment,  "  Peter  Hibbard's 
body  lodges  here.  Heaven  save  his  soul — that 
may  be  wandering  in  some  other  world.'* 

"Are  you  Peter  Hibbard?"  asked  Hobble- 
shank, approaching  the  bed-side  where  the 
speaker  lay. 

"  Peter  Hibbard  am  I,"  he  answered,  "  as  far 
as  I  can  know,  though  I  sometimes  think  Peter 
— one  Peter — died  better  than  a  score  of  years 
ago.  When  a  man's  soul  is  killed  and  his 
heart  frost-stricken,  then  he's  dead,  isn't  he  ?" 

"  He  should  be !"  answered  Hobbleshank, 
"  but  Heaven  isn't  always  so  kind.  Sometimes 
the  body's  dead  and  the  soul  all  alive,  like  a 
fire,  driving  the  poor  shattered  body  to  and  fro, 
on  thankless  tasks  and  errands  that  end  in  de- 
spair :  that's  worse." 

"  There's  no  despair  for  me,"  pursued  Peter, 
disclosing  a  lean  haggard  face,  and  leering  at 
Hobbleshank  from  under  the  blanket.  "  There's 
nothing  troubles  me ;  I've  got  no  soul." 

"  Where's  your  wife,  Peter  ?"  asked  the  old 
man. 

"  I've  got  none,"  answered  the  other.  "  No 
wife,  noi  child,  nor  grand-child,  boy  nor  girl, 
nor  uncle,  aunt,  sister,  brother,  or  neighbor ;  I 
and  these  four  walls  keep  house  here. 

"  But  where  are  your  old  friends  ?"  continued 
Hobbleshank. 

"  Ah !  my  old  friends,  there  you  are,  are 
you  ?  oh,  ho !  There  was  Phil  Sherrod,  he 
die^  in  his  bed  of  an  inflamed  liver ;  Phil  died 
finely  they  say,  singing  Old  Hundred.  Don't 
believe  it;  he  yielded  the  ghost  choking  the 
parson  with  his  bands.  Parker  Lent,  at  sea  ; 
Bill  Green,  in  jail  for  a  stolen  horse,  it  was  St. 
John's  pale  horse  they  say  ;  Charlotte  Slocum, 
she  married  a  Long  island  milkman  and  was 
drowned.  There  was  another,"  continued  the  \ 
bed-ridden  man,  rising  in  his  couch  and  press- 
ing his  hand  upon  his  brow,  and  peering  from 
under  it  toward  Hobbleshank,  and  Puffer,  "  an- 
other." 

"Yes— what  of  her?"  asked  Hobbleshank 
quickly. 

"  What  of  her  ?"  he  replied,  "  are  you  sure 
it  was  a  woman  ?  Yes,  by  Heaven  it  was,  it 
was  ;  a  rosy  buxom  girl,  but  never  Peter  Hib- 
bard's wife,  why  not  ?" 

With  this  question  he  fell  back  and  lay  with 
his  eyes  wide  open  and  glaring ;  but  still  and 
motionless  as  a  stone. 

"  Why  not  ?"  said  the  bed-ridden  man  wak-  4 
ing  suddenly  from  his  trance  of  silence.  "  Why  |j|j| 
should  Sim  Lettuce  win  where  I  lost  ?  That  *** 
was  a  flaming  carbuncle  on  Sim's  nose,  and 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


ai3 


many's  the  laugh  Hetty  and  I  have  had  think- 
ing of  it ;  and  yet  she  married  him  spite  of  it." 

"  And  Sim  died— what  then  ?"  asked  Hobble- 
shank,  watching  the  countenance  of  him  he 
questioned  with  painful  earnestness.  "What 
then,  my  good  sir,  what  then  ?" 

*'  Let  me  see — Sim  died ;  the  carbuncle  struck 
in  and  turned  to  a  St.  Anthony's  fire,  and  car- 
ried him  off;  Hetty  turned  nurse.  Did  you 
know  that  ?  Nurse  to  a  lovely  lady ;  she  died 
too  one  day.     Hetty  went  off— I  followed  her." 

"Yes,  yes,  you  followed  her,"  repeated 
Hobbleshank,  anxious  to  keep  the  wandering 
wits  of  the  sick  man  to  the  subject.  "  Go  on." 

"  I  followed  her — didn't  I  say  so  !  On  my 
]|^nor,  red-nosed  Sim's  w^idow  would  not  have 
me,  eh  !  eh  !  not  she.  Off  she  slipped  to  keep 
a  garden  in  an  out-of-the-way  place,  I  can  tell 
you.  Peter  Hibbard  watched  her  many  a  year, 
but  she  never  would  be  Mrs.  Hibbard,  and  here 
I  lie  this  day  without  a  wife,  or  child ;  child, 
nor  grandchild,  boy  nor  girl,  nor  uncle,  aunt, 
sister,  brother,  or  neighbor.  We  have  a  merry 
time,  these  four  walls  and  I." 

It  was  in  vain  that  Hobbleshank  attempted 
again  and  again,  and  by  various  devices,  to 
bring  back  his  mind  to  a  narrative  humor ;  he 
kept  reciting  the  incidents  of  his  hopelessness 
and  desolation,  and  after  a  while  fell  into  a  wild 
jumble,  where  everything  pointless  and  trivial 
was  huddled  together,  and  then  he  declined 
into  a  senseless  torpor,  where  he  lay  dumb  to 
every  speech  and  entreaty  of  the  old  man. 

Leaving  him  in  this  mood,  Hobbleshank  and 
Puffer  turned  away  from  his  bed-side  and  send- 
ing in  a  neighbor  that  had  stood  watching  at 
the  door,  for  on  such  chance  aid  the  bed-ridden 
man  trusted  solely  for  life — to  minister  to  his 
wants,  they  escaped  swiftly  from  the  place.  In 
perfect  silence  they  walked  through  street  after 
street  together,  until  they  reached  a  corner 
where  their  way  separated. 

"  All  is  lost,  all  is  lost !"  said  Hobbleshank 
grasping  Puffer  Hopkins  by  the  hand,  as  tears 
flowed  into  his  eyes ;  and,  parting  without  a 
further  word,  in  gloom  and  silence,  each  took 
his  way. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

PUFFER    HOPKINS     INQUIRES     AFTER     HOBBLE- 
SHANK. 

"  All  is  lost,  all  is  lost !"  The  piteous  look 
and  tone  with  which  the  old  man  had  uttered 
these  words,  lingered  in  the  ear  of  Puffer  Hop- 
kins, long  after  they  had  parted,  and  came  up 
in  every  interval  of  business  and  labor,  to  fill 
the  pause  and  excite  in  his  mind  a  vague  won- 
der as  to  what  they  might  refer.  Some  deep 
trouble,  some  profound  grief,  reaching  through 
years,  and  embracing  the  whole  hope  of  the 
old  man's  life,  they  seemed  to  point  at.  He  re- 
sumed the  pursuit  in  which  the  messenger  had 
14 


found  him  engaged,  but  every  now  and  then 
there  started  out  of  the  papers  before  him  the 
wo-stricken  face  of  Hobbleshank  and  he  heard 
his  voice,  repeating  again  and  again,  that  all 
was  lost,  lost.  Wavering  in  this  way  between 
idleness  and  toil,  night  drew  on ;  a  dark  stormy 
and  troubled  night ;  winds  howling  about  the 
Fork,  clamoring  at  the  chamber-windows, 
where  he  lay,  as  if  demanding  entrance ;  sub- 
siding, springing  up  afresh,  and  suggesting  to 
the  watcher,  to  whom  the  turmoil  would  not  al- 
low sleep,  thoughts  of  poor  sailors  far  abroad, 
I  sailing  on  the  wide  ocean,  reefing  and  gathering 
canvass,  or  lying-to,  for  shelter's  sake,  in  cold 
harbors,  or  drifting  along  on  the  pitiless  tide. 

Perplexed  by  thought  of  storm  and  tempest, 
in  the  midst  of  all  which  his  mind  had  recurred 
to  the  subject  of  yesterday.  Puffer  awoke,  and 
after  in  vain  endeavoring  to  shake  off  the 
gloomy  shadow  of  the  old  man  that  still  haunt- 
ed his  chamber,  he  resolved  to  call  at  the  lodg- 
ings of  Hobbleshank  and  seek  there  further 
confirmation  of  the  good  or  evil  of  his  thoughts. 

Making  good  speed  for  the  fulfilment  of  his 
purpose,  he  was  soon  apparelled  and  in  the 
open  air.  The  sky  was  clear  as  if  no  cloud 
had  ever  crossed  it ;  the  house-tops  lay  basking 
in  the  early  sun,  and  the  streets,  half  shadow, 
half  light,  were  filled  with  a  throng  of  people 
come  forth  to  enjoy  the  tranquillity  of  the 
morning.  The  distance  was  not  great,  and  he 
found  the  place  he  sought  at  once,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment was  directly  at  the  entrance  of  the  cham- 
ber, where  he  knew  by  his  description,  Hobble- 
shank lodged. 

The  door  was  ajar,  and  Puffer  entered  with- 
out notice.  On  either  side  of  the  hearth  the 
two  old  women  were  seated,  discoursing  in  a 
whisper.  A  night  taper  flickered  in  its  socket 
on  the  shelf;  the  fire  was  smouldering  and  ex- 
piring in  its  own  ashes,  and  the  sunlight,  as  it 
streamed  through  the  small  window  in  the  wall, 
showed  the  features  of  the  two  women,  hag- 
gard, care-worn,  and  anxious.  The  elder  was 
speaking  as  he  came  in. 

"  Why  do  you  say  me  nay,  when  I  tell  you 
it  must  have  tumbled  in  such  a  night ;  I'm  not 
deaf,  good  woman,  though  seventy  and  past — 
Heaven  save  us  !  Do  you  think  I  did  not  hear 
the  storm,  howling  and  raging?  Your  own 
eyes  saw  the  chimney  fall,  and  the  same  wind 
that  blows  down  chimney-stacks  must  overturn 
steeples  and  church-tops.  Let  me  see — it  was 
built  before  the  war,  so  it  had  lived  to  a  good 
old  age,  and  was  cut  down  not  a  minute  before 
its  time." 

"  Why  do  you  vex  yourself  with  thinking  In 
this  way.  Aunt  Gatty  ?"  asked  the  other,  lay- 
ing her  hand  gently  in  her  arm  and  looking  her 
anxiously  in  the  face.  "  The  storm  was  heavy. 
God  help  our  poor  old  friend  that  was  abroad 
in  it ;  but  the  city  still  stands  !" 

"Be  not  too  sure  of  that !"  answered  the  oth- 
er. "  Have  a  care  !  Are  you  quite  clear  that 
the  fire-bell  was  not  ringing  all  through  the 
night  ?  I  heard  it  in  every  pause  of  the  storm  j 


214 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


and  what  is  not  blown  over  you  may  be  sure 
was  burnt  up." 

"  Grant  it  so/'  said  Dorothy.  "  Grant,  as 
you  say,  that  the  city  was  ravaged  and  torn 
from  end  to  end  by  fire  and  tempest,  it  was  no 
fault  of  ours!" 

"  No  fault  of  ours,  do  you  say  ?"  cried  Aunt 
Gatty,  turning  suddenly  about,  and  laughing 
hysterically  in  her  face.  "  Then  all  that  howl- 
ing of  winds  meant  nothing  ?  All  the  ships 
that  went  ashore  or  were  dashed  against  piers 
and  wharves,  did  it  in  mere  sport  !  Ha  !  ha  ! 
Children  that  perished  in  the  streets,  or  in 
dwellings  drearier  than  the  open  street,  and 
beasts  frozen  in  the  field,  were  all  in  a  frolic  ? 
— Ha  !  ha  !  No,  no,"  she  continued,  dropping 
her  voice  to  a  fearful  whisper, "  these  were  j  udg- 
ments — come  near  to  me  and  I'll  tell  you  how." 

Dorothy,  at  this  bidding,  drew  close  to  hei 
side,  and  watched  for  what  she  said. 

"  Where  was  the  old  man  last  night  ?"  she 
asked,  "  can  you  tell  me  that  ?" 

"Heaven  knows  !"  echoed  the  other.  "  It's 
morning,  and  he  has  not  come." 

"  Did  we  go  search  for  him  ? — did  we  awa- 
ken neighbors,  and  raise  the  cry  that  a  good 
old  man  was  perishing  somewhere,  and  hurry 
off  in  hunt  for  him  ?  Did  we  ring  bells  and 
alarm  all  sleepers  through  the  town — that  we 
do  when  even  a  worthless  old  building  of  boards 
is  burning — why  not  for  a  dear  old  friend  ?  No, 
no — he's  dead,"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  that 
pierced  the  ear  to  the  quick.  "  Dead,  some- 
where, and  his  blood  is  on  our  old  idle  heads  ! 
Dead!  dead!" 

With  this  she  turned  away,  and,  heeding  no 
further  any  speech  that  was  addressed  to  her, 
sat  in  the  corner  of  the  hearth,  mumping,  and 
muttering  unintelligibly  to  herself.  At  this 
moment  Puffer  Hopkins  came  forward,  and 
made  inquiry  for  Hobbleshank. 

"  Good  Lord !  you  did  not  know  then  that 
the  old  man  has  been  absent. all  night  long!" 
she  answered,  sighing ;  "  she  knows  it,  she 
knows  it  too  well !  All  night  in  the  rough 
weather ;  Heaven  send  that  he  has  found  shel- 
ter in  some  shed,  or  under  some  poor  roof,  al- 
though it's  not  to  be  hoped.  Have  you  seen 
the  old  man  of  late  ?  you  are  his  friend." 

*'  I  am,  and  saw  him  but  yesterday  morning," 
answered  Puffer.  «I  expected,  from  what 
passed  then,  to  find  him  downcast,  but  safe  at 
home  at  least." 

*'  Good  angels  help  us  all !"  cried  Dorothy, 
fixing  her  eyes  upon  the  ceiling ;  "  was  he  calm 
when  you  left  him,  or  was  he  stirred  with  a 
passion  ?" 

«  Greatly  moved,  I  must  confess  ;  cut  to  the 
very  heart,  if  I  may  judge  by  what  fell  from 
him,"  answered  Pufl'er.  «  He  was  in  despair, 
and  left  me  weeping,  hurrying  swiftly  away  !" 

"  I  knew  it  would  be  so  !"  exclauned  Doro- 
thy— "  I  knew  it  would  be  so  !  Arouse  !  Aunt 
Gatty,  arouse !"  she  continued,  bending  down 
to  the  ear  of  her  companion,  and  crying  at  the 
top  of  her  voice.     "  This  gentleman  has  seen 


Hobbleshank,  and  has  seen  him  fly  away  from 
him  like  one  distracted  !     Do  you  hear  me  ?" 

"  Did  you  say  Joe  was  dead  ?"  answered 
Aunt  Gatty,  gazing  at  the  other  like  one  in  a 
dream.  "  I  thought  such  a  storm  was  too  much 
for  him,"  And  she  relapsed  again  into  silence, 
or  mumbled  in  confused  and  broken  words. 

"  Poor  thing !  she  thinks  of  her  Joe  that  was 
drowned  half  a  lifetime  since ;  watching  all 
night  through,  with  age  and  infirmity,  have  be- 
Avildered  her  brain.  She  thinks,  sorrowful  crea- 
ture, that  St.  Paul's  steeple,  too,  fell  in  the 
storm  last  night ;  nothing  can  drive  it  from  her 
mind ;  and,  because  a  neighbor's  chimney  was 
overturned  and  a  few  tiles  blown  tlirough  the 
street,  she  will  have  it  that  the  storm  has  m* 
a  wreck  of  the  city,  leaving  no  stone  u| 
another — poor  thing  !" 

"  Then  you  have  no  tidings  of  Hobbleshank, 
and  can  not  tell  where  he  passed  the  night  ?" 
asked  Puffer. 

"  None  whatever.  He  left  us,"  said  Doto- 
thy,  "  yesterday,  a  little  after  noon,  in  cheer- 
ful spirits,  for  he  had  learned,  by  a  poor  stran- 
ger that  came  in  from  the  country,  something 
relating  to  his  child  that  was  lost  many  yeara 
ago.  He  said  that  a  few  hours  would  bring 
him  back  a  happy  man ;  it  will  be  happiness 
enough  for  us,  alas  ! — for  this  poor  old  woman, 
that  has  been  his  friend  and  companion  for  fif- 
teen years — if  he  come  back  alive." 

"  Who  was  this  poor  stranger  that  you  speak 
of?"  continued  Puffer.  "  Is  he  known  to  any 
one  here,  or  did  he  utter  his  news  aloud  ?" 

"The  stranger,"  answered  Dorothy,  "was 
stained  with  travel,  and  bore  with  him  a  parcel, 
which  he  did  not  open  in  our  presence.  Aunt 
Gatty  thought  it  might  be  some  garment  of  the 
child's  that  was  lost.  They  spake  apart,  the 
stranger  pointing  often  to  the  parcel  under  his 
arm  ;  something  was  said  of  a  bed-ridden  man 
— whom,  we  could  not  guess ;  and  then  they 
went  forth  together.  Since  then  the  old  man 
has  not  returned." 

"  What  noise  was  that  ?"  cried  Aunt  Gatty, 
starting  up  at  this  moment,  and  looking  up  ear- 
nestly into  the  face  of  Puffer  Hopkins.  "  A 
heavy  wall  has  fallen  ;  you  heard  the  bell  jin- 
gle as  it  fell  ?     It  tolls  for  him !" 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  give  her  comfort,"  said 
Dorothy,  appealing  to  Puffer,  who  stood  aside, 
not  knowing  how  to  answer  this  sudden  ques- 
tion ;  "  tell  her  the  city  is  not  in  ruins,  that  no 
church-steeple  is  cast  down." 

"  St.  Paul's  stands  this  morning,"  answered 
Puffer,  "  where  it  has  stood  many  thousand 
mornings ;  the  sun  shines  upon  its  weathercock 
as  high  in  air  as  ever.  Would  that  Hobble- 
shank could  be  found  as  securely  as  that !" 

« Hobbleshank !"  echoed  Aunt  Gatty,  «  I 
knew  him  in  his  lifetime ;  he  was  an  excellent 
old  man,  and  sorely  tried ;  let  me  see,  where 
was  he  laid  ?  In  Trinity  yard  ;  oh,  no,  no,  that 
was  too  full.  In  the  middle  burying-ground. 
He  had  no  right  there,  poor  man ;  he  was  not 
stout  enough  to  fill  a  grave.    Ha  !  ha  !  I  have 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


215 


it,  it  was  in  the  old  brewery  well,  where 
Tom  was  drowned ;  they  buried  him  there  be- 
cause he  knew  Tom,  when  the  poor  boy  was 
alive." 

"  Does  she  indeed  think  her  old  friend  to  be 
dead  ?"  asked  Pulfer,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other. 

"  She  does,  and  its  that  that  has  unsettled  her 
mind,"  answered  Dorothy ;  "  Her  life  seems  to 
hang  by  some  strange  link,  aft  invisible  thread, 
on  that  of  the  old  man ;  with  him  she  seems  to 
think  the  sun  is  blotted  out  and  all  things  fallen 
into  decay,  like  herself.  For  her  sake,  I  would 
that  Hobbleshank  might  return." 

"  There  was  no  mark,  then,  by  which  you 
could  guess  his  purpose,  or  the  course  he  might 
take  to  bring  it  about  ?"  said  Puflfer  Hopkins ; 
*'  nothing  by  which  you  could  judge,  further 
than  it  involved  a  thought  of  the  lost  child — on 
what  his  mind  is  fixed  ?" 

"  Did  I  say  tliere  was  nothing  more  ?     I  was 
wrong.     He  wore  with  him  when  he  left,  he 
came  back  for  it,  a  woman's  likeness,  painted 
in  a  breast  pin ;  the  pin  was  a  great  square  one, 
and  the   lady,   a  mild   lovely   creature,   with 
gentle  eyes.     He  took  it  from  the  closet,  and 
fixed  it  in  his  breast,  where  it  had  not  been 
in  my  knowledge,  ever  before.  His  look  soften-  j 
€d  when  his  eye  fell  on  it ;  and  his  step  was 
slower,  it  seemed  to  me,  and  more  thoughtful, ! 
when  he  left,  than  it  had  been  when  he  came  i 
in.     I  thought  the  lady's  face  had  touched  his  i 
heart." 

"  It's  all  darkness  and  shadow  to  me  now,'^ 
said  Puffer,  pondering  and  fixing  his  eyes  upon  • 
the  ground,  "  darkness,  with  a  single  ray  of  j 
light :  you  have  told  me  all  V  I 

"All !  But  do,  I  pray  you,  bring  back  the 
old  man  ;  seek  for  him,  as  you  would  for  your  j 
own  father !  Spare  no  time,  night  or  day  to  i 
track  his  steps.  There  is  some  deep  trust  rests 
upon  him,  some  great  wrong  to  be  avenged.  If 
he  die  in  the  streets,  with  sealed  lips ;  if  his  old 
life  should  be  taken  by  wicked  hands,  and  such 
may  be  watching  for  him,  who  shall  answer  ? 
WiU  you  try,  will  you  seek  him  out  ?  Promise 
me  on  your  truth !" 

As  the  woman  spake  she  raised  both  her 
hands,  and  letting  them  fall,  as  in  benediction, 
on  the  person  of  him  she  addressed,  she  watch- 
ed him  silently  for  an  answer. 

"I  am  but  poor  and  helpless  myself,"  an- 
swered Puffer,  "with  few  friends  and  narrow 
means ;  I  know  not  what  I  can  do,  but,  in 
God's  name,  I  will  do  what  I  can ;  what  a 
friendless  and  fatherless  young  man  may  hope 
to  do." 

"For  his  sake,  for  hers,  for  your  own  hu- 
manity's sake,  be  true  to  what  you  would  do !" 
exclaimed  Dorothy,  glancing  from  the  helpless 
old  creature  at  the  hearth  toward  Puffer,  who 
stood,  glowing  with  his  good  resolution,  by  the 
door. 

She  had  uttered  the  entreaty ;  turned  to  the 
old  woman,  who  began  to  speak  again,  and, 
when  she  had  turned  again.  Puffer  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  NOMINATING   CONVENTION  HATCH  A   CAN- 
DIDATE,-,-. 

To  what  purpose  had  Puffier  Hopkins  pledged 
his  efforts  in  tracing  and  recovering  Hobble- 
shank  ?  What  clew,  what  single  clew  remained 
in  his  hand,  now  that  he  reviewed  all  that  had 
fallen  within  his  knowledge,  relating  to  the  old 
man  ? 

At  one  time  it  had  occurred  to  him  that  light 
shone  through  upon  his  fortunes,  from  the 
chance  discourse  of  the  tailor ;  that  hope  was 
at  an  end,  for,  on  a  requestioning  he  extracted 
no  more  than  he  knew  already,  and  that  was 
nothing  to  the  purpose. 

Any  hope  that  had  arisen  from  the  wish  to 
enlist  the  personal  services  of  his  poor  neighbor 
in  a  further  search,  was  idle;  for  Fob,  from 
overwork,  feebleness  of  body,  and,  as  it  seemed 
to  Puffer,  some  secret  care  that  was  preying 
upon  him,  was  failing  every  day.  To  be  sure,  Fob 
dwelt  upon  the  incident  he  had  first  recited  the 
same  as  ever ;  spoke  of  the  look  and  voice  of 
the  old  man ;  his  wild  talk  with  the  billows  and 
breakers,  and  his  final  act  in  rending  the  parch- 
ment in  pieces.  Of  what  avail  was  this  ?  It 
might  be  a  mere  fantasy,  a  useless  humor  of  both, 
that  this  man  was  Hobbleshank,  this  paper,  the 
bond  and  tenure  by  which  he  held  or  relinquish- 
ed his  rights.  Then  Fob  would  pass  from  this 
topic  to  talk  of  the  old  subjects,  the  country,  the 
wood,  the  field ;  dwelling  upon  them  with  more 
enthusiasm  than  ever,  and  pausing  at  times,  to 
bedew  their  memory  with  a  tear.  While  his 
strength  lasted,  the  little  tailor  performed  his 
daily  tasks  manfully,  murmuring  not  once,  re- 
pining not  at  all,  save  over  the  remembrance 
of  his  coimtry  life. 

Any  hope,  therefore,  built  by  Pufifer  on  the 
services  of  Fob  dwindled  day  by  day.  To  what 
purpose,  then,  had  Puffer  Hopkins  proflTered  aid 
in  tracing  and  recovering  Hobbleshank  ?  To 
none  whatever!  Feeling  tliis,  and  admitting 
to  himself  how  completely  darkness  hedged 
him  in  on  every  side,  he  determined — as  most 
people  do  in  such  emergencies — to  let  the  world 
take  its  course,  but  at  the  same  time  was  ready 
to  seize  promptly  on  the  first  opportunity  that 
offered,  and,  to  do  him  justice,  fervently  hoping 
it  might  be  near  at  hand,  to  execute  his  trust. 
In  the  meantime,  and  while  the  fortunes  of 
Hobbleshank  were  so  full  of  shifting  currents 
that  hurried  onward,  or  eddies  that  tarried  and 
were  lost  in  themselves,  the  tide  of  public  life 
rushed  on,  swelling  steadily.  Puffer  had  learn- 
ed by  this  time  that  pausing  is  to  a  politician, 
ruin;  and  so  he  kept  himself  abroad  in  the 
stream.  He  was  now  known  as  an  active  and 
zealous  partisan ;  was  regarded  as  a  promising 
and  rising  young  man ;  and  somehow  or  other 
had  found  himself,  by  some  secret  agency, 
which  he  could  not  guess  (it  was  the  kind  old 
man  toiling  for  him  in  silence),  pushed  forward 
steadily,  and  appointed  to  oflices  of  confidence 


216 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


and  trust,  as  they  arose  in  the  due  progress  of 
his  career.  A  convention  to  nominate  a  mayor 
for  the  city  of  New  York,  was  soon  to  be  held 
and  assembled  at  Fogfire  hall ;  a  delegate  to  this 
he  was  likewise  appointed.  Prompt  in  the  per- 
formance of  all  his  duties  of  this  nature.  Puffer 
only  waited  for  the  evening  of  its  gathering  to 
make  his  way  to  the  hall.  The  night  was 
somewhat  stormy,  and  the  streets  were  muffled 
and  shrouded  in  mist,  but  this  did  not  prevent 
its  being  quite  apparent  that  something  more 
than  usual  was  afbot  at  Fogfire  hall. 

Brighter  lights  streamed  through  the  tap- 
room windows  as  he  approached;  a  din  of 
voices  was  heard  issuing  forth  and  silencing 
the  turmoil  of  the  street,  whenever  the  door 
opened ;  and  quick  feet  hurried  in  and  out,  and 
kept  up  a  constant  commotion  at  the  door.  The 
tap-room — at  all  times  a  resort  of  gossips  and 
talkers — swarmed  with  politicians  and  quid- 
nuncs, some  of  whom  were  gathered  in  knots, 
from  which  a  gusty  voice  would  spring  up  every 
now  and  then  above  all  others,  and  then  subside 
again  ;  some  walking  the  room  in  couples,  arm- 
in-arm  at  a  hurried  pace ;  some  lounging  about 
easily,  with  sticks  in  their  hands  from  group  to 
group,  and  others,  dropping  off  from  the  knots 
of  loud  talkers,  would  saunter  to  the  bar,  and 
arraying  themselves  in  front  of  a  long  round 
pole — a  liberty-pole  shaved  down  and  shod  at 
either  end  with  brass — replenished  the  thirsty 
spirit  without  stint.  The  air  of  the  place  was 
close  and  odorous,  and  every  man's  face  was 
flushed  and  wore  a  burnt  and  heated  look,  as  if 
the  tap-room  lay  directly  in  the  fiery  zone. 
Through  this  torrid  region  Puffer  passed,  recog- 
nising a  friend  or  two  by  the  way,  and  pausing 
for  a  grasp ;  and  emerging  at  a  side  door  upon 
the  hall,  ascended  a  flight  of  stairs  and  was 
presently  in  the  committee-room. 

The  delegates  there  assembled  in  great  num- 
bers, stood  about  the  floor  talking  in  groups, 
and  growing  red  and  excited  as  they  plunged, 
by  degrees,  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  topics  of 
discourse.  In  a  few  minutes,  when  the  room 
was  quite  full  and  the  hubbub  at  its  height,  a 
pale  man  in  whiskers  stood  up  at  the  other  end 
of  the  apartment,  holding  his  hat  in  one  hand 
and  knocking  with  the  knuckes  of  the  other, 
with  great  vehemence,  on  a  table  at  his  side. 
This  sound  caused  a  sudden  silence,  and  the 
members  wheeling  about  in  a  body,  contempla- 
ted any  further  movement  on  the  part  of  the 
pale  man  in  whiskers,  with  great  interest ; 
which  united  gaze  the  pale  man  met  with  an- 
other quite  as  bold  and  decided,  and,  drawing  a 
deep  breath,  he  nominated,  in  a  loud  voice,  Mr. 
Epaminondas  Cobb,  as  chairman  of  the  com- 
mittee; which  was  unanimously  acceded  to; 
then  a  couple  of  secretaries ;  then  a  door-keep- 
er ;  all  of  whom  with  due  ceremony  assumed 
their  respective  stations,  and  the  committee 
was  organized  and  in  session. 

Then  Mr.  Epaminondas  Cobb,  who  was  a 
short  brick-complexioned  gentleman,  with  dim 
eyes,  and  a  pair  of  stout  silver  spectacles 


astride  a  dignified,  but  by  no  means  massive 
nose — stood  up  and  asked  them  if  it  was  their 
further  pleasure  to  proceed  to  the  nomination 
of  a  mayor  for  the  city  and  county  of  New 
York  ?  To  which  question  no  response  being 
given,  it  was  concluded  (the  chief  wisdom  of 
public  bodies  in  such  cases  lying  in  the  obser- 
vance of  profound  silence)  it  was ;  and  they 
accordingly  entered  at  once  upon  the  exciting 
and  engrossing  business  of  nomination. 

Candidates  were  forthwith  put  in  nomination 
by  members  with  great  rapidity ;  some  were 
merely  named ;  others  proclaimed  and  sustained 
and  advocated  at  length,  in  formal  harangues. 
There  was  one  committee-man,  a  little  shrun- 
ken dried-up  gentleman,  who  was  up  and 
down  every  five  minutes,  with  a  speech  in  ad- 
vocacy of  the  extraordinary  and  unquestionable 
claims  of  Thomas  Cutbill,  butcher;  the  said 
Thomas  Cutbill  being  the  great  man  of  his 
neighborhood,  the  good  Samaritan  of  his  ward ; 
and,  furthermore,  a  luminous  expounder  to  the 
delight  of  the  little  committee-man  and  a  knot 
of  cronies,  of  profound  political  doctrine,  at  a 
familiar  bar  or  coffee-room,  where  Mr.  Cutbill 
condescended  to  be  present  of  a  Wednesday 
night  and  take  a  hand  in  backgammon  or  other 
intricate  games,  there  going  forward. 

"  I  knows  Thomas  Cutbill,"  said  his  cham- 
pion, "  and  his  claims  is  decided ;  pig  lead  isn't 
surer.  A  benevolenter  gentleman  and  a  more 
popular  one  was  never  known.  To  Mr.  Cutbill 
the  people  was  indebted  for  the  new  fish-mar- 
ket ;  and  asking  who  it  was  that  invented  the 
mode  of  ringing  alarms  by  districts,  he'd  beg 
leave  of  the  committee  to  say  Cutbill  was  the 
man  !  Cutbill  had  been  vilified,  but  there  never 
was  a  nicer  man  to  the  poor,  a  more  lovely 
friend  of  the  pauper,  than  that  aggravated  in- 
dividual. He  was  proud  of  Mr.  Cutbill.  Mr. 
Cutbill  should  have  his  vote  !" 

When  the  little  champion  had  uttered  this 
vindication  something  like  half-a-dozen  times, 
a  very  mild  gentleman  remarked,  that  what  the 
gentleman  opposite  had  said  was  true  enough ; 
Mr.  Cutbill  was  a  very  benevolent  and  worthy 
individual,  for  he  had  to  his  knowledge,  on 
several  occasions  arrested  lads,  ragged  and  un- 
clean lads,  in  the  street,  and  advised  them — in 
good  faith  advised  them,  laying  his  hand  kind- 
ly upon  their  heads — to  go  home  and  wash  their 
faces,  and  put  on  clean  clothes  !  What  had 
the  gentlemen  of  the  committee  to  say  to  that  ? 

On  another  occasion  he  had  known  Mr.  Cut- 
bill  lift  a  poor  woman  out  of  the  gutter,  take 
her  by  the  arm  and  lead  her  directly  into  a  re- 
spectable neighboring  house,  seat  her  on  a  sofa 
in  the  front  parlor,  and  call  out,  with  a  vehe- 
mence worthy  of  himself  and  the  charitable  ob- 
ject he  had  in  view,  for  a  jug  of  hot  negus  im- 
mediately, and  if  that  couldn't  be  had,  for  half 
a  dozen  of  Seville  oranges,  for  the  poor  lady. 
Wasn't  that  man  worthy  of  their  suffrages,  he 
would  like  to  know  ? 

Just  as  this  speaker  was  concluding  there 
entered  the  committee-room  in  great  state,  a 


H 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


217 


gpntleman  enveloped  in  a  long  brown  overcoat, 
buttoned  to  the  chin ;  an  ample  bandanna 
muffling  his  lower  features,  and  his  head  carried 
erect.  He  entered  in  a  straight  line,  aimed  for 
a  blank  corner  of  the  room,  looking  about  as  if 
surprised  that  the  committee  could  be  in  session 
and  he  not  there — attaining  which,  he  cast  off 
his  over-coat,  unmuffled  his  chin,  and  rising  at 
once  bolt-upright  in  his  place,  proceeded  to  de- 
liver himself  of  his  sentiments,  first  taking  his 
hat  by  either  rim  and  fixing  it  on  more  firmly 
than  ever. 

"  A  single  case  was  nothing  this  way  or  that," 
said  the  new  comer,  "  did  Mr.  Cutbill  make  it 
a  habit,  he  would  like  to  know,  to  send  ragged 
boys  home  for  clean  clothes  ?     Did  he  go  about 
encouraging  them  to  dismiss  their  broken  gar- 
meats  ?  that  was  the  point.     Was  or  was  not 
Mr.  Cutbill  privately  associated,  in  interest,  in 
some  clothing  or  ready-made   linen  establish- 
ment ?     Was  Mr.  Cutbill  a  tall  man  or  a  short 
man  ?     Did  he  wear  red  vestings  or  white  ? 
Was  he  lean-featured  or  rubicund  ?     He  would 
not  vote   for   any   man   as  candidate  for  the : 
mayoralty  of  this  great  city  until  he  knew  his  | 
person,  his  principles,  his  private  habits,  to  a  i 
hair — to  an  inch  !     He  might  as  well  tell  the  i 
committee  at  once  that  he  had  his  eye  on  a ! 
gentleman  that  would  make  the  very  candidate  : 
they  wanted.     On  reflection,  the  gentleman  al- 
luded to  had  differed  from  the   community  in  i 
some  slight  particulars  ;  he  was  a  man  in  years,  i 
of  a  very  venerable  appearance,  but  somehow  \ 
or  other  had  fancied  that  all  his  grand-children 
were   vinegar-cruets,   and   tried   to   unstoppel 
them  by  screwing  their  heads  off.  This  had  oc- 
casioned his  going  into  the  country  for  a  time, 
and  this  would,  perhaps,  prevent  his  running  at 
the  approaching  election." 

Opposite  this  speaker  sat  a  thin,  thoughtful 
gentleman,  rather  grotesquely  habited  in  a  red 
vest,  which  wrapped  him  round  like  a  great 
Mohawk  blanket,  who  watched  what  fell  from 
him,  touching  the  eccentric  candidate,  with  ex- 
traordinary interest. 

The  other  was  no  sooner  seated,  than  this 
individual  stared  to  his  feet,  and  stared  wildly 
about. 

"  The  man  he  desired  to  see  presiding  over 
the  destinies  of  this  vast  metropolis,  was  the 
very  one  that  Mr.  Fishblatt  had  just  mentioned; 
but  he  couldn't  be  had  !  Who  then  should  it  be  ? 
Not  the  Cham  of  Tartary,  he  was  quite  sure: 
not  the  Imaura  of  Muscat,  nor  the  King  of  the 
Pele  w  islands.  He  must  be  honest ;  honest  by  all 
means.  He  must  be  in  favor  of  the  largest  lib- 
erty— boundless  liberty,  he  might  say ;  also  op- 
posed to  all  private  rights.  He  wanted  a  man 
in  favor  of  all  colors — of  no  color  himself.  In  a 
word,  he  must  be  opposed  entirely  to  the  present 
condition  of  things ;  but  what  condition  of  things 
he  must  be  in  favor  of  he  (the  speaker)  wouldn't 
at  present  undertake  to  decide.  This  is  no  mu- 
sical forest,"  concluded  the  gifted  declaimer, 
reiterating  sentiments  he  had  expressed  many 
times  before,  but  more  particularly  to  our  know- 


ledge on  Puffer's  introduction  to  the  Bottom 
Club.  "  This  is  no  musical  forest,  no  Hindoo 
hunter's  hut,  got  up  for  efiect  at  the  amphithe- 
atre. We  haven't  trees  here  alive  with  real 
birds  ! — the  branches  laden  with  living  mon 
keys  ! — the  fountains  visited  by  long-legged  fla- 
mingoes ! — the  green-sward  covered  with  ga- 
zelles, grazing  and  sporting  !  Oh,  no  !  we  are 
a  mere  caucus  of  plain  citizens,  in  our  every- 
day dresses,  sitting  in  this  small  room,  on  rough 
benches,  to  reorganize  society  by  giving  it  a 
new  mayor,  worthy  of  ourselves  !"  And  there- 
upon the  illustrious  chairman  of  the  Bottom 
Club  sat  down. 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  powerful  and  majes- 
tic efibrt,  the  committee  might  have  laughed, 
had  they  not  reflected  that  the  speaker  con- 
trolled a  couple  of  hundred  votes  or  so — the 
disciples  and  dependants  of  the  Bottom  Club — 
and  they,  therefore,  on  the  contrary,  looked  ex- 
tremely grave  and  respectful. 

Candidates  now  began  to  be  proclaimed  by 
the  score ;  sometimes  they  were  let  slip — one 
by  one  in  quick  succession — then  half  a  dozen 
propounders  would  rise  and  discharge  their 
names  among  the  committee  in  a  body.  The 
chairman  was  constantly  up  shouting  order; 
and  whenever  a  pause  occurred,  some  member 
or  other  would  spring  to  his  legs  and  call  their 
attention  to  the  undoubted  claims,  the  unsur- 
passed, unequalled,  and  unrivalled  services  of 
the  Smith  or  Brown  whom  he  happened  to  ad- 
vocate. 

At  length,  after  a  great  number  of  ballotings, 
and  a  great  variety  of  fortune,  the  contest  was 
narrowed  to  two  candidates ;  upon  these  the 
divided  members  of  the  convention  pitched  their 
whole  strength,  and,  stripping  tliemselves  to 
a  final  rencontre,  they  respectively  entered 
upon  the  public  and  private  history  of  the  gen- 
tlemen in  question,  with  a  minuteness  and 
eagerness  of  biographical  ardor  quite  astonish- 
ing. 

One  of  these  was  Mr.  Bluff,  a  wholesale 
grocer ;  the  other.  Gallipot,  a  retail  painter. 
Mr.  Bluff  was  a  stout,  comely  gentleman ;  Gal- 
lipot, thin  and  livid,  as  became  his  trade.  Mr. 
Bluff  leaned  toward  the  elegant  and  ornate  in 
dress ;  Gallipot  to  the  vernacular  and  home- 
spun. Mr  Egbert  Bluff  exercised  his  whole- 
sale ingenuity  in  disposing  of  pipes,  punch- 
eons, casks,  and  merchandise  in  gross ;  while 
the  revenues  of  Gallipot  accrued  from  the  em- 
bellishment, by  retail,  of  the  houses  of  the  mid- 
dle-class, the  adornment  of  tradesmen's  boards, 
and  the  displays  of  professional  literature  on 
attorneys'  signs.  Mr.  Bluff,  the  master  of  every 
elegant  accomplishment,  from  the  delicate 
swaying  of  a  cane,  up  to  the  cock  of  a  hat  and 
the  proper  wearing  of  a  ruffle — belonged  to  the 
Ionian  order  of  candidates  ;  Gallipot,  rough  in 
dress,  blunt  of  speech,  rude  of  grasp,  was  of 
the  sterner  Doric. 

The  two  candidates,  so  contrasted,  stood 
palpably  before  the  mind's  eye  of  the  commit- 
tee ;  and  it  was  their  present  and  immediate 


218 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


duty  to  determine,  not  the  separate  value  of 
each  of  their  qualities  in  itself;  but  their  ag- 
gregate influence  in  either  candidate  on  the 
community,  and  their  value  when  translated  in 
good  current  votes. 

How  many  streets — how  many  blocks, 
squares,  wards,  could  they  respectively  com- 
mand ?  All  they  had  done  through  many  years 
of  struggle  and  endeavor  in  their  various  call- 
ings, for  they  were  both  men  in  middle-life, 
was  now  to  be  nicely  weighed  against  ballots, 
little  talismanic  papers — the  secret  prescrip- 
tions of  the  public  acting  as  the  physician ;  the 
whole  life  of  each  to  be  tallied  off  against  so 
many  of  these  mystic  counters. 

«  As  for  Mr.  Bluff,"  said  Mr.  Fishblatt,  who 
was  always  the  first  to  deliver  his  views  on  the 
topic  before  the  committee,  "  I  beg  to  know 
whether  it  is  true,  as  I  am  informed,  he  is  the 
gentleman  that  wears  a  lepine  watch  with  five 
jewels  ?  Before  receiving  an  answer  to  this, 
I  would  inquire  whether  Mr.  Bluff  keeps  a  car- 
riage, with  a  black  footman  in  a  silver-buck- 
led hat  and  white  cambric  pocket-handkerchief? 
Also,  could  any  member  of  the  committee  in- 
struct him  whether  Mr.  Bluff's  pew  was  lined 
with  red  damask  and  fastened  with  copper 
tacks,  rotten-stoned  every  Saturday  morning  by 
one  of  his  servants,  privily  admitted  to  the 
church  ?  Mr.  Bluff  might  dress  his  children 
in  scalloped  collars  and  laced  pantalettes — the 
children  of  a  public  man  did  not  always  belong 
to  the  public  (although  he  sometimes  made  it 
a  present  of  them  when  he  died),  bat  what 
business  had  Mr.  Bluff  to  put  two  stone  dogs 
on  his  stoop  ?  If  they  had  been  lions,  he  (Mr. 
Fishblatt)  n^ight  have  forgiven  him ;  two  great 
roaring,  open-mouthed  lions ;  even  a  pair  of 
elephants.  These  were  noble  animals.  But  dogs! 
Had  any  gentleman  of  the  committee  kept  a  di- 
ary of  Mr.  Bluff's  doings  for  the  past  fifteen 
years  ?  Was  any  one  prepared  to  say  what 
had  been  his  private  and  personal  habits  du- 
ring that  time  ?  If  not,  the  committee  were 
entering  upon  a  most  solemn  and  important 
business,  with  very  imperfect  materials  in  their 
hands.  He  had  heard  that  there  had  been  a 
lurking  committee,  of  five  or  more,  to  institute 
a  watch  upon  Mr.  Bluff;  to  have  an  eye  upon 
all  he  did  and  said  from  the  first  moment  he 
was  contemplated  as  a  candidate.  Where  was 
that  committee  ?  They  had  followed  him  (Mr. 
Bluff),  he  had  been  informed  in  confidence,  for 
more  than  two  weeks  ;  knew  all  his  opinions, 
as  expressed  in  various  places  of  public  and 
private  resort.  Mr.  Fishblatt  would  like  to  see 
their  minutes.  He  had  been  told  that  Mr.  Bluff 
had  been  measured,  in  all  the  past  fortnight, 
for  two  new  coats,  and  a  new  double  vest  of 
black  velvet.  What  was  the  meaning  of  this  ?" 

Mr.  Fishblatt  had  spoken  in  his  hat,  which 
he  insisted  on  in  despite  the  remonstrance  of 
the  brick-complexioned  chairman,  as  being 
more  formidable,  and  more  according  to  strict 
congressional  method,  when,  at  this  juncture, 
occasioiied  hy  the  loud  and  peremptory  character 


of  his  oratory  or  from  some  other  adequate  cause, 
a  brass  trumpet,  fixed  against  the  ceiling,  was 
dislodged,  and  striking  Mr.  Fishblatt  on  the 
crown,  buried  him  to  the  eyes.  Before  he  could 
fairly  emerge  from  this  sudden  midnight  and 
renew  his  appeal,  another  speaker  had  posses- 
sion of  the  floor. 

"  He  had  satisfied  himself,"  this  was  a  gentle- 
j  man  of  a  very  nice  and  accurate  turn  of  mind — 
j  "  of  the  exact  number  of  three-story  brick  tene- 
i  ments  in  the  city  and  county  of  New  York. 
He  wouldn't  say  how  many  there  were,  because 
I  he  knew,  and  that  was  enough.  Every  brick 
tenement  had  its  own  voters — say  three  to  each : 
very  good.  Around  these  were  scattered  a 
great  many  low-roofed  wooden  buildings. 
Three-stories  was  always  commanding.  Every 
three-story,  that  was  his  view,  would  carry 
three  frame-houses  with  it  to  the  polls.  There 
was  a  calculation,  and  if  Mr.  Bluff  wasn't  the 
man,  he  had  no  more  to  say  !" 

And  so  this  calculating  prodigy  sat  down. 

"  Will  the  committee  be  cautious,"  followed 
a  dark-looking  member,  with  a  low  forehead, 
from  which  a  shock  of  jet-black  hair  bristled 
and  stood  straight  up,  and  a  very  harsh  voice, 
"  will  they  look  out  what  they're  at  ?  Gallipot's 
a  painter;  there's  no  objection  to  that.  He's 
a  working  man,  and  rolls  back  his  sleeves  when 
he's  on  a  job.  He  has  a  right.  Peleg  Gallipot's 
a  popular  man — who  says  he  isn't  ?  What's 
the  matter  then  ?  I  know  what's  the  matter — 
Gallipot,  this  Peleg  Gallipot  afore  the  commit- 
tee, had  lately  painted  a  Presbyterian  church ! 
There  was  a  snag ;  get  over  it  if  you  can !" 

To  tell  the  truth,  this  was  a  snag ;  the  friends 
of  Gallipot  felt  that  it  was,  and,  for  a  time,  the 
Bluffites  had  it  all  their  own  way.  Here  were 
the  religious  prejudices  of  the  community,  by  a 
single  act  of  the  unfortunate  Gallipot,  arrayed 
in  deadly  hostility  against  him  ;  all  the  other 
sects  would  go  against  him  to  a  man.  Galli- 
pot liad,  in  some  unhappy  moment  of  profes- 
sional hallucination,  painted  a  Presbyterian 
church.  In  this  state  of  affairs  the  question 
was  about  to  be  put. 

"  Hold  a  minute,  my  excellent  friends,"  said 
the  very  mild  gentleman  who  had  spoken  once 
before.  "  Mr.  Grallipot  wishes  to  get  upon  his 
legs,  and  I  hope  you  will  allow  him  a  chance. 
They  need  have  no  fears — they  might  put  their 
minds  at  rest  at  once  about  a  religious  antip- 
athy to  Mr.  Gallipot.  It  was  true,  and  he  felt 
it  his  duty  to  confess  it,  Mr.  G.  had  painted  a 
Presbyterian  church  a  short  time  ago ;  it  was 
also  true,  and  he  felt  great  pleasure  in  being 
able  to  make  the  statement,  Mr.  G.  was  now 
also  under  contract  to  paint  an  Episcopal 
church,  also  a  Quaker  meeting-house,  also  a 
Unitarian  chapel.  There  was  an'antidote ;  and 
now,  the  soonei"  they  went  into  an  election,  the 
better  he  and  other  friends  of  the  poor  man's 
candidate  (as  he  would  venture  to  call  his 
worthy  friend)  would  like  it !" 

Notwithstanding  another  last  desperate  at- 
tempt on  the  part  of  Mr.  Cutbill's  champion  to 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


Z^ 


press  thi  claims  of  that  philanthropist  on  their 
attention,  they  did  go  into  an  election,  and 
Gallipot  was  the  man.  The  announcement  of 
this  result  was  hailed  by  the  friends  of  Galli- 
pot in  the  committee,  with  shouts  and  stamping; 
and  as  soon  as  it  was  made  known  below, 
where  they  had  been  kept  throughout  the  eve- 
ning in  a  state  of  feverish  excitement  by  the 
contradictory  reports  of  various  members,  who 
had  dropped  down  into  the  tap-room  from  time 
to  time,  by  similar  demonstrations. 

During  all  these  deliberations,  harangues, 
and  ballotings  of  the  convention,  Puffer,  under 
judicious  advisement,  had  refrained  from  any 
public  expression  of  his  opinions ;  but,  as  an 
offset  to  this  inactivity,  had  gone  about  the 
committee-room  and  declared  himself  privately, 
separately,  and  apart,  to  each  member,  in  be- 
half of  his  candidate,  and  had  taken  great 
pains,  when  it  came  to  a  final  and  decisive  bal- 
lot, to  cast  his  vote — and  to  have  it  so  known 
by  his  friends,  in  favor  of  Gallipot,  the  strong- 
est man.  When  the  committee  was  dismissed, 
to  avoid  troublesome  questionings  or  reproach- 
es. Puffer  escaped  as  swiftly  as  he  could,  not 
even  tarrjing  to  interchange  a  word  with  Mr. 
Halsey  Fishblatt,  who,  somewhat  discomfited 
by  the  sudden  rebuff  he  had  met,  pushed  his 
way,  as  stately  as  ever,  through  the  crowd  in 
the  bar-room,  not  deigning  speech  or  recognition 
to  a  solitary  soul. 

Did  no  thought  of  the  kind  old  man  enter 
Puffer's  mind  as  he  departed  from  Fogfire  hall? 
No  thought  of  the  first  strange  interview,  the 
kind  counsel,  the  anxious  look  ?  It  did ;  and 
Puffer  dwelt  upon  it  till  it  all  rose  up  anew  be- 
fore him,  bright  and  fresh  as  the  reality.  Out 
of  the  past — the  brief  but  eventful  interval — 
the  old  man  came  shambling  forth  with  the  old 
gait,  the  sidelong  demeanor,  the  one  eye  closed 
and  the  other  fixed  upon  him.  He  walked  by 
Puffer's  side  all  the  way  home  to  the  Fork ; 
and  when  sleep  and  darkness  again  closed 
upon  him,  again  the  little  paralytic  crossed  and 
re-crossed  before  him  in  tears  and  laughter; 
and  was,  finally  lost  in  a  deep  gloom,  which 
compassed  him  in  and  shut  him  from  the  sight. 


CHAPTER  XVH. 

CERTAIN    DISTINGUISHED    PERSONS    NEGOTIATE 
WITH   THE   NEWSBOYS. 

The  two  parties,  it  was  now  quite  obvious, 
were  rapidly  approaching  the  field  of  encounter. 
Both  were  on  the  alert  for  recruits ;  busy  at  the 
drum,  keeping  up  such  uproar  as  they  could ; 
summoning  meetings  ;  despatching  spies  to  the 
opposite  camp ;  in  a  word,  availing  themselves 
of  every  opening  to  obtain  an  advantage  over 
the  adversary.  Among  other  schemes,  it  was 
thought  expedient  to  secure,  as  early  as  possible, 
the  services  of  a  corps  of  bold,  active,  and 
ready-witted  bill-posters,  who  would  not  only 


come  in  aid  of  tbe  Bottom  Club  and  other  fra- 
ternities of  that  class,  in  laying  waste  and  rav- 
aging the  enemy's  placards,  but  also  serve,  by 
their  ingenuity  and  vigor,  to  give  prominence 
and  conspicuous  display  to  their  own  calls  and 
handbills. 

On  this  service  Mr.  Fishblatt  and  Puffer 
Hopkins,  as  combining  great  readiness  of  in- 
vention, with  handsome  powers  of  persuasion, 
were  named ;  and  Puffer,  accordingly,  one  eve- 
ning called  by  appointment  on  his  associate,  to 
set  out  with  liim  on  the  performance  of  this  del- 
icate  duty. 

Mr.  Fishblatt  was  discovered,  as  might  per- 
haps have  been  expected,  in  his  high-backed 
chair,  in  nearly  the  same  attitude  as  before, 
with  an  immense  newspaper — it  was  larger 
than  the  other,  and  had  sprung  up  in  the  inter- 
val— in  his  outstretched  arms  ;  his  feet  braced 
against  the  wall,  amd  ranging  with  his  eye  up 
and  down  the  long  columns  of  solid  print,  like  a 
dragoon  under  demon aical  possession.  It  was 
a  little  time  before  Puffer's  entrance  caught  his 
attention  ;  but  when  it  did,  he  sprang  suddenly 
to  his  feet,  welcomed  him,  and  spreading  the 
great  sheet  over  a  horse  by  the  fire — which  con- 
trivance he  had  been  driven  upon  by  the  extra- 
ordinary expansion  of  the  weekly  press — said 
he  would  be  ready  in  a  trice. 

'-  A  wonderful  age  this,"  said  Mr.  Fishblatt, 
while  in  the  act  of  enduing  his  long  brown 
overcoat,  "  an  astonishing,  an  immense  age  ;  all 
the  ages  that  have  gone  before  it,  should  be 
counted  as  nothing,  sir,  and  this  year,  this  very 
year  of  our  Lord,  should  be  called  the  year  one. 
We  do  our  ancestors  too  much  honor  by  keep- 
ing any  accounts  with  them.  We  should  cut , 
them  at  once ;  deny  any  knowledge  of  them. 
They  were  a  poor,  mean,  miserable  set  of  sneak- 
ing folio-readers ;  do  you  know  that  ?  The  editor 
of  this  paper,  sir,"  pursued  Mr.  Fishblatt,  grasp- 
ing a  sturdy  stick  that  stood  in  a  corner,  "  is  a 
wonderful  man.  His  sheet  is  two  inches  longer 
and  four  inches  broader  than  any  other  in  the 
country;  he  always  has  news  an  hour  and 
three  quarters  in  advance  of  the  regular  mail ; 
and  he  has  lately — there's  enterprise  for  you — 
purchased  a  small  blood  poney  to  ride  down  to 
the  office  with  his  leaders.  It's  astonishing  to 
think  what  a  popularity  this  man  enjoys ;  he's 
known  from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other, 
and  gives  us  a  half  column  of  notices  of  his 
paper  every  week,  speaking  of  him — him  in- 
dividually— in  the  very  handsomest  terms. 
There's  the  Nauvoo  *  Bludgeon'  says  he  wields 
a  trenchant  and  vigorous  pen — yes  sir,  the 
Nauvoo  *  Bludgeon'  says  that.  Then  the  Poto- 
mac '  Trumpet'  admits  he  has  an  unrivalled 
genius  for  the  more  elegant  species  of  compo- 
sition ;  and  by  the  western  'Thunder-gust,' 
which  has  just  come  in,  I  see  they  allow  him 
<  a  penetrating  eye  and  a  remarkable  talent  for 
journalism.'  He's  a  wonderful  man ;  we  must 
go."  And  forth  they  issued.  They  struck 
through  the  heart  of  the  city  for  the  quarter 
they  were  in  quest  of;  Mr.  Fishblatt,  whenever 


220 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


they  passed  through  an  obscure  street,  unbend- 
ing a  little  and  addressing  his  companion  in  a 
familiar  tone,  but  as  soon  as  ever  they  were 
abroad  again  in  a  great  thoroughfare,  he 
stretched  himself  to  his  fall  stature,  and  march- 
ed forward  very  gravely,  without  so  much  as 
uttering  a  word.  From  the  manner  in  which 
he  wielded  the  cane  that  he  bore  in  his  hand — 
sometimes  twirling  it  about  in  his  fingers,  some- 
times making  a  home-thrust  at  an  imaginary 
object  just  before  him — he  may  have  been  em- 
ployed in  revolving  a  passage  or  two  of  decla- 
mation ;  anyhow,  so  they  walked  on.  An  old 
dingy  building  soon  stood  before  them  and  they 
knew  they  had  reached  their  destination.  The 
quarter  in  which  they  had  arrived  was  gross, 
squalid,  and  unclean,  and  the  building  itself 
seemed  a  natural  production  of  the  soil,  and  not 
the  work  of  human  hands.  A  broad  gaping 
area  was  there,  in  which  such  other  fungi  of 
the  place  as  broken  quarter-kegs,  stocking- ends, 
and  shattered  hats,  lay  in  heaps  about,  and  into 
this  they  plunged. 

They  descended  a  few  steps,  and,  by  the  aid 
of  a  flickering  lamp,  getting  into  an  unclean 
passage,  the  walls  of  which  were  embellished 
with  numerous  impressions  of  small  hands 
taken  in  primitive  earth,  they  reached  a  door 
from  which  a  great  hubbub  of  voices  and  con- 
fused sounds  constantly  escaped.  Here  they 
entered,  and  found  themselves  in  a  low-roofed 
apartment  lighted  by  various  glittering  and  re- 
splendent reflectors  pinned  against  the  upright 
posts  at  the  side ;  around  the  whole  room  there 
Was  a  narrow  bench,  and  at  the  farther  ex- 
tremity was  a  desk  several  feet  above  the  level 
of  the  floor.  Pufter  and  his  companion  were 
ushered  to  a  place  by  the  side  of  the  desk ;  a 
tall  young  gentleman,  who  seemed  to  act  as 
president,  or  chairman,  stood  up  and  knocked 
on  the  board  before  him,  in  imitation  of  a  popu- 
lar tune,  when  there  came  pouring  in  at  a  side 
passage,  which  Puffer  had  not  at  first  observed, 
a  swarm  of  youths,  of  all  sizes,  ages,  and  com- 
plexions ;  dressed  in  all  possible  varieties  of  ap- 
parel; and  bearing  themselves  with  as  great 
freedom  and  independence  of  demeanor  as  any 
niunber  of  gentlemen  that  could  be  found. 
Many  of  them  bore  in  their  hands  threepenny 
pies,  out  of  which,  from  time  to  time,  they  cut 
a  mouthful ;  many  more  carried  cigars  in  the 
corners  of  their  mouths,  at  which  they  puffed 
with  an  exemplary  vehemence  and  unction.  At 
another  bidding  they  were  all  seated,  or  gather- 
ed in  groups  and  clusters  about  pillars  in  the 
middle  of  the  apartment,  and  pausing  for  a  sea- 
son in  their  respective  labors,  turned  their 
faces  toward  the  tall  chairman. 

"Ge'mmen!"  said  the  chief  of  the  news- 
boys, rising  in  his  place,  having  first  priggishly 
buttoned  his  coat  and  thrust  a  broken  yellow 
handkerchief  in  his  breast,  "  Ge'mmen !"  said 
he,  "  we  all  knows  what  we've  come  here  for 
to-night.  You  know,  Tom  Hurley,  and  Joe 
Shirks,  and  Bill  Gidney,  what  we're  come  here 
for  to  do.    We  all  knows  what  a  low  ebb 


'Mery-kin  literature  had  got  to,  when  we  took 
hold  of  it.  We  all  knows  what  it  is  now — the 
wery  pride  and  ornament  of  the  earth.  I  can 
say  it  of  a  truth,  ge'mmen,  that  Bill  Gidney, 
the  activest  news-boy  in  the  metropolis,  is  a 
honor  to  his  species,  so  is  Joe  Shirks,  and  so 
is  Tom  Hurley.  Where  was  natyve  genius  afore 
we  took  hold  of  it  ?  it  was  a  bud  in  the  worm, 
a  undeveloped  onion.  What's  the  complaint 
now  ?  There's  too  much  genius,  too  much  sur- 
prisin'  talent,  and  keen  obserwation,  and  over- 
powerin'  eloquence.  King  Solomon  and  the 
greasy  wise  men  'ud  be  ashamed  o'  themselves 
if  they  only  knew  Mr.  Flabby,  what  edits  the 
'Empty  Puncheon,'  or  Mr.  Busts,  what  con- 
ducts the  'Daily  Bladder,'  or  Mr.  Bloater, 
what  writes  four-horse  leaders  for  the  'Junk 
Bottle,'  but  what's  going  to  be  the  head  man  of 
the  new  and  interestin'  paper  called  the  '  Mam- 
moth Mug.'  That'll  be  a  remarkable  paper, 
gemmen,  depend  on  it !  The  uncommon  quan- 
tity of  brains  put  into  that  newspaper  will 
be  mere  waste ;  it'll  be  a  extravagant  usin' 
up  o'  the  human  intellect.  For  myself,  ge'm- 
men, if  you  ask  my  views  of  liter-a-toor,  I 
don't  hesitate  to  say,  in  one  sense  o'  the  word, 
excuse  the  expression,  it's  nothin'  but  a  power- 
ful combination  o'  rags  and  brass  ;  by  which  I 
means  to  say  it  takes  a  uncommon  quantity  o' 
rags  to  make  the  paper  out  of,  and  it  takes  a 
uncommon  sight  o'  brass  and  courage  to  make 
the  paper  full  o'  reading  matter.  Now  what's 
our  duty  ?  Shall  we  give  the  cause  of  natyve 
genius  the  go-by ;  a  sort  of  a  wink  to  a  blind 
horse,  instead  of  a  nice  nod  of  encouragement  ? 
As  long  as  we  can  make  twenty-five  off  a  hun- 
dred, and  lunches,  shall  we  give  it  up  ?" 

Here  the  speaker  was  interrupted  by  a  ter- 
rific and  general  cry  of  "  No,  no."  "  Carry 
that  man  to  Bellewue,  he's  lost  his  wits  !" 

It  was  quite  obvious  that  his  excellency,  the 
chairman,  was  prepared  still  further  to  thrill 
and  enlighten  them  with  his  peculiar  eloquence; 
but  at  this  stage  of  the  proceedings  there  came 
into  the  meeting,  pushing  his  way  through  the 
news-boys,  with  the  most  easy,  natural,  and 
serene  self-possession,  a  stout,  blustering  fel- 
low, with  great  staring  eyes — not  altogether 
ill-looking  either — a  red  neckerchief  about  his 
throat,  a  frock-coat  flaunting  from  his  side,  his 
hair  in  disorder,  and  his  countenance  beaming 
with  a  broad  unrestrained  expression  of  assu- 
rance and  conceit.  This  was  an  editor.  It 
was  Piddleton  Bloater  himself;  and  Piddleton 
Bloater,  the  mighty,  the  immense,  the  im- 
measurable, had  come  to  bargain  with  the 
news-boys  to  take  an  interest  in  a  new  journal 
in  which  he  was  about  to  embark  his  magnifi- 
cent talents. 

"  The  new  paper  to  be  issued  on  Saturday 
morning,"  said  Mr.  Bloater,  looking  gigantic, 
so  as  to  overawe  the  juvenile  gentry  before  him, 
"  will  be  the  completest  paper  ever  published ; 
eight  feet  square,  honest  measure;  illustrated 
by  the  most  splendid  wood-cuts,  head-pieces, 
tail-pieces,  and  so  forth,  by  the  most  celebrated 


r 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


^% 


artists.  Correspondents  in  every  quarter  of  the 
world.  We  have  already  engaged  Commission- 
er Lin  for  the  Chinese  department;  President 
Boyer,  of  Hayti,  does  the  African  branch.  The 
board  of  directors  of  the  N.  Y.  Gas  company 
are  retained  as  regular  contributors.  Mr.  Bui- 
finch  Twaddle  will  furnish  a  poem  to  every 
number.  We  expect  to  have  a  circulation  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  by  the  end  of 
the  present  year ;  in  fact  we  have  it  already, 
although  they  haven't  all  paid  in  yet.  We  in- 
tend to  make  the  '  Mug'  the  most  remarkable 
journal  of  the  day.  The  '  Mug'  must  go.  Don't 
all  speak  at  once  !" 

Here  the  orator  produced  from  his  coat-pocket 
a  great  red  handkerchief,  the  duplicate  segment 
of  that  about  his  neck,  which  he  unfurled  with 
a  flourish,  and  disclosed  before  the  gaze  of  the 
assembled  news-boys,  the  words  «  The  Mam- 
moth Mug — Edited  by  Piddleton  Bloater, 
Esq.,"  wrought  thereon  in  portentous  capitals. 
This  movement  was  hailed  with  a  cheer,  and 
as  he  waved  it  about  his  head,  and  reddened  in 
the  face  by  the  exertion,  the  cheers  grew  in 
energy  and  emphasis. 

"  But,  gentlemen,"  continued  Mr.  Bloater, 
when  the  enthusiasm  had  a  little  abated,  sink- 
ing his  voice  to  an  awful  whisper,  "•  there's  a 
secret  I've  got  to  disclose  that  will  astonish  j 
you.     Prepare  yourselves.     Brace  up,  and  hold  i 
fast  of  each  other.     Rum-fusti,  the  patriarch  of  | 
Jerusalem,  is  employed  to  write   an   entirely  | 
original  continuous  tale  for  the  'Mug;'  to  be 
contributed  exclusively  to  the  'Mug'  and  to  no 
other  paper !" 

This  had  a  fine  sounding  style,  and  the  news- 
boys, from  the  very  circumstance  of  not  appre- 
hending it  very  thoroughly,  cheered  and  shout- 
ed more  heartily  than  ever.  With  this  tremen- 
dous announcement  Mr.  Piddleton  Bloater 
paused,  and  taking  a  note-book  from  his  pocket 
said  he  was  ready  for  orders,  but  hoped  they 
would  restrain  themselves,  and  not  come  on  too 
fast. 

"Eight  feet  square,  that's  ever  so  many 
thousand  surface  inches !"  said  Master  Tom 
Hurley,  a  pale  faced  news-boy  apparelled  in  a 
long  tailed  coat  with  metal  buttons.  "  I'm 
death  for  the  '  Mug,'  Mr.  Bloater.  I'll  cut  the 
'  Empty  Puncheon,'  and  take  a  hundred  '  Mugs' 
to  start  with." 

"  The  Puncheon  !  How  in  the  name  of  Heav- 
en could  any  one  patronize  that  miserable  abor- 
tion !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bloater.  "  Flabby's  a  poor 
withered  alligator,  and  the  Puncheon  a  mere 
'pothecary's  show-bottle,  that  shines  a  mile  or 
two  off,  but's  nothing  after  all  but  colored  wa- 
ter, and  that  not  fit  to  drink." 

"  If  Rum  Buster  out  o'  Noah's  ark  writes  for 
the  first  number,"  said  Master  Gidney,  a  small, 
corpulent,  jolly-looking  fellow,  in  a  roundabout 
and  tasselled  cap,  grinning  and  speaking  up  as 
he  cocked  it  on  his  brow,  "  I'll  cut  in  for  a 
gross  of  number  one ;  if  I  seed  his  Tale's  name 
in  big  letter  on  the  fences,  it  'ud  give  me  con- 


fidence, and  I  might  go  in  for  a  couple  o'  hun- 
dred ;  but  that's  as  many  as  'ud  do,  till  I  have 
a  interview  with  the  fireboard  makers." 

Mr.  Bloater,  not  exactly  understanding  how  a 
privity  of  knowledge  between  the  fireboard 
makers  and  Master  Gidney  could  affect  the  sale 
of  the  Mug,  looked  upon  the  youth  approvingly, 
and  dashed  his  open  palm  upon  his  leg,  crying 
out  that  was  "juicy  and  just  the  thing!" 

"  I  think  Busts,  of  the  '  Daily  Bladder,'  is 
breaking  down,"  interposed  another  news-vend- 
er, in  a  suit  all  shreds  and  patches,  with  an  un- 
clean face,  uncombed  hair  (the  prevailing  fash- 
ion of  the  place),  and  no  covering  to  his  head. 
"  He  writes  all  his  editorials  in  a  cheer  made 
out  of  the  staves  of  a  rum-cask.  He  loves  the 
smell  of  the  thing  wonderfully  ;  and  has  to  be 
j  tied  in  by  the  foreman  while  he's  writin'.  Busts 
writes  a  history  of  his  sprees  over-night  in 
somebody  else's  name,  and  that  fills  up  the  po- 
lice head.  I'll  take  fifty  'Mugs,'  fresh  and 
bright  with  the  froth  on." 

"  The  best  thing  you  can  do,  my  lad !"  cried 
Mr.  Bloater,  from  where  he  stood,  smiling. 
"I'hat  Busts  is  a  poor  miserable  wretch ;  a  vi- 
per in  the  uniform  of  the  rifle  brigade,  and  he 
kills  character  by  the  platoon.  They  call  Busts 
a  keen  observer  of  life !  so  he  is,  of  animal- 
culse  that  live  in  the  kennel.  There  isn't  a 
viler  wretch  on  the  face  of  the  earth  than  this 
same  Busts,  if  you  except  Flabby,  of  the  '  Emp- 
ty Puncheon  !'  But  how  many  copies  do  you 
take,  Mr,  Chairman  ?"  asked  Mr.  Bloater, 
turning  toward  that  functionary ;  "  I  know  you 
to  be  one  of  the  longest-legged  and  loudest- 
voiced  of  the  society." 

"  That's  a  wery  delicate  question,  sir,"  an- 
swered the  president,  rising  with  dignity,  and 
buttoning  his  coat  calmly  as  he  ascended,  "  a 
wery  delicate  question — unless  I  was  informed 
of  the  principles  the  Mug's  to  be  conducted  on; 
does  it  go  Captain  Kidd  or  the  moral  code  ?" 

"  Captain  Kidd,  decidedly,"  rejoined  Mr.  Pid- 
dleton Bloater.  "  We  shall  pirate  all  foreign 
tales  regularly;  and  where  we  can  purloin 
proof-sheets  shall  publish  in  advance  of  the 
author  himself;  shall  in  all  cases  employ  third- 
rate  native  writers  at  journeyman  cobbler's 
wages,  and  swear  to  their  genius  as  a  matter 
of  business  ;  shall  reprint  the  old  annuals 
and  almanacs,  systematically,  as  select  extracts 
and  facetiae,  and  shall  reproduce  their  cuts  and 
illustrations,  as  new  designs  from  the  burin  of 
Mr.  Tinto,  the  celebrated  engraver." 

"  That'll  do— that'll  do  !"  cried  the  chair- 
man, interrupting  the  speaker.  "  Set  me  down 
for  the  balance  of  the  fust  edition ;  it'll  be  a  fust- 
rate  paper  and  conducted  on  fust-rate  princi- 
ples." 

"  There's  another  thing,"  said  Mr.  Bloater, 
continuing  the  subject,  "  another  thing  to  be 
distinctly  and  clearly  imderstood.  Whoever 
writes  the  chief  article  of  the  Mug  is  to  be  the 
great  writer — the  biggest  penman  in  America, 
for  that  week.    For  instance,  if  it  should  even 


in 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


be  Busts  or  Flabby,  Flabby  is  to  be  advertised 
as  an  angel,  in  large  caps,  and  Busts  as  a  genius 
of  the  first  water." 

« Of  course  !"  cried  the  president,  "  of 
course  !"  echoed  the  newsboys  to  a  man,  who 
understood  this  policy  thoroughly. 

"  With  this  understanding  I'll  say  good  night 
to  you,"  said  Mr.  Bloater,  wiping  his  brow. 
"  I  hope  you'll  be  in  good  voice  for  the  first 
day ;  I'd  suggest  a  little  practice  in  crying  false 
alarms  for  a  night  or  two,  the  length  of  half  a 
dozen  streets." 

"  We  does  that  regularly,"  answered  Master 
Joe  Shirks,  "  and  some  of  us  goes  on  amateur 
duty  as  oyster-boys,  when  shellfish's  in  season, 
and  big  enough  to  cry." 

With  this  satisfactory  assurance,  Mr.  Piddle- 
ton  Bloater  departed,  sounding  the  natural 
tnimpet  of  his  nose  with  all  his  might  as  he 
went. 

"  Who  knows  but  some  of  these  youth," 
asked  Mr.  Fishblatt,  who  had  been  thrown  in- 
to temporary  shade  by  the  presence  of  so  as- 
tounding a  genius,  wheeling  about  and  looking 
Puffer  full  in  the  face,  "may  come  to  serve  their 
country  one  of  these  days  in  the  halls  of  legis- 
lation ?  Who  knows  but  Nature  may  be  un- 
consciously training  in  the  crier  of  a  '  Junk 
Bottle,'  a  future  speaker  of  the  house  ?  or  in 
the  street-shouter  of  the  *  Empty  Puncheon,'  a 
leading  congressional  orator  ?  I  begin  to  think 
it's  the  true  training  for  rhetorical  talent ;  and 
why  should  not  their  ambition  be  turned  in  this 
direction  ?  My  young  friends  and  Mr.  Presi- 
dent," he  continued,  elevating  his  voice,  now 
that  he  was  fairly  roused,  and  falling  back  a 
step  or  two,  "  to  return  to  what  I  was  about  to 
say  when  interrupted  by  Mr.  Bloater,  I  would 
put  it  to  your  patriotism,  whether  you  should 
not  withdraw  for  a  time  from  the  literary  lux 
ury  of  crying  the  news,  and  take  an  active  part 
in  public  afl'airs.  Here  is  a  noble  opportunity 
to  serve  your  country,  my  young  friends  :  don't 
let  it  pass.  Gidney,  and  Shirks,  and  Hurley 
— for  such  I  understand  to  be  the  names  of  some 
of  you — have  now  an  enviable  opportunity  of 
achieving  lasting  glory.  Think  of  it ;  you  may 
save  your  country ;  the  conspicuous  exhibition 
of  a  placard  by  your  ingenuity,  may  draw  to 
the  polls,  say  only  a  single  voter,  that  voter 
casts  for  Gallipot,  and  the  business  is  done. 
Give  up  everything  to  serve  your  country, 
abandon  your  cherished  pursuits,  sacrifice  your 
feelings,  and  endear  yourselves  to  all  the  good 
and  virtuous  and  public-spirited  throughout 
this  great  metropolis — this  mighty  nation  !" 

"  For  my  part,"  responded  Mr.  Gidney,  who 
was  the  first  to  rise, "  I  considers  it  degradin'  for 
a  newsboy  to  become  a  bill-sticker ;  it's  lower- 
in'  oneself  in  the  scale  of  society  and  makin' 
a  object  of  hisself  for  all  future  times  and  gen- 
erations.    The  woice  of  fame  is  agin  it." 

"  You  are  wrong,  my  young  friend,"  contin- 
ued Mr.  Fishblatt,  rising  again,  majestically, 
stretching  out  his  right  hand  and  depositing  it 
on  the  desk  top,  while  he  passed  his  left  behind 


his  person,  and  thrust  it  in  one  of  the  nether 
pockets  of  his  coat.  "  The  vocation  of  a  bill- 
sticker  is  a  highly  honorable  one,  and  admits  of 
a  great  expansion  of  natural  talent.  What 
does  he  do  ?  Why,  Mr.  Chairman,  he  makes 
dumb  walls  and  dead  stones  speak  ;  he  puts  a 
tongue  in  the  old  thirsty  street-pump  ;  and  he 
causes  shutters  and  bulk-heads  to  cry  aloud  and 
shout  out,  at  all  hours,  day  and  night — night 
and  day.  Isn't  that  enough  ?  Where  do  yon 
find  the  bill-sticker  ?  Why,  he's  at  the  bottom, 
the  very  prime  mover  and  getter-up  of  all  pub- 
lic gatherings,  concerts,  lectures,  balloonings, 
ballottings,  packet-sailings,  fairs,  shows,  and 
spectacles.  He's  the  prompter  and  bell-puller 
of  society.  Isn't  this  an  honorable  calling  ? 
Why,  sir,  next  to  the  popular  preacher  and  the 
popular  author,  the  bill-sticker  is  certainly  the 
greatest  benefactor  of  his  race !" 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Fishblatt  had  taken  his  seat, 
after  this  powerful  outbreak,  Master  Joe  Shirks 
rose  to  reply. 

"  We  can't  do  it — no  how,"  said  Master 
Shirks,  addressing  the  chair.  "  We  are  pledged 
contrarywise  to  the  citizens  of  New  York. 
What'll  they  say,  I'd  like  to  know,  when  you, 
Mr.  Chairman,  and  I,  and  Bill  Gidney  here, 
loses  our  voice,  and  cry  no  more  papers  than  if 
we  was  dumb-fish  and  flounders.  Papers  must 
be  cried ;  and  there's  the  extras — who's  to 
know  anything  about  that  'ere  sudden  murder, 
where  a  affectionate  husband  has  chopped  his 
wife  into  tender-loins  with  a  new  broad-axe  ? 
Or  that  'ere  dreadful  case  of  explosion,  where 
the  benevolent  gentleman  has  called  a  tea-par- 
ty over  his  steamboat-boiler,  and  blowed  'em 
all  to  atoms,  with  gitting  the  fun  and  the  jolli- 
fication up  too  high  ?  What's  to  become  of 
these  little  things,  sir,  if  we  go  off  duty  ?  It's 
easy  to  see,  without  a  telyscop,  or  a  constable's 
peepers,  the  city  'ud  have  a  shock  of  the  apo- 
plexy, and  go  into  fits  regularly  till  we  begun 
to  cry  again.  The  newsboys,  sir — and  we  all 
knows  it,  but  we're  too  modest  to  say  it  out  of 
doors — is  the  moral  lamplighters  of  this  'ere 
city.  The  ge'mman  talks  about  public  affairs ; 
that's  a  good  'un,  as  if  we  didn't  keep  the  pub- 
lic mind  straight  about  all  that  'ere  !  If  the  En- 
glishers  go  up  into  the  bowels  of  China,  and 
drink  up  all  the  old  hyson,  that's  been  laid 
away  there,  drying  and  gitting  strength  for  four 
hundred  year,  I  guess  we  knows  it !  What's 
the  use  of  all  our  private  interviews  with  the 
pressmen  and  clerks  about  extras,  if  it  don't 
come  to  that  ?  By  private  advices  we  learns 
that  the  Florida  Indians  all  waded  in  a  body 
into  a  large  swamp,  and  committed  soo-cide  by 
holding  each  other's  heads  under  water,  on  the 
nineteenth  instant ;  where  do  you  get  all  that 
from,  old  fellow  ? — why,  from  newsboy  Tom, 
or  newsboy  Bill,  or  Joe  Shirks,  your  sarvant. 
I'm  agin  the  motion,  Mr.  Cheerman,  and 
move  we  stick  to  our  business  and  lets  every- 
body else  stick  to  theirs !" 

Another  young  gentleman  followed  who 
couldn't  think  of  the  proposition,  as  he  had 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


223 


been  assured,  from  good  sources,  that  there 
were  to  be  four  powerful  extras  issued  in  the 
course  of  the  month,  containing  a  vast  deal  of 
inflammable  information  in  advance  of  all  the 
regular  packets,  steamers,  and  stages ;  and,  for 
his  part,  he  wouldn't  lose  the  chance.  Theatre- 
money  was  low  in  his  pocket,  he  hadn't  seen  a 
mellow-drama  for  a  week,  and  it  was  asking 
too  much  of  him. 

Another  was  willing  to  do  all  he  could  to  for- 
ward the  proposition ;  but  he'd  like  to  know 
why  the  gem'men  didn't  stick  the  bills  himself; 
he  seemed  to  have  good  legs  of  his  own,  and  a 
very  respectable  pair  of  reachers.  At  this  sug- 
gestion the  chairman  cried  "  order,"  and  there 
was  a  general  shout  of  disapprobation  at  the 
line  of  questioning  adopted  by  the  young 
gentleman. 

After  a  pretty  thorough  discussion  of  the  sub- 
ject, when  no  satisfactory  result  seemed  pos- 
sible, the  chairman  himself  arose. 

"  Ge'mmen  !"  said  he,  "  This'll  never  do. 
These  ge'mmen  come  to  us  with  the  very  high- 
est recommendations,  and  from  the  very  most 
respectable  quarters.  We  mustn't  let  'era  go 
away  without  a  lift.  We  can  help  'em,  and 
we  must.  Now  there  is  in  this  very  meeting, 
and  I'm  not  afraid  to  say  it,  certain  young 
gentlemen  that  had  better  go  to  be  bill-stickers 
afore  their  healths  is  ruined  and  entirely  bro- 
ken up.  There's  one  of  us — I  don't  mention 
names,  ge'mmen — that  bursted  his  voice  on  ex- 
tra Junks  last  week ;  he  was  entirely  too  wio- 
lent  on  the  China  question.  His  voice  is  gone. 
Then  there's  another  of  us — you  recollect  him, 
ge'mmen — who  broke  down  (there  was  a  sight 
for  you)  in  the  wery  middle  of  the  street,  with 
a  wery  exciting  number  of  the  '  Puncheon' 
(containing  all  them  pleasant  particulars  about 
the  two  dead  bodies  found  in  a  gen'leman's 
iron  safe)  under  his  arm,  tryin'  to  do  justice  to 
it.  How  many  wictims  of  weto  messages  there 
is  in  this  room  I  wouldn't  like  to  say ;  but  I  do 
know  that  a  weto  message  from  the  presidin' 
chief  of  these  United  States  and  a  influenza,  is 
equally  fatal  to  the  woice  of  the  newsboy. 
Then  there's  you,  Ikey  Larkins,"'  continued  the 
chairman,  addressing  a  lumbering,  overgrown 
fellow  that  stood  shouldering  a  post  in  the  cor- 
ner ;  "  haven't  I  told  you  more  nor  twenty 
times  that  you'r  beyond  the  newsboy  age.  It's 
immoral  of  such  a  weteran  as  you  to  be  cryin' 
papers  about  New  York  streets  ;  don't  you  see 
that  you're  too  big  a  build,  that  your'e  lame  of 
one  leg  and  short  of  an  eye  ;  and  yet  you  will 
keep  hanging  about  the  offices,  and  cutting  in 
as  if  you  was  born  to  the  business.  Ge'mmen, 
let's  give  vMr.  Fishblatt  six  to  begin  with  (Ikey 
Larkins  for  one),  and  throw  'em  in  one  a  day 
as  fast  as  they  break  down.     It's  carried  !" 

And  in  this  summary  way  the  mission  of 
Puffer  Hopkins  and  Mr.  Fishblatt  was  accom- 
plished, and  amid  an  uproar  of  cries,  among 
which  they  heard  above  all  others  "Three 
cheers  for  the  cheer !"  and  "  Ikey  Larkins  is  a 
extra  foolish !"— they  left. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

STRANGE     MATTEB;     PERHAPS    NOT    WITHOUT 
METHOD. 

At  early  morning — the  very  hour,  or  nearly 
so,  when  Puffer  Hopkins  was  holding  an  inter- 
view with  the  two  women — an  aged  figure, 
wild  and  distracted,  wandered  about  the  fields 
beyond  the  city.  His  steps  were  uncertain 
and  his  whole  look  and  action  full  of  confusion 
and  doubt ;  he  seemed  to  be  seeking  something 
that  was  not  to  be  found,  and  wherever  he  cast 
his  eyes,  wondered  that  it  was  not  there. 
Where  he  had  passed  the  night,  God  only 
knows  ;  but  now  that  it  was  morning,  he  came 
abroad,  drenched,  disordered  in  dress,  and 
wavered  and  groped  about  in  the  clear  sunshine 
as  if  it  had  been  mist.  Bewildered  and  with 
troubled  steps,  he  crossed  the  low  hollows  and 
meadows  ;  straggled  more  perplexed  than  ever 
through  a  crowded  orchard;  and  at  length 
stood  on  an  ancient  highway,  the  old  Post 
Road.  The  moment  his  steps  touched  the 
road  they  seemed  on  a  familiar  track ;  his  look 
brightened,  and  with  a  gleaming  countenance 
he  glanced  about,  till  his  eye  fell  on  an  old 
faded  country  house.  What  joyful  and  happy 
gleams  broke  through  the  old  man's  features 
as  he  looked  upon  that  old  faded  house  !  His 
eyes  sparkled,  his  hands  trembled  for  joy,  and 
he  raised  them  up  and  stretched  them  forth  as 
if  he  could  grasp  that  building,  as  a  familiar 
friend,  by  an  outstretched  hand.  Then  the 
brightness  passed  away  from  his  look,  he  was 
deeply  moved,  and  in  his  agitation  could 
scarcely  drag  himself  to  the  spot  where  his 
eyes  were  fixed.  With  trembling  hand  he  lift- 
ed the  latchet  of  the  gate ;  and  as  he  walked 
up  the  path  he  shook  like  one  in  a  spasm. 

Many  times  he  walked  round  and  round  the 
house  before  he  entered.  Then  he  went  to  the 
rear,  raised  a  door  that  led  to  a  ground  cellar, 
and  peered  for  a  long  space  down  into  the 
gloom  of  the  earth  before  he  would  descend. 
Through  heaps  of  lumber,  old  decaying  casks, 
and  other  ancient  fragments,  he  picked  his 
way ;  holding  his  breath  and  spreading  out  his 
arms  before  him.  He  soon  found  stairs  that  led 
into  the  upper  chambers,  and  climbing  these, 
he  was  in  an  apartment  all  dust  and  darkness, 
still  as  death,  barren  and  silent  as  the  grave  it- 
self. He  paused  and  listened,  as  if  he  expect- 
ed the  approach  of  some  well-known  tread ; 
the  greeting,  perhaps,  of  a  familiar  voice.  No 
voice  answered — how  could  it  at  that  lapse  of 
time,  unless  it  had  lingered  in  the  corners  and 
recesses  of  the  chamber,  years  after  its  own- 
er was  laid  in  the  earth  ? 

«  Shall  I  let  the  morning  light  in  upon  all 
these  ?"  said  the  old  man,  who  called  up  in  his 
mind  a  vivid  image  of  all  that  this  chamber^ 
held;  "not  yet;  I  think  I  could  not  bear  it      , 
yet !  I  know  that  broad  day  is  without,"  he  felt  '■ 
it  more  because  of  the  darkness,  «  but  I  dare 
not  let  it  in  this  chamber  yet." 


224 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


With  this  he  moved  about  the  apartment, 
touching  ever)' thing  with  his  hand— gently  and 
kindly  as  a  blind  man,  features  and  faces  he 
would  know — until  he  had  gone  through  every 
article  about  the  room,  save  one,  and  that  was 
a  chair — a  simple,  old-fashioned  armchair,  that 
stood  by  the  hearth.  He  many  times  approach- 
ed this  as  if  he  would  know  it  as  he  had  known 
whatever  else  was  there ;  but  his  heart  gave 
out  and  he  fell  back,  leaning,  in  the  darkness, 
against  whatever  chanced  to  be  nearest. 

Wrought  upon  by  his  own  fancy  and  these 
acts  of  association,  finding  these  many  endeav- 
ors to  no  purpose,  he  rushed  to  a  window,  burst 
its  hasp,  and  casting  its  shutters  wide  back, 
turned  about  and  straining  his  gaze  upon  the 
empty  chair  by  the  hearth,  he  fell  down  like 
one  in  a  fit. 

Recovering,  when  the  mid-day  began  to  pour 
its  warm  beams  into  the  chamber,  he  looked 
about  the  apartment,  dwelling  for  a  long  time 
on  each  object ;  but  when  his  eye  fell  on  a  door 
which  led  into  a  small  chamber  in  one  corner 
of  the  room,  a  change  came  over  his  counte- 
nance, and  he  turned  aside  as  if  he  dared  not 
look  that  way  again.  Presently,  however,  and 
seemingly  moved  thereto  by  some  sudden  im- 
pulse, he  proceeded  to  the  door,  which  was 
closed,  drew  it  open,  and  clutching  the  door-post 
to  hold  him  up,  he  leaned  forward  and  looked 
within.  There  was  nothing  there  but  a  narrow 
truckle-bed  with  a  single  tattered  blanket  upon 
it,  and  the  cords,  such  as  were  visible,  moulder- 
ing and  dragging  upon  the  floor ;  and  yet  what 
a  shuddering  horror  crossed  the  old  man's  face 
as  he  gazed  upon  it,  how  he  trembled  and  bore 
heavily  againsi  the  door-post,  as  if  he  had  been 
smitten  blind  and  helpless  by  the  shock  of  a 
sudden  blow. 

He  could  neither  enter  nor  retire,  but  stood 
there  like  one  rooted  to  the  earth.  His  mind  was 
dwelling  on  what  had  passed  there  twenty  years 
before;  a  little  hideous  old  man,  older  than 
himself,  lay,  shivering  under  that  blanket — he 
saw  every  line  of  his  countenance — resting  on 
his  elbow,  straining  his  ear  to  catch  what  pass- 
ed in  the  neighboring  chamber,  and  chuckling 
like   a  fiend,  as  he  listened. 

Consciousness  and  some  power  of  motion 
by  degrees  came  back  ;  he  went  away  and  sat 
down  for  a  time,  lost  in  a  deep  revery ;  then 
he  rose,  and  going  forward  cautiously,  as  if 
under  the  horrible  belief  that  that  other  old 
man  was  lying  in  wait  within — he  closed  the 
door,  turned  the  key  in  the  lock  which  groaned 
aloud,  and  caused  him  to  start ;  placed  a  chair 
with  its  back  against  the  door,  dropped  into  the 
seat  and  fixed  his  eyes,  as  if  he  would  never 
remove  them  thence,  upon  the  old  armchair 
standing  by  the  hearth.  Sometimes  he  wept 
as  he  looked  there  ;  then  smiled,  as  if  he  would 
cheer  «ome  one  that  filled  its  seat ;  and  then  a 
leen  anguish,  an  imploring  look — full  of  sharp- 
est desolation — shot  into  every  feature,  and 
blinded  his  eyes  with  grief. 

In  this  way  he  sat  there  for  an  hour  or  more, 


suffering  with  pangs  that  spake  aloud  in  every 
line  of  his  face,  every  muscle  of  his  tortured 
oid  body — but  immovable.  He  strained  his 
eyes  forward — "  She  is  going — God  heip  us  all 
— she  is  gone  !"  he  cried,  and  broke  from  the 
chamber.  He  speeded  swiftly  into  the  hall ; 
unfastened  the  door — the  old  bar  crumbled  as 
he  pulled  it  down — and  was  in  the  open  air. 
Much  as  he  was  moved,  his  feet  yet  lingered 
about  the  place ;  and  while  he  wavered  in  his 
mind  whether  to  stay  or  fly — standing  and  look- 
ing by  turns  back  upon  the  house  and  out  upon 
the  road  that  stretched  away  into  the  country 
— his  attention  was  fixed  by  a  young  figure  that 
approached.  It  was  a  fair  creature  that  he 
saw,  not  yet  grown  to  the  full  age  of  care ; 
but,  nevertheless,  pale,  travel-stained,  and  part- 
ly borne  down  by  a  burden  (it  was  a  plain 
willow  basket)  which  she  carried,  and  which 
she  held  close  to  her  side. 

She  Avas  hurrying  by  when  the  old  man  ac- 
costed her. 

"  Stop  me  not,  for  Heaven's  sake,  stop  me 
not !"  she  cried,  as  Hobbleshank  stood  in  her 
way.  "  Life  and  death  are  in  my  steps.  Death 
behind  and  death  before  me,  and  life  only — a 
little  lingering  life — in  such  speed  as  I  may 
make.     I  must  be  gone  at  once  !" 

The  old  man  stood,  for  a  time,  gazing  at  the 
pale  young  creature,  and  wondering  what  her 
meaning  might  be.  Recovering  from  his  sur- 
prise, he  presently  laid  his  hand  in  hers  (which 
was  cold  as  marble),  and  said : 

"  Come  in  with  me,  you  are  sick  and  weary 
— that  you  can  not  deny — with  long  travel. 
You  need  rest,  and  may  find  a  little  here.  I 
once  had  a  good  right  to  say  to  all  comers, 
'  Welcome  here  I' — that  was  many,  many  long 
dreary  years  ago — it  was  then  a  cheerful,  mer- 
ry house ;  and  now,  we  who  are  both  stricken 
in  sorrow,  have  a  privilege  anywhere  where 
darkness  is,  and  dust,  and  lonely  gloom.  Come 
in  and  rest." 

As  he  spake,  he  drew  her  gently  toward  the 
house.  She  hesitated  at  first,  and  when  she 
cast  her  eyes  up  at  the  old  building,  shuddered, 
and  started  back  as  if  it  had  been  a  prison ;  but 
when  she  turned  and  saw  tears  streaming  in 
the  old  man's  eyes — he  had  watched  her  with 
a  sad  constancy — she  smiled  sorrowfully,  and 
at  once  entered  in. 

Why  did  she  pause  as  she  paced  that  broad 
old  hall?  What  were  those  crumbling  old 
walls,  and  those  fading  figures,  painted  to  the 
ceiling,  saying  to  her  ?  She  looked  about  like 
one  restored  to  a  world  she  had  known  before, 
and  could  not  tell  where  nor  when.  Wonder- 
ing more  and  more,  and  on  the  watch  at  every 
step,  like  one  that  looks  for  a  surprise,  she  was 
led  by  Hobbleshank,  whose  steps  seemed  moved 
that  way  by  a  force  he  could  not  control,  into 
the  chamber  where  he  had  suffered  so  much. 
He  would  have  closed  the  door  behind  them, 
to  shut  off  the  cold  airs  that  dwelt  about  the 
hall. 

« In  God's  name  !"  cried  his  young  compan- 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


225 


ion,  "  do  not  shut  this  chamber  up  so  tight,  you  i 
will  stifle  me.  I  had  rather  suffer  all  the  un-  ■ 
kindness  of  winter  than  see  anything  more  of 
closed  doors  and  darkened  windows.  I  have 
seen  enough  already  !"  She  looked  uneasily 
about  as  she  spake,  sighed  as  in  spite  of  her- 
self, and  was  silent. 

**  You  have  had  heavy  troubles,  for  one  so 
young,"  said  the  old  man,  « I  know  you  have 


"  Do  you  dwell  here  1"  she  said  at  length ; 
but  seeing  the  dusty  walls,  from  which  the 
hangings  tumbled  piecemeal,  and  how  dull  cob- 
webs had  engrossed  the  corners  of  the  room, 
she  added,  "  but  I  know  you  can  not." 

"  And  yet  I  do,"  answered  Hobbleshank,  "  in 
the  spirit.  My  mind  has  lived  in  these  cham- 
bers for  many  years ;  but  this  poor  old  body 
drags  itself  along  in  yonder  city.     This  house 


for  your  eyes  seem  to  be  looking  not  at  present ;  is  mine,  and  yet  not  mine ;  rather  it  belongs  to 
objects,  but  on  what  is  behind  and  far  away  !"  I  a  child  of  mine,  whether  in  his  grave  or  no,  I 

"  Don't  speak  of  them  now,"  she  answered,   can  not  tell.^' 
drawing  her  breath  short  and  fast ;  "  but  go  I      "  Then  he  may  be  happy  I"  she  said.  "  I  have 


out  and  look  back  upon  the  road,  whether  any 
travellers  are  coming  this  way  in  great  haste. 
There  will  be  a  dark,  deadly  carriage  close  be- 
hind them." 

Hobbleshank  begged  her  to  be  seated,  and 
went  forth  as  she  requested.  He  soon  came  back 
and  answered  that  there  were  none  to  be  seen. 

"  I  strained  my  gaze,"  said  the  old  man, 
*'  the  whole  length  of  the  road.  Be  comforted, 
there  is  no  one  in  pursuit." 

"  In  pursuit !"  she  answered,  lifting  her  eyes 
upon  him  with  a  broad  look  of  surprise  and 
wonder,  "  then  you  know  that  I  have  fled ;  do 
you  know  from  whom  ?" 

"  How  could  I  fail  to  know  ?"  answered  Hob- 
bleshank, whose  heart  softened  toward  the  gen- 
tle questioner ;  "you  have  fled  from  tyrants. 
I  see  no  stripes  upon  your  person ;  you  do  not 
wear  a  prison-garb ;  and  yet  I  will  swear  that 
you  are  flying  from  the  most  cursed,  cruel,  re- 
lentless despotism,  that  could  be  laid  on  a 
young  spirit  like  yours.  Some  one  that  may 
have  spared  your  fair  flesh,  has  been  cutting 


looked  down  into  many  graves,  and  used  to 
think  them  dreary.  But  now  I  know  there  are 
graves  on  the  earth  gloomier  than  any  dug  in 
the  soil.  Why  do  I  stay  here,  talking  so,  when 
I  should  be  abroad  on  my  journey  ?  I  would 
not  have  tarried — though  I  am  glad  for  your 
sake  and  my  own,  now,  that  I  did — had  I  not 
wished,  most  fervently  wished,  to  cross  the 
threshold  of  the  city  with  some  strength  and 
spirit  to  meet  my  task.     I  must  go." 

She  rose,  possessed  herself  of  the  willow  bas- 
ket, which  she  had  laid  on  the  ground  at  her 
side,  and  took  the  old  man  by  the  hand. 

"  I  am  sorr}'  that  you  go,"  he  said,  looking 
kindly  upon  the  gentle  creature.  *'  You  know 
not  what  guests  and  fancies  you  leave  me  to. 
Can  I  go  with  you  to  the  great  city  in  no  friend- 
ly service  ?" 

"  In  none  whatever,  I  fear,"  she  answered. 
"  My  task  is  a  simple  one,  and  asks  only  a 
kindly  spirit  to  fill  it  well.  I  go  to  tend  at  the 
bedside  of  a  dear  friend  who  is  sick.  I  must 
hasten,  or  he  may  have  bid  the  world  goodby 
already.     I  think,"  she  added,  laying  her  pale 

I  have  some 


your  young  heait  to  the  quick — has  been  break- 
ing your  beautij^l  hopes,  one  by  one ;  and  you  j  white  hand  upon  the  basket 
feel  the  sunshine  and  the  free  air  to  day,  for  i  comfort  here  for  him." 
the  first  time,  perhaps,  in  many  a  long  year.  "  An  old  man's  good  wishes  shall  go  with 
Give  an  old  man  credit  for  some  spirit  of  sor-  |  you  every  step !  Cheer  up,  and  speed,  then, 
rowful  judgment,  and  say  I  am  right."  if  such  be  your  errand :  the  city  darkens  apace 


Could  the  earnest  truth  with  which  Hobble- 


and  I  shall  be  alone  again,  as  I  have  been,  and 


shank  spake,  out  of  the  very  bosom  of  a  great  i  shall  be,  how  long  Heaven  knows." 

inner  world  of  sorrow  in  himself,  fail  to  touch  |      He  led  her  through  the  old  broad  hall ;  she 

the  other  pale  sufierer  ?  j  looked  at  the  dim  old  figures  with  the  same 

"  I  have  had  some  troubles,"  she  answered,  i  strange  interest  as  before  ;  and  in  a  moment 
feigning  to  smile.  "  But  what  of  that  ?  I  am  j  they  stood  upon  the  door-step, 
only  grown  old  a  little  before  my  time.  I  will  j  "  Remember,"  said  Hobbleshank,  "  though 
try  to  forget  what  is  past ;  would  God  grant  j  we  have  met  but  once,  we  are  old  friends." 
me  strength  to  bear  up  against  what  is  to  j  She  pressed  his  hand  closely  in  her  own,  and 
come  !"  As  she  uttered  this,  a  deadly  paleness  proceeded  on  her  way.  Once  forth  upon  the 
blanched  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  brightened  i  road  again,  she  strained  her  eyes  with  painful 
into  a  vague  splendor,  that  was  almost  fearful  {  earnestness  toward  the  city,  as  if  she  could  so 
to  look  upon.  call  up,  out  of  all  the  great  and  turbid  mass, 

The  old  man  sat  fixed  in  his  seat,  gazing  up- !  the  little  bedside  she  wished  to  see  ;  pausing 
on  her ;  while  there  came  floating  into  his  j  only  once  or  twice  to  look  back  at  the  old  man, 
mind,  and  assuming  form  and  color,  as  he  j  who  at  last  fell  within  and  closed  the  door, 
watched  her  haggard  look,  her  features  white 
as  the  tombstone  marble,  and  her  thin,  trem- 
bling form,  the  memory  of  one  just  so  troubled, 
shrunken,  and  sorrowful,  that  faded  away  from 
that  old  armchair  a  lifetime  ago. 

Each  lost  in  their  own  wandering  and  troub- 
led thoughts,  they  sat  there  dumb  and  silent  as 
two  images  in  a  cold  vault. 
P 


CHAPTER  XIX.  I 

THE   PALE  TRAVELLER   ENTERS  THE    CITY. 

She  had  not  walked  far,  when  a  sudden  turn 
brought  her  where  the  road  plunged  down  with 


226 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


a  swifTt  declivity  at  her  feet.  She  stopped  and 
trembled.  Underneath  her  troubled  eye  lay  the 
mighty  metropolis,  with  its  thousand  chimneys, 
its  blackened  roofs,  its  solemn  church-turrets 
and  glittering  vanes — spreading  out  wherever 
she  gazed,  and  filling  her  mind  with  an  inde- 
scribable awe. 

How  dark,  how  cold  and  chill,  seemed  that 
multitude  of  houses  to  her  !  They  suggested 
to  her  no  thoughts  of  neighborhood  and  fellow- 
ship by  their  closeness,  but  rather  one  of  dumb 
creatures  huddled  together  by  sheer  necessity, 
to  shut  off  the  shivering  airs  that  beset  them 
from  the  rivers  on  either  side.  When  she 
looked  for  broad  and  cheerful  ways,  and  found 
only  narrow  streets  that  yawned  like  chasms 
and  abysses  along  the  house-fronts ;  when  her 
eyes  sought  waving  trees  to  gladden  the  air, 
in  vain,  her  heart  shrunk  within  her :  it  seemed 
to  her  a  wilderness  of  dungeons,  and  nothing 
more.  A  dark,  dismal  mist,  formed  of  dust, 
smoke,  the  reek  of  squalid  streets,  the  breath 
of  thousands  and  hundred  thousands  of  human 
beings — crept,  like  a  black  surge,  along  the 
housetops. 

The  hoarse  murmur  deepened  as  night  drew 
on ;  the  moaning  of  one  vexed  with  pain  and 
confinement,  of  prisoners  pining  to  be  free.  If 
the  whole  broad  shadow  of  the  city,  cold  and 
vast,  had  fallen  on  her  spirit,  it  could  not  have 
chilled  her  more  ;  but  when  the  thought  came 
to  her  again  of  the  sacred  errand  on  which  she 
was  bound,  her  heart  was  renewed,  her  eye 
brightened,  and,  clasping  her  burden  anew,  she 
hurried  on.  And  now  the  great  city  which  she 
had  wondered  at,  in  its  entirety  and  vastness, 
met  her,  part  by  part,  and  bewildered  her  with 
its  countless  details.  There  were  country  wag- 
ons hurrying  out ;  sulkeys,  stanhopes,  barouch- 
es, flying  past  as  if  desolation  followed  fast  be- 
hind. Then  great  carls  and  trucks,  loaded  to 
the  peak  with  heavy  merchandise.  All  these 
she  regarded  with  a  wandering  eye ;  but  when 
she  caught  sight  of  dark  foundation-stones, 
still  clinging  to  the  earth,  where  an  old  peni- 
tentiary had  been  lately  razed  to  the  ground — 
she  felt  the  uses  it  had  served. 

Whenever  she  passed  houses  with  closed 
shutters,  she  shuddered  and  quickened  her 
pace ;  to  some  there  were  barred  windows — 
these  she  regarded  with  a  sidelong  glance  of 
curiosity,  as  if  she  expected  to  see  pale  faces 
peering  out  between  the  irons.  Once  she 
passed  an  old  stone  building,  with  every  case- 
ment from  cellar  to  garret  closely  ironed ;  it 
■was  only  an  old  sugar-house,  and  she  speeded 
..past  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  jail. 

Full  of  vague  fears,  startled  at  every  object 
that  crossed  her,  suggestive  in  any  the  remotest 
degree  of  that  she  dreaded,  and  had  good 
•cause  to  dread  the  most — she  hastened  on.  A 
# green  wagon,  close  and  dark,  passed  her — the 
•  prison  carriage,  plying  between  the  city  prison 
and  the  Island — and  she  felt  it  like  a  cloud  as 
it  hurried  by.  The  very  streets,  murky  as  they 
Twere,  seemed  to  close  upon  her  in  the  distance, 


but  opened  again  constantly  as  she  advanced  } 
new  houses,  new  sights  and  objects,  springing, 
as  from  a  perpetual  womb,  out  of  the  cloudy 
haze  that  lowered  in  her  way.  As  far  as  her 
eye  could  pierce,  the  roads  were  dark  with 
vehicles  of  one  sort  and  another,  crossing  and 
recrossing,  rushing  tumultuously  in  every  di- 
rection ;  some  driven  by  boys,  some  by  men  ; 
some  sitting  under  shelter  ;  others,  the  cartmen 
standing  up  in  their  professional  frocks,  with  a 
firm  hold  upon  the  reins,  darting  rapidly  from 
one  side  of  the  street  to  the  other.  Above  the 
whole  throng  and  procession,  a  great  coach  or 
stage  at  times  towered  up,  over-topping  the 
street,  and  swarming  to  its  very  summit  with 
passengers. 

All  along  the  way,  people  poured  into  the 
streets  in  uninterrupted  succession,  out  of 
damp,  dull  rooms  ;  out  of  narrow  alleys ;  from 
work-shops ;  from  cellars ;  from  churches ;  and 
the  way  was  perpetually  choked  and  glutted 
with  the  throng.  What  multitudes  went  past 
pent  up  in  carriages — a  pleasure  to  them,  a 
hideous  bondage  it  seemed  to  her ! 

She  saw  no  one,  not  one,  with  gyves  and 
irons  on  their  limbs ;  and  yet,  how  care-worn, 
and  bowed,  and  convict-like  they  all  looked  to 
her! 

She  passed  along,  looking  anxiously  at  dark 
doorways,  at  iron  gates  and  steep  areas,  and 
heavy  churches  oppressing  the  earth  with  their 
massive  granite  or  marble;  smithies,  where 
men  were  busy  forging  vast  chains  and  cables  j 
shops,  where  great  locks  and  bolts  leaned  in 
the  windows.  A  long  way  after  all  these,  she 
came  upon  a  grim,  ill-dressed,  smoke-stained 
man,  who  bore  in  his  hand  a  bunch  of  keys, 
which  he  grasped  close  and  clashed  together  as  • 
he  walked ;  and  she  shrunk  from  him  as  if  he 
had  been  the  deadliest  and  fastest  of  all  the 
jailer  race.  Gazing  fearfully  about  in  this 
way,  she  espied  far  off,  through  a  side  street, 
dimly  seen  moving  through  the  dusk  that  grew 
every  minute  deeper,  a  hearse  and  funeral 
train — at  that  distance  it  seemed  scarcely  more 
than  a  shadow,  and  a  cold  shudder  crept 
through  her  frame.  What  if  it  were  her  friend, 
her  dear  friend,  whose  burial  she  thus  regard- 
ed ?  Her  first  impulse  was  to  hasten  after  it  j 
but  ere  she  had  taken  many  steps  in  this  reso- 
lution, it  had  glided  away,  and  she  returned  to 
the  path  she  had  been  pursuing.  Night  now 
came  swiftly  on ;  the  black  shadows  fell  ia 
broad  masses  in  the  streets ;  the  confusion,  the 
hurry,  the  press  of  life  in  every  directioa 
deepened. 

She  moved  along  as  speedily  as  she  could, 
consulting  from  time  to  time,  at  a  window 
lamp,  a  chart  she  had  borne  in  her  hand  all 
along.  At  intervals,  as  if  by  chance  and  no 
design,  a  public  light  broke  out,  sometimes  in 
one  quarter,  sometimes  in  another,  and  glim- 
mered with  a  feeble  ray.  This  only  made  the 
gloom  deeper  and  drearier  than  before ;  and 
she  kept,  while  she  could,  in  the  streets  where 
the  shop-windows  blazed  upon  the  pavement.        %. 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


£27 


It  was  not  easy  for  her,  with  all  her  care, 
her  painful  scrutiny  of  the  paper  she  carried, 
and  study  of  the  signboards  at  the  corners,  to 
shape  her  course  aright.  There  was  a  street- 
fight  once  ;  then  a  crowd  gathered  at  the  door 
of  a  show ;  then  a  poor  woman  who  was  doling 
forth,  from  the  steps  of  a  gentleman's  domicil, 
a  piteous  tale  of  poverty  and  suffering.  Once 
there  was  a  hideous  cry,  a  light  rose  high  in 
the  air,  and  she  looked  about  and  saw,  more 
plainly  than  ever,  how  darkness  had  stretched 
his  mighty  arms  abroad  and  held  the  city  in 
his  grasp. 

Not  a  whit  fairer  or  freer  did  the  houses 
show  to  her  now  at  night,  than  when  she  first 
beheld  them,  and  ever  since  ;  they  all  seemed 
like  graves,  or  tombs,  or  prison-fastnesses. 
Striking  through  thoroughfares  that  diverged 
from  the  main  path  she  had  been  travelling, 
she  was  gradually  approaching  the  point  she 
sought.  She  passed  a  thoroughfare,  little  fre- 
quented, where  the  unfed  lamps  winked  and 
blinked  at  each  other  across  the  street,  like  so 
many  decayed  ghosts.  Then  another,  where 
all  the  lights  had  gone  out.  Then  others ;  un- 
til at  length,  by  what  she  saw  around,  she  felt 
that  the  object  of  her  wish  was  near  at  hand. 

There  was  a  square,  so  her  chart  informed 
her;  here  it  was — a  discolored  yellow  house  ; 
here  too — only  it  seemed  more  golden  and 
precious  than  the  description  allowed;  and 
there — yes,  there,  where  her  eyes  were  fixed,  as 
on  a  star,  shone  a  little  light,  just  at  the  height 
she  might  have  looked  for.  The  house,  the 
home,  the  shelter  of  her  sick  friend  was  found. 
The  door  stood  open  to  receive  and  welcome 
her.  She  looked  around ;  the  tall  houses 
that  guarded  the  square,  growing  blacker  every 
minute,  seemed  frowning  on  her  and  gathering 
about  her,  closer  and  closer,  as  if  they  would 
shut  her  in  :  she  glanced  timidly  up  to  them,  as 
if  they  had  been  in  truth  cruel  living  creatures, 
and,  trembling  with  fear  and  joy,  fled  into  the 
house  for  shelter,  like  one  pursued. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

FOB    AND    HIS   VISITER   FROM   THE    COUNTRY. 

The  stairs  were  steep  and  narrow ;  and  as  she 
clambered  up,  a  thousand  visions  thronged 
about  her  and  crowded  in  her  way.  At  one 
time  she  was  oppressed  with  the  gloomy  thought 
that  he  might  be  dead  and  gone ;  not  to  be 
found  any  more  in  that  house,  or  any  other  of 
mortal  habitation.  Then  all  the  great  city,  in 
the  many  dreadful  and  oppressive  shapes  it  had 
taken  in  her  mind,  whirled  past,  filling  the  air 
with  darkness,  and  confusion,  and  boundless 
tumult.  It  was  a  gloomy  way  for  a  poor  lone- 
ly woman  to  travel — that  ill-arranged  stairway 
— lighted  only  by  the  chance  flickering  of  cheap 
candles,  where  the  doors  stood  ajar ;  or  by 
whatever  of  the  public  light  strayed  in  through 


the  entry  windows.  Every  step  brought  her 
nearer  to  the  chamber  she  sought ;  and  although 
there  were  many  others  under  that  same  roof, 
children,  and  women,  and  aged  men,  dwelling 
in  many  apartments  (for  they  were  all  poor,  and 
poverty  straitens  itself  to  a  narrow  fold),  she 
seemed  to  know  that  chamber  onlj',  among 
them  all. 

At  length  she  stood  at  the  door ;  she  knew 
it,  even  in  the  dark,  as  her  hand  passed  over 
it ;  she  paused  a  moment,  to  gather  strength 
and  spirit.  While  she  lingered  in  a  deep  con- 
flict of  many  emotions,  she  thought  she  heard 
the  murmur  of  gentle  music  within ;  it  was 
fancy,  only,  associating  with  the  place  an  in- 
cident that  raised  it  out  of  its  low  estate.  She 
entered ;  there  was  the  room,  lighted  by  a  sin- 
gle candle,  gleaming  from  the  corner  where  it 
stood,  as  cramped  and  narrow  as  ever ;  the  as- 
paragus in  bottles ;  the  chain  of  birds'  eggs 
against  the  wall;  the  pot  of  plants  brought  in 
and  stationed  on  the  shelf;  the  blackbird  in 
his  cage,  removed  from  his  old  lookout  at  the 
window  and  hung  upon  a  beam  inside ;  and 
underneath  these,  where  his  waking  eye  could 
command  them  all,  lay  the  little  tailor,  poor,  wan, 
wasted  with  sickness,  and  slumbering  from 
very  want  of  strength.  She  looked  upon  him, 
scarcely  believing  it  was  he ;  she  looked  upon 
the  objects  which  carried  her  mind  far  away, 
and  she  knew  it  was,  indeed,  no  other.  She 
sank  into  a  chair  by  the  wall,  and  looked 
around.  How  strong  was  the  sympathy  of  her 
fancy  with  the  fancy  of  the  sick  man  !  While 
she  gazed  upon  them,  the  room  broadened  into 
wide  meadows ;  the  asparagus-sprigs  shot  up 
into  fair,  green  trees  ;  the  birds'  eggs,  in  the 
instant,  swarmed  with  many  beautiful  and  me- 
lodious lives;  and  the  single  blackbird  dark- 
ened the  air  as  if  he  had  been  a  whole  flock  in 
himself.  There  was  more  freedom  to  her  in 
that  little  room,  than  in  all  the  broad  streets 
she  had  wandered  through. 

Then  she  watched  the  sick  man  himself;  so 
thin,  so  pale,  he  seemed  to  have  come  to  her  a 
long  way  out  of  the  past,  divested  of  all  the 
clogs  and  shackles  that  had  held  him  from  her 
so  long.  He  smiled ;  by  that  she  knew  him 
again.  It  was  meant,  she  was  sure,  for  herself; 
and  her  heart  lightened  at  the  thought.  Dwel- 
ling upon  it,  remembering  how  often  such  a 
look  had  brightened  that  pale  face  in  old  days, 
her  thoughts  were  led  by  degrees  to  the  basket 
she  had  laid  down  at  her  side.  Unclasping  it 
with  trembling  hands,  she  brought  from  its  bo- 
som a  slip  of  the  wild-rose,  which  she  carried 
gently  and  laid  on  the  pillow  by  his  br-ow,  with 
the  hope  that  it  might  suggest  to  his  dreams 
scenes  dear  to  him  as  life.  She  was  right ; 
mingling  with  his  own  willing  thoughts,  what 
his  sense  reported  to  him,  there  sprang  up  be- 
fore him  a  fantasy  of  other  days,  so  sweet,  so 
life-like,  so  lively,  that  he  smiled  on  it  as  if  il 
had  been  reality.  His  lips  moved,  and  mur- 
mured softly,  as  to  a  listening  ear.  She  glided 
quickly  forward,  and  bent  down  to  catch  what 


-  V 


228 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


he  uttered.  She  would  have  given  the  world 
had  his  words — she  thought  she  knew  what 
they  would  say — been  audible. 

Presently  the  poor  tailor  wakened  from  his 
charmed  slumber,  sat  up  in  his  couch,  and 
looked  about.  His  eyes,  which  wandered  as  in 
search  of  something  not  present,  no  sooner  fell 
on  the  pale  visiter  than  they  were  fixed  at 
once.  So  unreal  they  seemed  to  each  other, 
and  yet  shadows  of  what  both  knew  well,  they 
sat  gazing  each  into  the  other's  eyes,  without 
motion  or  utterance. 

«  Martha,"  at  last  said  Fob,  whispering  the 
name,  in  doubt  whether  he  would  be  answered, 
or  whether  the  vision  would  be  dispelled, "  Mar- 
tha Upland." 

She  started  up  and  rushed  to  his  bedside. 

"  I  thank  God  for  this  !"  she  cried,  casting 
herself  upon  his  neck ;  "  I  had  not  hoped  to  see 
you  alive !" 

"  You  should  scarcely  think  of  the  living," 
answered  Fob,  with  an  inexpressible  anguish 
in  his  look ;  "  you  who  have  been  dead  and 
buried  three  long  years." 

"  Little  better  than  that,"  she  observed,  "  or 
not  so  good.  A  close,  silent  bondage  in  one's  fa- 
ther's house,  with  eyes,  colder  than  the  grave- 
worms,  ever  fixed  on  you  ;  all  the  motions  of  na- 
ture going  on  about  you,  so  that  you  can  hear  the 
murmur  and  not  share  it ;  on  the  same  earth 
with  friends  you  love,  and  yet  sundered,  in  an 
everlasting  parting  from  them,  this  is  death. 
There  can  be  no  other,  and  no  worse." 

*'  I  could  not,  dear  Martha — it  was  madness 
for  me  to  dream  that  you  would  come,  or  could, 
when  I  sent  for  you.  I  was  going  to  the  grave 
you  have  prayed  for  so  often  ;  and  tarried  only 
to  shake  hands  and  part." 

"  It  was  only  by  long  watching,  and  at  last, 
by  stealth,  that  your  message  came  to  my  hand. 
Yesterday  at  daybreak,  the  cruel  guards  who 
have  watched  me  so  long,  grew,  for  once,  drow- 
sy with  sleep  ;  I  found  access  to  an  upper  cham- 
ber; clambered  to  the  roof;  down  upon  the 
old  outhouse  (you  remember  it  well),  and  at 
length  leaped  to  the  ground.  In  an  hour,  an 
hour  sacred  to  you,  I  was  on  my  journey,  and 
now,  foot-weary,  as  you  may  guess,  but  glad  of 
heart,  I  am  here." 

**  Three  years — what  years — since  the  awful 
interdict  that  divided  us  was  pronounced.  It 
was  folly  that  I,  a  poor,  outcast,  landless  tailor, 
should  lift  my  heart  to  you ;  but,  with  God's 
blessing,  what  I  then  gave  has  prospered  (I 
know  it  has)  in  your  silent  prison,  as  well  as  it 
would  with  all  the  summer's  sun  and  the  au- 
tumn's bounty  shed  upon  it.  Three  years; 
and  now  I  look  upon  what  my  eyes  have  wan- 
dered through  the  whole  firmament  in  vain  to 
behold.  I  have  toiled,  God  knows,  for  this 
sight,  and  have  failed  till  now." 

"  I  saw  you  once,  dear  Fob,"  she  answered, 
returning  his  look  of  truthful  fondness,  "  once 
only,  and  that  was  a  year  ago,  yesterday,  at 
dusk,  gliding  by  the  garden  wall ;  they  seized 
you  and  dr«^gged  you  away  before  my  sight,  and 


I  ever  after,  thai  window  was  closed.  The  mom- 
t  ing  light,  that  came  that  way  (they  said)  was 
I  too  strong  for  my  fading  eyes." 

"  For  many  long  days,"  said  Fob,  "  I  was  the 
ghost  of  that  dwelling ;  I  haunted  all  the  ways 
that  led  to  it — sometimes  in  the  orchard,  some- 
times in  the  meadow,  sometimes,  as  you  saw, 
under  the  very  eaves  of  the  house  itself.  But 
to  what  purpose  ?  I  had  been  driven,  you  know, 
by  the  iron  hand  that  no  man  can  resist,  the 
relentless  law,  from  fields  that  were  mine ;  and 
men  followed  in  its  scent,  and  yelled  on  my 
steps  like  so  many  hounds.  I  was  bufieted,  re- 
proached, driven  off"  like  a  dog,  till  I  came  to 
curse  the  very  house  that  held  your  enemies 
and  mine.  I  have  failed  not,  as  you  learned 
by  what  I  wrote,  to  visit  our  old  haunts,  and 
to  dream  you  back  again  to  the  life  we  once 
led  in  woods  and  meadows,  and  by  the  mar- 
gins of  smiling  streams.  How  has  the  time 
gone  with  you  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  choking  voice, 
for  he  knew  the  answer  too  well.  "  You  have 
had  no  free  air  for  three  weary  years." 

"  No  breath  whatever,"  she  said,  and  a  deep- 
er paleness  struck  through  her  features  as  she 
spoke,  "  closely  housed,  stealthily  watched  all 
that  time;  while  the  story  has  gone  abroad 
that  I  was  deadly  sick,  of  a  sickness  so  frail  and 
delicate,  that  nearest  friends  could  not  see  me 
without  endangering  life.  A  physician — a  false, 
corrupt  villain,  as  God  ever  made — came  at 
studious  intervals  as  if  to  my  bedside,  and  went 
forth  with  a  piteous  sigh,  shaking  his  head 
over  the  sad  malady  that  could  not  be  cured. 
So  they  thought.  They  deemed  that  disease  of 
horrid  bondage  would  never  be  conquered; 
but,  thanks  to  Heaven,  thanks,  never  too  many 
nor  too  devout,  I  am  a  free  child  of  the  air  and 
the  open  light  once  more !" 

Even  while  she  spake,  swift,  copious  tears, 
gushed  into  her  eyes  ;  she  fell  upon  her  knees, 
and,  bowing  her  head  upon  the  couch  of  her 
sick  friend,  felt  that  her  heart  was  bursting 
with  thoughts  of  past  sufferance  and  present 
joy !  Could  Fob  behold  this,  and  fail  to  be 
moved  ?  He  looked  upon  her  a  moment ;  a 
pang  writhed  his  countenance,  and  clasping 
one  of  her  pale  hands  in  his,  he  wept  like  a 
child.  The  wild  slip  with  which  she  had  soothed 
his  sleep,  lay  where  all  their  tears  fell  upon  it ; 
and  if  it  had  budded  that  moment,  and  shot  forth 
there,  in  fair  green  leaves  and  brighter  flowers 
than  bush  or  tree  ever  bore,  would  it  have 
been  less  than  a  true  testimony  to  the  beautiful 
and  gentle  spirit  of  the  hour  ? 

When  they  looked  up  again,  the  sorrow  had 
passed  from  their  brows,  and  they  smiled  on 
each  other,  with  something  like  the  gladness  of 
a  happier  time. 

"  I  have  brought  down  all  of  the  old  home- 
stead that  I  could,"  said  Martha,  who  had  her 
willow  basket  at  the  bedside ;  «  and  it  is  here." 

She  unclasped  it  ;  and  as  Fob  glanced  down 
into  its  fragrant  womb,  his  eyes  shone  with  a 
new  light.  He  saw  whole  tracts  and  acres 
there. 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


229 


"These,  you  know,"  continued  Martha, pro- 
ducing a  handful  of  green  cresses,  "  I  plucked 
them  from  the  Mower's  nook,  in  the  wood,  so 
calm  and  shady  in  the  summer  time.  You  re- 
member it  ?" 

"  I  think  I  should,"  answered  Fob,  who  could 
not  fail  to  detect  a  ruddy  tinge  that  crossed  the 
questioner's  countenance.  "  Had  that  nook  a 
memory  of  its  own,  and  could  echo  what  it  has 
heard,  how  many  gentle  stories  it  could  tell : 
that  you  know  as  well  as  I." 

"  Here  is  clover,  too,"  said  Martha,  "  you 
know  that  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  do,"  answered  Fob,  quickly, 
"  The  sweet,  red-blossomed  clover,  that  grows 
by  the  great  rock  in  the  lane — you  found  it 
there,  I  know.  Is  the  shadow  of  "the  old  rock 
as  broad  and  cheerful  as  ever  ?" 

**  You  forget,  my  dear  friend,"  she  replied, 
"  I  have  not  seen  its  summer  shadow  for  three 
long  years.  Boards  and  casements,  thin  and 
frail,  have  held  me  in  faster  than  if  I  had  been 
walled  round  with  rocks  as  massy  and  cold  as 
that." 

"What  a  fool  I  am!"  said  Fob,  "I  knew 
that  well — but  here — what  is  this  ?"  taking 
up  a  green  plant  that  she  had  produced,  and 
looking  on  his  pale  visiter  in  wonder,  "  you 
have  not,  truly,  trusted  yourself  in  the  dark  old 
hollow,  always  so  full  of  midnight  and  gloomy 
thoughts  to  pluck  this  for  me  ?" 

"  From  no  other  place  has  it  come !"  answered 
Martha.  "  It  was  the  first  I  sought  after  my 
escape.  Dark,  dreary,  cheerless  as  you  think 
it — though  we  have  had  many  a  pleasant  ram- 
ble in  its  ways — it  glared  as  with  sunshine  to  my 
long  darkened  eye.  The  dismal  pines  that 
dwell  on  its  sides,  seemed  to  laugh  in  my  ear, 
as  the  wind  whispered  with  them ;  the  dark 
bats  and  ill-omened  owls  glanced  about  as  glo- 
rious as  eagles !" 

«  Our  gloomy  old  friend,  the  Hollow — you 
think  so  hardly  of— see  what  he  has  yielded," 
said  Martha,  after  a  moment's  pause,  lifting 
in  her  hand  a  bunch  of  sparkling  red  berries, 
and  waving  them  before  the  little  tailor  till 
they  danced  again,  and  shone  brighter  than  hie 
own  pleased  eyes. 

Then  there  were  buttercups,  gathered  from 
the  heart  of  a  meadow,  where  they  had  often 
lingered  together,  gathering  them  before ;  green 
rushes,  from  the  brook ;  feathers  of  the  blue- 
bird, that  had  moulted  where  they  were  found. 
On  each  they  dwelt,  babbling  over  old  memo- 
ries and  associations  like  children ;  and  finding 
a  solace  and  joy  in  those  simple  treasures, 
that  the  costliest  banquet  might  have  failed  to 
yield. 

All  the  green  and  fanciful  treasures  she  had 
brought,  lay  spread  about  him,  and  his  eye 
gleamed  with  a  tearful  joy  as  it  passed  from 
one  to  the  other. 

« I  have  something  more  here,"  said  Mar- 
tha, dipping  again  into  the  basket,  "  something 
to  please  you  for  the  sake  of  others  and  not 
yourself." 

15 


"  I  shall  shed  no  tears,  even  if  it  be  so,"  said 
Fob,  smiling.     "  Let  us  see." 

She  brought  forth,  from  the  very  bottom  of 
the  basket,  an  old,  tattered,  patched-up  parch- 
ment, and  held  it  up  exultingly  before  his  eyes. 
He  no  sooner  caught  sight  of  it  and  learned 
what  it  was,  than  he  clapped  his  hands  and 
stretched  them  forth  to  pluck  it  gently  from 
her.  It  was  the  deed,  the  very  deed,  rent  in 
pieces  so  long  ago — which  he  thought  lost  for 
ever,  rescued  to  the  light  by  bright  eyes  that 
had  peered  for  it  amid  dust  and  tumbling  frag- 
ments, because  she  knew  it  would  pleasure 
him.  Here  was  joy — ^joy  for  Puffer  Hopkins  ; 
joy  for  Hobbleshank  ;  and  as  he  held  it  close 
to  his  eye,  it  seemed,  as  every  good  act  and 
record  should,  to  have  a  fragrance  of  all  the 
sweet  and  fair  things  among  which  it  had 
lurked  in  the  basket  of  the  fair  fugitive.  So 
they  sat  there  many  hours,  in  which  Fob  gath- 
ered new  strength  and  spirit,  talking  over 
the  recovery,  past  times,  scenes,  occasions — 
too  sacred  for  a  record.  If  unseen  angels,  as 
some  have  fondly  deemed,  watch  in  our  cham- 
bers, linger  at  our  bedsides,  and  bless  us  in  act 
of  doing  well,  how  must  they  have  swarmed  in 
that  little  chamber,  and  through  the  holiest 
hours  of  night,  held  joyful  watch  over  two  spir- 
its so  like  themselves ! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ISHMAEL   SMALL  MAKES   A  DISCOVERY. 

Angel-guarded  as  a  generous  faith  would 
fain  persuade  us,  were  the  little  tailor  and  his 
country  friend,  within — an  eye,  by  no  means  so 
kindly  or  auspicious  in  its  gaze,  watched  all 
their  doings  from  without.  Perched  in  the 
very  gutter  of  the  Fork,  clinging  to  the  case- 
ment of  the  dormer  window,  as  he  best  could, 
and  holding  his  head  obliquely — sat  or  couched 
— Ishmael  Small.  His  turned-up  nose  against 
the  window  as  close  as  he  could  press  it,  he 
kept  a  hungry  look  fastened  on  every  glance, 
or  gesture,  or  motion,  that  passed  within.  He 
could  not  catch  their  voices  where  he  sat,  but 
seemed  to  know  all  that  passed  as  if  he  had 
heard  it  slowly  uttered,  word  by  word.  When 
the  deed  was  produced,  could  they  have  caught 
sight  of  that  sharp  gray  eye,  piercing  through 
the  very  centre  of  the  bull's-eye  with  which 
the  cheap  casement  was  glazed,  they  would 
have  both  shrunk  back  and  said,  "  What  ugly 
spirit  is  that — that  glares  like  a  sunglass  upon 
us?" 

Up  to  that  moment,  Ishmael  had  looked  calm- 
ly on;  but  when  he  saw  the  old  shivering 
parchment  brought  forth,  and  clutched  so  greed- 
ily by  the  poor  tailor,  he  gnashed  his  teeth,  and, 
turning  about,  with  a  glance  downward  at  a 
stout  man  in  jolly  health,  who  passed  in  the 
street  below  with  a  market-basket  on  his  arm, 
as  if  it  would  afford  him  a  most  exquisite  pleas- 


230 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


ure  to  topple  himself  down  upon  him,  and  crush 
all  that  manly  vigor  out  of  him — he  crept  up 
the  roof,  and  espying  a  narrow  rent — scarcely 
larger  than  his  hand — where  a  single  ray  came 
through  from  the  chamber,  laid  his  ear  close 
down,  and,  with  his  chalky  visage  turned  to 
the  sky,  he  held  his  breath,  and  listened  to 
what  passed.  He  was  right.  All  the  hours 
he  had  spent  in  tracking  Hobbleshank  from 
place  to  place ;  all  the  vague  rumors  that  had 
crept  into  his  mind,  as,  from  time  to  time,  his 
acquaintance  with  Puffer  Hopkins  grew ;  all 
his  long  vigils  about  the  Fork  (whose  evil  ge- 
nius, as  night  and  day,  but  mostly  by  night,  he 
hovered  round  it,  he  seemed) — all  confirmed 
and  made  true.  When  this  conviction  shot 
through  the  brain  of  the  deformed  little  eaves- 
dropper, his  knees  shook,  his  eyes  dimmed  for 
a  moment,  his  grasp  relaxed,  and,  had  he  not 
summoned  at  once  with  desperate  force  his 
ebbing  strength,  he  would  have  rolled  into  the 
street.  Recovering  himself,  he  paused  not  a 
minute  to  listen — he  knew  enough  and  more 
than  enough  already — clambered  the  roof  again 
— plunged  into  the  open  scuttle  by  which  he 
had  at  first  emerged — and  dived — so  swift  was 
his  descent  of  the  narrow  stairs,  it  seemed,  from 
top  10  bottom,  a  single  act — into  the  open  air. 
Buttoning  his  coat  close  together — fixing  his 
cap  firmly  on  his  head,  and  thrusting  in  his 
straggling  pocke^handkerchief  behind — so  that 
not  a  single  fluttering  rag  might  check  his 
course,  he  started  oflf.  Like  lightning  he  sped 
along,  bounding  over  obstacles;  winding  his 
way  through  crowds  that  crossed  him ;  and 
gliding  between  vehicles  that  seemed  rushing 
together  from  opposite  directions — in  a  fashion 
that  was  perfectly  miraculous. 

It  was  only  a  few  minutes,  and  he  stood  at 
the  broker's  door.  He  slopped  an  instant  to 
recover  his  breath,  listening  if  he  were  astir ; 
then,  thrusting  his  arm  in  at  a  concealed  open- 
ing in  the  wall,  he  drew  back  the  bolt  and 
stepped  in.  Closing  the  door  behind  him,  and 
cautiously  crossing  the  room,  he  knocked  at 
the  broker's  closet. 

"  Hold  back,"  cried  the  old  man,  in  a  sup- 
pressed voice,  like  one  engaged  in  a  desperate 
struggle, "  what  are  you  choking  me  for  ?  Take 
it  back,  take  it  all  back  ;  but  let  me  go.  There, 
curse  it,  there — she  glides  by  again.  It  was 
your  own  fault." 

Ishmael  knocked  again. 

"  Let  me  go,  or  ['11  beat  you,"  shouted  the 
old  broker,  who  seemed  to  be  vexed  and  goad- 
on  by  the  sound,  mingled,  as  it  doubtless  was, 
with  the  subjects  of  his  dream.  "  What  did 
you  cross  me  for  ?  She  is  mine,  I  tell  you,  as 
much  as  yours,  Hobbleshank  !  Marry  her,  .and 
I'll  grind  you  to  powder;  ha!  ha!"  and  he 
laughed,  with  a  broad  chuckle,  in  his  dream. 
"  That  fixes  you.  Buy  bread  if  you  can ;  a 
cord  or  two  of  wood ;  I'm  sorry  the  poor  lady's 
so  sickly.  Take  the  boy  away ;  smother  him, 
choke  him,  drown  him !  ha  !  ha !" 

"  Wake  up,  wake  up!"  whispered  Ishmael, 


whose  spirits,  to  tell  the  truth,  were  not  a  little 
subdued  by  what  the  i-eslless  slumbers  of  the 
old  broker  seemed  to  point  at.  "I  have  news, 
great  news  for  j'^ou  !"  * 

"  I  know  you  have,"  continued  Fyler,  who     4| 
seemed  bent  on  pursuing  his  dreaming  thoughts    * 
at  all  hazards.     "  That  was  well  done,  Jack  • 

Leycraft— excellent !   the  little  fellow  fainted 
away,  did  he  ? — so  far  that  he  wont  come  back        t 
again,  I  guess." 

And  Mr.  Fyler  Close,  wonder  at  it  as  the       ^ 
world  may,  such  was  the  flow  of  his  spirits,    "  '* 
went  off,  chanting  Old  Hundred ;  to  be  sure,  in     '-» 
a  somewhat  dissonant  and  imperfectly  devel-         ^ 
oped  vocalization.     This  divertisment  had  the 
effect  of  restoring  him  to  the  familiar  use  of 
his  organs,  and  availing  himself  of  his  ears, 
quite  readily,  he  heard  a  quadruple  rap,  which     || 
Ishmael  was  now  practising  on  the  door  ;   and 
asked  who  was  there.     Ishmael  made  himself 
known,  and  the  old  man,  sliding  rapidly  into 
his  garments,  unbarred  his  closet  door,  and 
stepped  forth. 

"  Well,  what  word,  Ishmael  ?"  he  asked,  as 
soon  as  he  was  disinterred. 

"  Come  this  way,"  said  Mr.  Small,  taking 
the  broker  by  the  arm,  and  leading  him  toward 
the  window.  As  they  stood  where  the  light 
fell  from  a  neighboring  chamber,  in  which 
watch  was  kept  with  one  disordered  in  his  rea- 
son, and  whose  cries  could  be  heaid  where  they 
stood,  and  Ishmael  saw  how  haggard  and  with-  ■ 
ered  was  the  broker's  look,  he  doubted  wheth- 
er to  utter  his  news  now  that  he  was  there. 
He  paused  awhile  and  looked  at  Fyler. 

"  You  heard  nothing,"  he  said,  eying  Ishma 
el  in  turn.  "  Did  I  disturb  you  ?  I  was  run- 
ning over  a  long  sum  in  compound  interest.  I 
got  the  figures  wrong,  and  that  put  me  in  a 
passion.    You  saw  that  ?" 

Ishmael  professed  to  have  seen  nothing. 

"  What's  your  news  ?"  asked  Fyler.  "  Noth- 
ing terrible,  I  hope.  Is  it  a  thunderclap,  or  a 
burst  of  music  ? — speak  quick  !" 

Before  he  answered,  Mr.  Small  went  to  the 
door,  thrust  fortli  his  head  into  the  hall,  and, 
opening  wide  both  his  ears,  listened  to  catch 
any  sound  that  might  be  stirring.  The  whole 
house  was  dead  and  still,  and  he  returned. 

"  A  cross  between  the  two,"  answered  Ish- 
mael, subduing  his  voice,  "  they  have  found 
the  deed." 

« What  deed—Hobbleshank's  ?"  asked  the 
old  man,  gasping  for  breath,  and  drawing  Ish- 
mael close  up  to  him  by  the  collar,  so  that  their 
faces  almost  touched. 

"The  very  same,  sir,"  answered  Ishmael, 
"  yaller  with  age,  and  patched  up  like  a  old 
bed-quilt." 

If  the  blackest  thundercloud  hovering  in  the       ^  j 
sky  had  settled  down  that  moment,  and  become  m 

part  and  parcel  of  the  features  of  Fyler  Close, 
they  could  not  have  scowled  more  darkly  than 
they  did.  He  let  fall  his  hand  from  its  hold 
on  Ishmael  Small ;  and  turning  away,  he  paced 
the  chamber ;  at  every  turn,  as  he  came  near 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


231 


the  light,  glaring  like  a  wild  beast  on  Ishmael, 
and  showing  liis  teeth  firmly  set  together,  in 
the  extremity  of  his  passion. 

After  travelling  the  apartment  in  this  wild  way 
for  twenty  times  or  more,  he  suddenly  stepped 
aside,  and  leaping  into  his  closet,  bolted  it  with- 
in. Ishmael  waited  till  the  clock  struck  mid- 
night, sitting  on  a  broken  chair,  listening  to 
the  disordered  sick  man's  cry  from  above ;  but 
not  a  breath  or  sound  denoted  that  any  other 
living  creature  was  in  that  chamber  but  him- 
self. The  closet  might  have  been  the  broker's 
tomb,  for  all  he  heard.  At  the  end  of  that  time  | 
the  closet-door  was  again  opened ;  Fyler  Close 
came  forth  as  if  nothing  unusual  had  passed, 
and,  bringing  a  chair,  took  his  seat,  calmly  and 
pleasantly,  directly  opposite  Mr.  Small. 

"  Where  is  John  Leycraft,  of  late,  Ishmael  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Close,  as  though  his  mind  was  en- 
tirely disengaged,  and  free  to  any  general  sub- ! 
ject  that  might  come  up.  "  He  doesn't  come  | 
here  now-a-davs.  Have  you  kept  track  of  \ 
him  ?"  '  I 

"  I  have,"  answered  Ishmael.  "  Last  week  i 
he  was  busy  in  a  cardin'  mill ;  week  afore  last 
he  was  journeyman  to  a  stun-mason  ;  this  week 
he's  a  rope-walker ;  where  he'll  be  next  week, 
and  the  week  after,  would  puzzle  a  jury  o'  Sol- 
omons to  guess.  His  mind's  distempered, 
judging  by  what  he  says  to  me  when  I  sees 
him,  about  that  old  business  of  the  farm-house. 
He  can't  rest  a  day  anywheres,  but  flies  about 
like  a  singed  pigeon  over  a  conflagration,  or  a 
dove  what's  got  sore  feet." 

«  Will  he  blab,  Ishmael  1"  answered  Mr. 
Close,  in  a  perfectly  calm  and  dispassionate 
tone.  "  He's  got  a  first-rate  memory,  and 
might  turn  it  to  account  with  the  magistrates. 
Don't  you  think  so,  eh  ?" 

"  By  no  manner  o'  means,"  rejoined  Mr.  Small. 
"  It's  his  own  mind  that  unrests  him  and  keeps 
him  wake  o'  nights.  He  wants  to  find  the  boy, 
and  clear  his  conscience  with  the  yolk  of  the 
egg ;  that's  all." 

"  If  he's  got  an  eye  that  can  look  through 
the  crust  of  the  earth,  six  feet  or  more,  perhaps 
he'll  find  him,  perhaps  he  won't,"  said  the  bro- 
ker, smiling  on  his  companion,  and  twisting  his 
shrubby  whiskers  in  his  fingers.  "  So  you've  | 
seen  the  deed  ?"  he  added,  as  if  that  had  just 
occurred  to  him.  "  You  couldn't  borrow  it  for 
me  to  look  at  for  a  few  minutes,  eh  ?  Was  it 
in  good  preservation,  in  a  fine  state  of  health?" 

"  Capital,"  answered  Ishmael,  "  considerin' 
it  hadn't  a  sound  square  inch  on  its  body,  and 
was  a  little  bilious  in  the  face  :  if  there  had 
been  a  hole  two  inches  bigger  in  the  roof,  I'd 
have  brought  it  round  for  a  interview."  Where- 
upon, Mr.  Small  indulged  in  a  gentle  laugh ; 
but  not  so  as  to  disturb  the  neighborhood. 

«  Where,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  have  you 
been  to-night?"  continued  Mr.  Close,  "run- 
ning about  citizens'  roofs,  like  a  cat  ?" 

«  To  be  sure  I  have,"  answered  Mr.  Small ; 
"  and  a  wery  agreeable  time  I've  had  of  it  I 
can  tell  you ;  overseeiu'  the  city,  and  lookin' 


out  that  the  watchmen  was  on  duly,  and  the 
lamps  lit.     Church  steeples  and  tops  o'  public 
buildings,  is  spruce  beer  at  twopence  a  glass, 
compared  with   it.     Then   there  was  a  wery 
charming  young  'oman,  that  brought  the  parch- 
ment out  of  the  country  where  she  found  it, 
,  inside,  sitting  like  a  wax  figure  to  be  looked 
'  at,  and  Fob,  the  little  tailor,  actin'  like  mad, 
kissing  'sparagus-sprigs  and  mock-oranges,  like 
1  a  hero,  just  for  greens.     I  can't  say  I  ever  had 
;  a  more  agreeable  night  of  it  in  my  life,  where 
there  was  only  three  of  the  party  !" 

"  Ishmael,"  said  Fyler  Close,  withdrawing 
the  attention  of  his  companion  from  these  de- 
lightful prospects,  "  we  must  distrain  in  the 
Row  to-morrow." 

"  Out  and  out  ?"  asked  Ishmael. 

"  Out  and  out,"  answered  Mr.  Close,  "  down 
to  the  plant-pots  and  Dutch  oven.  No  non- 
sense, but  a  clean  sweep ;  here's  the  warrants. 
Go  down  to  Meagrim,  at  the  very  earliest  hour 
in  the  morning."  And  he  handed  Ishmael  a 
bundle  of  documents  filled  up  and  ready  for 
use. 

"  No  delay  ?"  asked  Ishmael. 

"  Not  a  minute  ;  and  tell  Meagrim  to  move 
the  goods  off,  sell  at  the  shortest  notice,  close 
up  at  once,  and  bring  me  the  result  in  gold. 
He  must  throw  ofi'  interest  on  his  commissions : 
mention  that  to  him  when  you  see  him  to-mor- 
row." 

Ishmael  promised  it  should  be  looked  to  the 
very  hour  the  court  opened ;  and  was  about  to 
leave. 

"  You'll  stand  by  me,  Ishmael?"  asked  Fy- 
ler, regarding  him  with  a  look  that  Ishmael  did 
not  recollect  to  have  seen  him  ever  wear  be- 
fore.    "  You'U  stick  to  me  through  all  ?" 

"I  will.  Uncle  Fyler,"  answered  Ishmael, 
taking  the  old  broker's  proffered  hand.  "  I'll 
be  a  stren'thin'  plaster  to  your  back ;  a  pair  o' 
double  magnifiers  to  your  eyes ;  and  a  patent 
truss  to  your  hip-jints.  Losin'  the  use  of  your 
legs,  I'll  be  crutches  to  you ;  and  when  you 
come  to  give  up  the  ghost" — 

«  As  to  that  last  particular,"  interposed  Fy- 
ler Close,  "  suppose  we  adjourn  conversation 
twenty-five  years.  That  isn't  too  long  ?  But 
when  it  does  happen,  as  I  suppose  it  must  one 
day,  I'll  leave  you  an  old  chest  or  two  to  rum- 
mage, that's  all  I  can,  you  know;  and  if  you 
find  anything  it  shall  be  yours." 

Mr.  Small  shook  hands  upon  the  understand- 
ing, and  was  moving  off  again. 

"  Come  this  way,  Ishmael,"  said  the  broker, 
as  Mr.  Small  was  at  the  door.     "  Listen  ?" 

At  that  moment,  a  fearful  cry  issued  from 
the  chamber  where  the  disordered  man  lodged ; 
voices  in  supplication  or  menace  were  raised 
upon  him;  and  presently  a  dead  silence  fol- 
lowed, as  if  the  struggler  had  been  finally  sub- 
dued. 

«  There's  close  quarters  up  there,"  said  Fy- 
ler, looking  first  at  Ishmael,  then  lifting  his 
meager  finger,  and  shaking  it  in  the  direc- 
tion whence  these  sounds  had  come.    "  Stout 


232 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


chaps,  brawny  fellows ;  and  not  a  word  uttered 
by  the  poor  sick  devil  that's  believed."  He 
dropped  his  voice  to  the  lowest  whisper,  and 
added,  "  I'll  drive  Hobbleshank  to  that  pass 
yet !"  Ishmael  renewing  his  i^romise  to  exe- 
cute his  orders  promptly,  on  the  morrow,  and 
smiling  in  answer  to  the  hideous  grin  that 
lighted  the  old  broker's  countenance,  with- 
drew. 

The  broker  himself  sat  by  the  window,  listen- 
ing to  the  cries  of  the  lunatic,  and  waiting  for 
the  break  of  day  that  he  might  hear  the  black- 
smith's mortgaged  hammer  sound,  and  fix  his 
eyes  once  more  on  the  securities  spread  about 
him. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MK.  FYLEB  CLOSE  INVOKES  THE  AID  OF  MR.  MEA- 
GRIM  AND  THE  LAW. 

Pursuant  to  his  engagement  with  the  bro- 
ker, Ishmael  at  the  proper  hour,  having  first  laid 
aside  his  cap,  and  substituted  in  its  piace  a 
round-rimmed  hat,  embellished  with  a  strip  of 
crape — set  forth  to  carry  the  wishes  of  Mr. 
Fyler  Close  into  effect.  Getting  by  an  easy 
road  into  Chatham  street,  which  was  his  favor- 
ite promenade,  he  pursued  his  course,  not  quite 
so  gaily  as  usual,  but  with  sufficient  exuberance 
of  spirits  to  indulge  in  an  occasional  sportive 
sally,  as  he  pushed  his  way  along  the  crowded 
street.  Once  feigning  to  be  taking  a  leisurely 
walk,  a  mere  after-breakfast  stroll,  with  his 
hands  crossed  quietly  behind  him,  he  suddenly 
brought  one  of  them  forth,  and  letting  it  drop 
gently  on  the  crown  of  an  errand-boy,  fresh 
from  the  country,  and  who  was  gaping  and 
staring  at  the  various  street  sights — he  left  the 
young  gentlemen  ssaggering  about  as  if  under 
the  influence  of  a  sturdy  morning  draught. 
This,  and  a  few  others  like  it,  were,  however, 
mtire  prefaces  and  flourishes  of  his  humor ;  but 
when  he  got  to  the  declivity  of  the  street,  where 
it  forms  a  cheerful  perspective  of  mouldy  gar- 
ments and  black-whiskered  Jews,  Mr.  Small 
knew  that  he  was  in  a  province  that  his  genius 
had  made  his  own.  He  slackened  his  pace  a 
little,  as  he  began  to  climb  the  street ;  and 
keeping  his  eye  fixed  on  its  other  extremity, 
waited  a  moment  till  he  espied  certain  figures 
turning  into  it  out  of  another  thoroughfare ; 
his  eye  kindled,  and  smiling,  and  touching  his 
hat  gracefully  to  the  young  gentlemen  who  stood 
in  the  shop-doors,  many  of  whom  were  his  par- 
ticular friends,  he  strolled  on.  It  was  alms- 
house morning,  Wednesday,  when  the  public 
charities  are  distributed  at  the  park  office  to 
the  poor ;  and  as  Ishmael  rambled  on,  he  met  the 
various  creatures  of  the  city  bounty  hobbling 
forward  in  every  variety  of  gait,  aspect,  and 
apparel,  and  bearing  their  alms  in  every  kind 
of  characteristic  utensil  and  implement  ;  poor 
Women  bringing  theirs  in  broken  baskets,  con- 
cealed with  woman's  shrinking  cftre,  under  old, 


tattered  cloaks ;  and  the  men  bearing  theirs 
openly  on  their  backs,  or  tied  in  soiled  cotton 
handkerchiefs. 

I      As  he  approached  these  parties,  Ishmael  as- 
sumed a  benevolent  aspect,  and  proceeded  to      ^ 
put  in  practice  the  philanthropic  purpose  with    m^ 
I  which  he  was  inspired.     The  first  that  he  en-          , 
countered  was  a  glazier  carrying  his  arms  in 
an  old  glazier's  box :  drawing  near,  Mr.  Small 
accosted  him  with  "  Stop  a  moment,  my  friend 
— don't  trouble  yourself  to  set  it  down ;"  lift- 
ing the  lid  and  depositing  within  what  seemed      # 
a  liberal  donation  in  money — "There;  go  home    % 
as  fast  as  you  can,  and  invest  that  little  deposite 
in  a  couple  of  tender  steaks  and  two  twisted 
rolls  :  you're  hungry  and  they'll  do  you  good  !'* 
Ishmael  passed  on  to  another  (amid  the  smiles 
of  his  acquaintance  in  the  shops,  who  seemed  -  ,^ 
to  admit  it  was  well  done),  who  might  have 
been  a  great  traveller  in  his  time,  for  he  sus- 
tained his  burden  in  a  faded  carpet-bag,  slung 
from  his  shoulder  at  the  end  of  a  walking-staff. 
Ishmael  begged  to  know  what  was  his  favorite 
dish,  which  the  beggar  modestly  declining  to 
answer,  Mr.  Small  said,  "  I  know  what  it  is — 
it's  turkey  done  brown,  with  sauce  of  oysters  ; 
here's  a  couple  of  quarters," — placing  in  his 
hand  the  apparent  coin, — "  and  there's  a  extra 
twenty-five  center  to  treat  yourself  to  the  pit  o' 
the  the-a-tre  after  dinner."    And  Ishmael  drew 
another  from  a  pocket,  the   issues  of  which 
seemed  to  be  as  free  and  unlimited  as  those  of  ■ 
any  modern  bank. 

Mr.  Small  claimed  to  be  no  banker  or  finan- 
cier, but  he  had  certainly  managed  to  create  a 
currency  which  diffused  a  pleasure  and  satis- 
faction wherever  it  flowed.  Was  it  any  fault 
of  his  if  his  pensioners  should  afterward  chance 
to  wake  from  a  delusion,  and  find  that  what 
they  took  for  a  legal  mintage,  was  nothing 
more  than  a  fictitious  currency  of  electioneer- 
ing silver,  bearing  on  one  side  the  device  of 
an  attractive  donkey,  with  his  mouth  full  of 
political  labels,  and  on  the  reverse  that  of  a 
man  in  a  cage,  starving  in  consequence  of  the 
times  brought  upon  the  country  by  the  party 
against  whom  it  was  aimed  ?  The  silver  was 
a  purchase  of  Ishmael's  from  one  of  the  church- 
es— to  whose  plate  it  had  been  contributed  by 
certain  liberal-minded  politicians,  who  were 
pew-holders  therein. 

Spreading  his  largesses  in  this  way  on  every 
side,  with  the  unqualified  approbation  of  his 
Jewish  friends,  and  maintaining  for  the  time 
at  least  the  character  of  a  large-souled  philan- 
thropist, Ishmael  reached  the  court,  with  more 
sincere  good  wishes  and  blessings  sent  after 
him,  than  ever,  in  all  probability,  accompanied 
a  traveller  in  that  direction  before. 

A  rarer  or  more  curious  gathering  of  mortal 
creatures  than  compose  the  posse  of  officers,  '  j 
marshals,  and  litigants,  that  haunt  the  Small  * 
court — the  Twenty  Pound  jurisdiction,  it  has 
been  no  man's  fortune  to  see.  In  the  first 
place,  the  Small  court  is  held  in  a  square  room 
of  very  limited  dimensions — where  the  court 


'4  « 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


233 


itself  in  triple  majesty  sits — with  its  purlieus  i  from  all  quarters  of  the  room,  a  rush  from  the 


in  the  rear  of  the  city  park ;  the  purlieus  con 
sisting  in  part  of  another  square  room,  where  a 
very  red-nosed  man  roams  about  inside  of  a 
railed  cage,  opening  great  ledgers  and  closing 
them,  and  holding  no  other  intercourse  with 
the  barbarous  world  without,  than  to  accept 
from  time  to  time  small  tributes  of  coin,  which 
he  carefully  deposites  in  a  yawning  drawer, 
wide  and  deep  enough  to  swallow  all  that  may 
be  cast  in. 

A  further  purlieu  of  the  Small  court  adjoins 
this  sacred  precinct,  and  consists  of  two  small 
dens  to  which  the  worshipful  judges  withdraw, 
at  certain  seasons  of  the  day,  and  brood  over  the 
wickedness  and  corruption  of  mankind ;  which 


side  rooms  to  the  door  of  that  where  the  chief 
court  was  held,  and  along  came  a  little  weazen- 
faced,  crop-haired  gentleman,  shuffling  through 
the  press,  and  making  his  way  toward  the 
j  udge's  seat,  into  which  he  presently  dropped ; 
and  after  wriggling  about  uncomfortably  for  a 
few  minutes,  as  if  he  had  got  into  the  prisoner's 
dock  by  mistake,  and  was  on  trial  for  non- 
compos  or  something  corresponding,  he  called 
to  the  crier,  over  the  desk-rail,  for  the  day's 
calendar. 

Recovering  a  little,  as  he  became  better  ac- 
customed to  his  station,  he  began  shortly  to  call 
order,  and  in  very  doubtful  English  required 
people  to  "  make  less  noise"  in  the  outskirts 


they  avenge  by  giving  wrong-headed  verdicts  j  of  the  court-room,  where  a  great  hubbub  was 
against  parties  who  venture  to  molest  them  in  j  rapidly  engendering,  to  which  the  offenders 
their  retirement.  Through  these  various  pur-  j  listened  with  the  most  profound  respect,  while 
lieus  and  avenues,  there  circulates  from  ten,  I  it  was  uttering,  but  as  soon  as  his  voice  had 
morning,  till  three,  afternoon,  a  constant  tide  !  fairly  ceased,  proceeded  with  renewed  anima- 
of  unclean,  unwashed,  and  wrathful  humanity,  I  tion,  and  as  if  it  had  been  the  purpose  of  his 
in  at  one  door,  out  at  another,  making  noisy 
friths  and  creeks,  as  it  were,  all  over  the  place. 


and  whirling  round  and  round  in  a  perpetual 
vortex.  The  tide  was  not  quite  at  its  height 
when  Ishmael  entered;  and  the  retainers  of 
the  court  who  had  assembled  were  therefore 
not  too  many  to  be  observed  apart.  It  was 
the  clerk's  room  that  Ishmael  entered — where 


honor  to  cheer  them  on  and  encourage  them  in 
what  they  were  about. 

Immediately  in  the  heels  of  the  judge — he 
had  walked  down  with  that  functionary,  that 
he  might  enjoy  an  opportunity  to  color  his 
mind  to  the  right  complexion  for  a  case  that  was 
coming  on  that  morning — a  marble-faced  man 
came  in,  dressed  in  clean  black  from  crown  to 


the  officers  and  others  are  in  waiting  till  they  toe,  with  a  pair  of  vicious  black  eyes,  and  a 
are  called — or  transacting  such  business  as  chattering  smile  as  he  entered.  This  was  Mr. 
may  be  put  in  their  charge.  Meagrim,  the  marshal ;  and  glancing  about  to 

There  was  one  man  sitting  in  a  corner,  stout-  '  recognise  his  customers  and  acquaintance,  he 
built  and  heavy,  with  a  great  red  nose — even  ;  glided  out  of  the  court-room  into  the  clerk's 
much  larger  and  fierier  than  the  clerk's — that  |  purlieu,  where  Ishmael  waited  his  coming, 
seemed  to  throw  a  glow  over  the  newspaper  ;  «  Ah  !  Mr.  Small,"  he  said,  recognising  that 
he  held  before  him,  and  which  he  was  reading  gentleman  where  he  stood,  in  a  corner,  talking 
through  a  pair  of  coarse  horn  spectacles  :  while  !  with  one  of  the  brandy-painted  constables, 
a  spare  man  of  a  pale  aspect  was  hobbling  i « what  is  it,  now  ?"  And  he  drew  Ishmael 
across  the  court-room  on  unequal  legs,  bearing  ]  aside,  and  dropping  his  voice  to  a  stealthy 
a  process  to  the  clerk's  desk  within  the  rail,  i  whisper,  inquired  what  he  needed.  They  whis- 
Another  ruby-nosed  officer,  much  taller,  but  I  pered  apart  for  a  short  time  ;  and  Mr.  Mea- 
not  as  stout  as  the  other,  was  sitting  in  the  !  grim,  gliding  away  again,  promised  to  return 
doorway,  looking  out  steadily,  and  with  as  \  in  a  minute,  as  soon  as  he  had  seen  the  oath 
much  keenness  as  his  brandy-stained  face  would  |  sworn  against  a  brass-founder  defendant,  that 
permit,  for  the  approach  of  one  of  their  high  j  he  might  levy  on  his  cart  and  harness  as  they 
mightinesses  and  supreme  disposers  of  Twenty  |  passed  along. 

Pound  cases— the  justice  himself.  There  was  |  When  Mr.  Meagrim  had  left,  the  brandy- 
a  constable  with  one  eye  gone,  but  concentra- ;  stained  gentleman  returned,  and  renewed  the 
ting  in  the  other  sufficient  spite  and  small  discourse  the  marshal  had  interrupted, 
malice  to  light  up  the  organs  of  four-and-twenty 


rattlesnakes  or  more  :  and  another,  a  huge, 
overgrown  man,  in  a  dirty  gray  coat,  with  a 
great  wen  on  his  forehead,  who  sat  upon  a  stool 
at  a  high  desk,  leaning  over  u  paper  and  painfully 
casting  up  the  interest  on  a  very  small  sum  for 
a  very  short  time,  and  due  and  accruing  from 
a  retail  grocer,  both  stout  and  small ;  and  fur- 
thermore, at  this  time,  sadly  invalid  from  want 
of  funds. 

Presently  there  was  a  bustle  at  the  door ; 
a  great  rapping  on  a  desk  in  front  of  the  bench, 
on  the  part  of  an  impudent-looking  man,  who 
directed  his  eyes  steadfastly  toward  the  door  as   there  ?" 
he  knocked  ;  a  tumultuous  shout  of  "  hats  oflf"  [     "  Hallo  ! 


What  did  you  say  this  crape  was  for,  Ish  ?" 
asked  the  constable,  glancing  at  Mr.  Small's 
round-rimmed  beaver. 

"  That  crape,"  answered  Ishmael, "  is  a  sign 
o'  mournin'  and  lamentation  for  the  juryman 
that  was  killed  in  the  box  last  week,  by  Coun- 
sellor Boerum's  speech,  which  was  slow  in  its 
operations,  3'^ou  know,  but  sure.  Where's  your 
weeper,  and  Crany's  and  Jimmerson's  ?  Why 
han't  all  the  officers  got  their  weepers  on  ?" 

"  There's  no  occasion  that  I  can  see,"  an- 
swered the  constable  ;  "  nobody's  lost  any  re- 
lations here  that  I  know  on,  this  week ;  has 


-what  are  you  dreamin'  about," 


234 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


cried  Ishmael,  in  well-feigned  surprise,  "I 
thought  your  judges  was  all  dead.  I  understood 
this  court — and  who'll  deny  it  I  wonder — was 
under  the  jurisdiction  of  judges'  ghosts — not 
live  judges — but  judges  in  a  state  of  semi- 
anymation  and  imperfect  witality  !" 

By  the  time  the  subdued  laughter  which  pre- 
vailed among  the  officers  on  the  occasion  of  the 
ingenious  observation  of  Mr.  Small  had  sub- 
sided, Mr.  Meagrim  returned,  quietly  inter- 
changed a  word  or  two  with  the  clerk,  ordered 
Messrs.  Crany  and  Jimmerson  to  follow,  and 
set  forth  in  company  with  Ishmael. 

When  they  got  into  the  street,  Ishmael  and 
the  marshal  led  the  way,  and  Messrs.  Crany 
and  Jimmerson,  who  were  a  pair  of  ill-matched 
constables,  greatly  dilapidated  by  use  and  age, 
trotted  after.  Presently  Mr.  Small,  suggesting 
to  Mr.  Meagrim,  that  he  had  a  slight  commis- 
sion to  execute  by  the  way,  dropped  behind, 
with  a  promise  to  overtake  them  in  the  course 
of  a  block  or  two.  Soon  aftei",  and  when  his 
companions  were  well  out  of  sight,  he  began 
to  cast  about,  with  an  impatient  and  ominous 
look ;  and  in  a  moment,  hastening  to  a  spot  on 
which  his  eye  had  rested  with  unbounded  satis- 
faction, he  stood  at  a  baker's  window ;  a  min- 
ute after  he  was  in  the  bakers  shop — and,  al- 
lowing him  a  minute  more,  and  he  was  stroll- 
ing forth,  holding  in  his  hand  a  delicate  amal- 
gam, formed  of  a  slice  of  fresh  bread  and  a 
slice  of  pound-cake  laid  close  together. 

"The  wickedness  and  desperation  of  the 
world  is  such,"  said  Ishmael,  as  he  cut  into 
the  amalgam,  "  that  it  exhausts  one's  inge- 
nuity and  wits  to  make  it  go  down.  It's  not 
bad,  however,"  and  he  cut  again,  "  if  one  could 
only  wet  it  with  a  drink  of  pure  gin,  without 
being  put  to  the  vulgarity  of  payin'  for  it !" 

Now  it  is  pretty  generally  known  that  there 
is  a  body  of  thirty-four  gentlemen,  recognised 
and  described  as  the  corporation  of  the  city 
and  county  of  New  York,  whose  sole  business 
it  is,  according  to  popular  belief,  to  sit  as  a 
board  of  brewers  ;  and  whose  constant  employ- 
ment it  likewise  is,  for  which  they  are  chosen 
by  the  people  at  large  and  held  in  great  honor 
therefor,  to  brew  and  distil  a  well-known  pop- 
ular beverage,  which  has  gone  into  extensive 
use.  Ishmael,  faithful  to  the  promise  he  had 
made  to  himself,  paused  at  one  of  the  public 
stills,  where  this  drink  is  distributed,  and  lift- 
ing a  long  wooden  arm  in  the  air,  bending  his 
head  forward  and  drawing  the  wooden  arm 
after  him,  with  a  good  deal  of  dexterity  and 
manual  skill,  took  a  large,  copious,  and  ex- 
hilarating draught  of  the  beverage  in  question. 
He  then  gracefully  wiped  his  mouth ;  and  re- 
storing his  handkerchief  to  his  pocket,  leaving 
a  small  segment  only  exposed  for  the  public 
admiration,  he  followed  on. 

Hurrying  along,  now  that  he  was  thoroughly 
refreshed,  Ishmael  reached  Mr.  Meagrim  at  the 
square,  where  he  was  busy  bargaining  for  the 
services  of  a  cartman,  who  being  at  last  re- 
tained, galloped  forward  up  the  street,  while 


Mr.  Meagrim  and  his  followel-s,  keepiug  him 
in  view,  swept  on. 

When  they  reached  the  neighborhood  of 
Close's  row,  Mr.  Meagrim  ordered  the  cart  to 
halt  without,  and  entering  slyly  with  his  train, 
took  but  a  moment's  glance  at  the  building, 
and  fell  to  business. 

Ishmael  was  despatched  to  the  roof,  with  a 
handful  of  nails  and  an  upholsterer's  hammer, 
produced  from  the  marshal's  pocket ;  Mr.  Jim- 
merson to  the  lightning  maker's  garret ;  and 
Mr.  Meagrim  himself,  with  the  cartman  and 
Mr.  Crany  in  his  train,  proceeded  to  the  recu- 
sant cobbler's.  Such  was  the  nimbleness  and 
dexterity  with  which  Mr.  Small  executed  his 
portion  of  the  business,  that  by  the  time  Mea- 
grim and  his  followers  reached  the  garret,  they 
found  the  cobbler  knocking  his  head  and  fists, 
like  a  madman,  against  the  closed  scuttle,  and 
threatening  to  pitch  his  besieger  from  the  roof, 
if  he  could  once  get  out.  When  he  found  him- 
self hemmed  in  by  other  tormentors,  in  the  per- 
sons of  the  officers  and  posse,  his  rage  was 
greatly  increased,  and  he  danced  about  the 
j  apartment  in  an  extempore  hornpipe,  more  like 
a  Huron  chief  than  a  franchise  ci'tizen. 


Not- 


withstanding he  saw  that  he  was  overpowered, 
when  the  officers  seized  one  end  of  his  corded 
bale  of  valuables,  he  fastened  on  the  other, 
and  tugged  at  it,  till  they  had  fairly  dragged  it 
down  stairs,  the  cobbler  asseverating  that  mar- 
shals and  all  such  cattle  were  a  nuisance  in  a 
civilized  community ;  demanding  to  know  what 
right  they  had  to  touch  his  property,  and  point- 
edly aspersing  the  legislature  for  presuming  to 
pass  such  laws. 

Sweeping  everything  in  in  their  course,  chairs,, 
j  tables,  stair-rods,  Dutch-oven — they  descended 
I  into  the  precinct  of  the  bereaved  mother ;  the 
cobbler  shouting  lustily  after  them  all  the  way. 
Here  their  proceedings  were  quite  as  sum- 
mary— although  they  were  impeded  not  a  little 
by  the  levity  of  Mr.  Crany,  who  clapped  his 
hands  upon  his  knees,  and,  bending  almost 
double,  burst  into  a  horse-laugh,  every  time 
his  eye  fell  upon  the  wooden  quadruped  and 
crape-dressed  vase  on  the  mantel ;  for  which 
extravagance  he  was  sharply  rebuked  by  Mr, 
Meagrim,  who  told  him  he'd  better  stick  to 
business ;  while  the  cartman,  who  seemed  to 
have  a  woman's  soul  under  his  cart-frock,  priv- 
ily thrust  what  was  equivalent  to  his  whole 
day's  wages  in  the  mother's  hand. 

In  the  meantime,  Mr.  Jimmerson,  pursuant 
to  order,  had  proceeded  to  the  lightning-ma- 
ker's quarters,  but  coming  in  at  an  unlucky 
moment,  when  the  artist  was  in  one  of  his  ab- 
sent moods,  he  had  scarcely  had  time  to  disclose 
his  business,  when,  by  some  cursed  mischance, 
a  large  bottle  slipped  off,  and  striking  him  in  a 
most  sensitive  part  of  his  person,  he  was  un- 
ceremoniously thrown  on  his  back.  There  he 
lay,  agitating  his  hands  and  feet,  like  a  great 
green  turtle  in  a  spasm,  until  the  lightning-ma- 
ker, who  was  up  to  his  elbows  in  a  vile  yellow 
mixture,  rushed  toward  him,  and,  expressing  a 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


235 


profound  regret  for  what  had  occurred,  began 
chafing  his  temples,  beating  his  hands,  and 
punching  his  bodj\ 

The  lightning-maker  was  bending  over  Mr. 
Jimmerson,  when  Mr.  Small — who  had  lingered 
on  the  roof,  watching  a  market-sloop  that  was 
sailing  down  the  river — came  down,  and  add- 
ing his  own  endeavors  to  the  artist's,  the  con- 
stable was  soon  put  upon  his  legs,  and  they 
proceeded  in  their  business.  Acting  in  the 
self-same  spirit  with  the  others,  Ishmael  and 
his  aid  cleared  the  house,  down  to  the  very  cel- 
lar-floor, of  all  that  came,  by  the  most  liberal 
construction,  under  their  warrant.  Two  wide 
gales  that  led  into  the  yard  were  thrown  open ; 
the  cart  driven  in  ;  the  goods  piled  on  in  a 
threatening  pyramid ;  and  perching  on  the  very 
top,  whither  he  had  climbed,  with  saucepans, 
broken  candle-stands,  and  rugged  tables,  for  the 
steps  of  his  arduous  ascent,  sat  Mr.  Ishmael  j 
Small,  presiding  over  the  whole,  like  the  verj'  I 
genius  of  distress-warrants  and  chaotic  chat- ; 
tels.  Men,  women,  and  children — the  tenants 
of  the  row — gathered  in  the  windows,  looking 
upon  the  wreck,  pale-cheeked  and  hollow-eyed ; 
the  cobbler  alone,  holding  his  station  in  a  door- , 
way,  and  manfully  vociferating  against  the  in- } 
iquity  of  the  whole  proceeding.  | 

The  cart  was  driven  off;  Messrs.  Crany  and  j 
Jimmerson — the  last  with  a  dolefully  bilious  | 
complexion — trotting  along,  and  keeping  watch  | 
on  either  side ;  and  Mr.  Meagrim,  smooth-  i 
browed  and  unruffled,  following  with  a  hawk's  : 
eye  in  the  rear. 


CHAPTER  XXIH. 


PUFFER    HOPKINS   INQUIRES   AGAIN   AFTER 


HOBBLESHANK. 

Day  had  scarcely  dawned  when  Puffer  was 
called  up  into  the  chamber  of  the  little  tailor. 
As  he  entered,  in  quick  answer  to  the  summons, 
dreading  some  fatal  crisis  in  his  disease,  Mar- 
tha was  at  the  bedside,  dwelling  upon  the  coun- 
tenance of  Fob  with  a  fixed  earnestness,  watch- 
ing every  look  and  turn,  and  ministering  to  his 
wish  before  it  was  uttered ;  and  Puffer,  who 
knew  that  Fob  had  had  the  whole  house,  in 
every  one  of  its  chambers,  for  a  nurse,  and  yet 
none  so  gentle  as  this  one,  wondered  whence 
she  came,  and  turned  toward  the  little  tailor, 
with  a  question  in  his  look.  Fob,  busy  with 
other  thoughts,  held  spread  out  before  him,  as 
wide  as  his  thin,  feeble  arms  would  allow,  the 
old  parchment,  on  which  his  eyes — wide  apart, 
too — were  steadfastly  fastened.  He  greeted 
Puffer  as  he  drew  nearer  to  his  couch,  and  re- 
quested him,  with  a  knowing  smile,  to  stand 
off. 

"  You  shan't  come  so  near  !"  said  Fob,  still 
with  a  grave  smile,  "  I  can't  allow  it.  There 
— stand  where  you  are  and  tell  me  what  you 
see  ?" 


Puffer,  who  had  been  driven  back  by  Fob's 
urgency,  to  almost  the  other  wall  of  the  cham- 
ber, confessed  that,  with  the  doubtful  light, 
he  could  see  nothing  worth  mentioning. 

"  Well,  well,"  pursued  Fob,  rising  upon  his 
elbows  in  his  bed,  and  shifting  the  position  of 
the  parchment  so  that  it  fronted  the  window, 
"  I  must  allow  you  a  sunbeam  or  two ;  what 
do  you  see  now  ?" 

Still  Puffer  averred  nothing.  Then  Fob 
permitted  him  to  come  a  foot  or  two  nearer, 
still  without  effect ;  and  at  last,  in  a  sort  of 
pleased  impatience,  he  threw  the  deed  toward 
him,  and  told  him  to  read  for  himself. 

"  He  wants  to  show  off  his  scholarship,  Mar- 
tha, that's  all,"  said  Fob,  who  stretched  his 
neck  forward  and  watched  the  countenance  of 
Puffer.  A  glance  had  sufficed  to  show  him  all. 
There  it  was  written,  in  a  good  bold  hand, 
HoBBLESHANK  ;  and  there  was  the  clause, 
word  for  word  as  Fob  had  recited  it,  touching 
his  child,  and  showing,  clearly  enough,  the  ten- 
ure by  which  he  held  his  right.  And  now 
something  of  the  old  man's  hopes  began  to 
break  upon  him ;  as  his  mind  ran  back,  with 
inconceivable  swiftness,  he  found  he  held  the 
key  by  which  to  interpret  his  sad  snatches 
of  talk;  his  wild,  melancholy  cry  that  all  was 
lost;  and  then  returned  upon  him,  too,  the 
pledge  he  had  proffered  to  his  aged  friends. 
He  clasped  the  little  tailor  in  an  earnest  grasp  ; 
thanked  him  that  he  had  borne  in  mind  his  poor 
wish  that  he  might  do  a  service  to  the  kind  old 
man ;  and,  returning  the  deed  again  to  Fob, 
for  present  custody,  he  set  forth  in  a  renewed 
search  after  Hobbleshank.  There  was  not  a 
spot  nor  place  where  he  had  but  heard  the  name 
of  Hobbleshank  mentioned  that  he  did  not  visit. 
Till  noonday  he  was  busy  going  about  from  one 
place  to  another,  following  out  an  imperfect 
clew — when  having  learned  that  the  old  man 
had  been  a  constant  lounger  upon  the  wharves, 
spending  whole  days  in  looking  up  and  down 
the  river  (with  what  purpose  nobody  could  ever 
guess).  Puffer  spent  several  hours  more,  in  go- 
ing from  pier  to  pier,  watching  the  sloops  and 
other  river  craft  as  they  arrived,  with  the  hope 
that  he  might  have  wandered  away  into  the 
country  and  would  choose  this  path  back.  Then 
he  crossed  the  city  to  the  piehouse,  where  they 
had  passed  their  first  night  together.  Being  told 
that  he  never  came  there  till  toward  dusk,  he 
waited  about,  questioning  every  one  that  en- 
tered ;  but  dusk  and  broad  night,  even,  failed 
to  bring  the  one  he  sought.  He  then  aimed 
for  Barren's  oyster-house — he  had  reserved 
this,  with  a  strong  hope,  for  the  last.  When 
he  had  reached  the  oyster-house  his  heart  smote 
him — the  cellar-doors  were  closed  and  a  faint 
light  streamed  upon  the  walk  and  up  into  the 
faces  of  passers-by  from  the  glass  bull's-eye  in 
the  door.  It  might  be  shut  for  the  night.  He 
knocked;  no  answer  was  returned;  knocked 
again,  and  the  glass  eye  grew  dull ;  he  bent 
down  and  whispered  his  name;  the  eye  bright- 
ened at  once,  and  he  was  admitted.    Politician 


/ 


236 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


as  he  was,  he  was  compelled  to  stop  and  stand 
stone-still  on  the  steps,  in  wonder  and  amaze- 
ment at  wliat  he  saw. 

The  little  stalls  about  the  place,  used  to  hold 
one  customer  with  difficulty — and  not  that,  if  he 
grew  too  fast  and  stout  upon  the  choice  shell- 
fish of  Mr.  Jarve  Barrell — now  swarmed  with 
damp,  dripping  faces,  as  thickly  set  as  dewy 
cauliflowers  on  a  wall ;  the  fire  was  out,  and 
the  rear  of  the  cellar  shorn  of  its  benches  and 
small  square  tables,  had  passed  through  a  re- 
markable transformation;  the  chief  circum- 
stance of  which  was,  that  Mr.  Nicholas  Finch, 
the  indefatigable  agent,  was  seated  on  a  stool, 
his  legs  spread  apart,  and  between  his  legs,  so 
spread  apart,  the  head  of  a  kneeling  gentleman, 
of  scant  apparel,  bent  down.  Upon  the  head, 
Mr.  Finch  was  most  industriously  employed, 
in  spite  of  the  remonstrances,  entreaties,  and 
contortions  of  the  catechumen.  Lounging 
against  the  end  of  the  oyster-stand,  picking  off 
oysters  from  a  plate  with  a  delicate  touch,  and 
surveying  this  proceeding  from  time  to  time,  as 
his  leisure  permitted,  stood  a  young  gentleman 
chastely  apparelled  in  white  jean  pants  of  a 
fashionable  cut,  an  elegant  blue  coat,  and 
bushy  whiskers. 

"  Hallo  !"  cried  the  oyster-eater,  at  an  un- 
usual spasm  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Finch's  gen- 
tleman, "  you're  a  purty  feller,  ar'n't  you,  for 
a  feller-citizin — when  you  know  towels  and 
soap  is  the  price  of  freedom — blow  me  tight 
if  it  a'nt,  Nick."  The  oyster-eater  had  small 
eyes  and  stout  chaps,  and  he  smiled,  with  an 
oyster  on  his  fork,  as  he  uttered  these  words. 
Mr.  Finch  was  silent,  but  plied  his  arms  with 
wonderful  diligence. 

"  FU  take  another,  Mr.  Codwise,"  said  Mr. 
Finch,  looking  up.  The  kneeling  gentleman 
jumped  to  his  feet,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  walk- 
ing off  to  a  corner  of  the  cellar,  took  his  seat 
on  a  bench,  the  second  in  a  row.  The  oyster- 
eater  laid  down  his  fork^  picked  his  way  nicely 
to  one  of  the  stalls,  and  taking  one  of  the  rag- 
ged tenants  daintily  by  the  collar,  led  him  out 
upon  the  floor ;  and,  giving  him  an  energetic 
impulse  with  his  foot,  directed  him  to  Mr. 
Finch.  Upon  this  gentleman  Mr.  Finch  fell 
to  work  in  like  manner;  and  the  owner  of  the 
blue  coat  and  bushy  whiskers  resumed  his  oys- 
ters. This  was  certainly  a  lively  subject;  his 
outcries  were  much  louder  and  his  writhings 
more  frequent,  and  the  raptures  of  Mr.  Cod- 
wise  proportion  ably  heightened;  so  much  so, 
that  he  at  last  left  off  his  oysters  entirely,  to 
watch  the  spectacle,  and  smiled  so  earnestly 
that  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  Bear  your  sufferin's  like  a  man  and  a  gen- 
tleman," said  Mr.  Codwise,  whose  delivery  was 
somewhat  imperfect,  but  in  a  tone  of  patron- 
izing encouragement.  "Split  my  vest,  but 
don't  be  cast  down  because  the  fibre's  coarse. 
Oh,  it's  a  glorious  privilege,  an't  it,  Mr.  Finch, 
to  enjoy  the  right  of  votin'  an  independent 
ticket  ?'*     The  consolation  administered  by 


Mr.  Codwise  was  not  quite  satisfactory,  for 
Mr.  Finch's  patient  writhed  again  at  a  fresh 
application,  down  to  his  very  extremities.  At 
this  moment  a  plunge  was  heard  beyond,  from 
behind  a  faded  curtain,  stretched  across  the 
rear  of  the  apartment,  and  through  which  a 
dull  light  glimmered  and  painted  upon  it  shad- 
owy figures  moving  within.  A  voice  remon- 
strated— a  voice,  Mr.  Jarve  Barrell's,  by  the 
accent,  responded,  and  a  second  plunge.  What 
could  this  mean  ?  Could  it  be  that  Puffer  Hop- 
kins had  got  into  a  branch  penitentiary,  estab- 
lished under-ground,  where  new  tortures  and 
fresh-devised  penalties  were  inflicted  on  the 
criminal  ? 

When  he  looked  at  the  men  about  him,  there 
was  certainly  something  in  their  gait  to  war- 
rant the  belief;  and  when  he  saw  the  secrecy 
with  which  the  rites  of  the  place  were  per- 
formed, he  might  have  been  easily  assured  that 
these  men  had  been  guilty  of  offences  against 
God  and  man  that  drew  upon  them  the  dun- 
geon and  the  rack,  which  Mr.  Finch  and  Mr. 
Barrell  seemed  to  be  administering.  There 
was  a  smell  of  the  prison  in  their  garments, 
and  something  of  the  dull  fixedness  of  prison- 
walls  in  their  look. 

There  seemed,  at  this  juncture,  to  be  a  strug- 
gle behind  the  red  curtain.  "  Don't  drown  me, 
for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  drown  me  !"  cried  the 
first  voice  again,  in  a  tone  of  earnest  entreaty. 

"Dip  your  head  under,  you  rascal,"  cried 
the  voice  of  Jarve  Barrell.  "  Dip  your  head 
under,  you  burglary  knave !" 

"  Petty  larceny,  sir,"  whined  the  other  voice, 
which  savored  strongly  of  thin  soup  and  damp 
lodgings. 

"  Don't  spare  the  villain  !"  shouted  Mr. 
Codwise,  who  had  mounted  a  stool,  and  with  a 
light  in  his  right  hand  held  high  above  his 
head,  was  peering  over  the  curtain,  "  it's  bur- 
glary, I  saw  it  on  the  keeper's  books ;  it's  so 
on  my  list.  Don't  spare  him,  it's  good  for  his 
system,  an't  it,  Mr.  Barrell  ?  He  broke  into  a 
respectable  house  in  Fourteenth  street,  and 
stole  a  bottle  of  Muscat  wine  and  a  plate  of 
anchovies.  Pll  make  a  patriot  of  you,  you 
villain,  don't  you  want  to  serve  your  country, 
eh  !    Tell  us  that,  will  you  ?" 

And  so  it  was  kept  up ;  Mr.  Finch  dumb  and 
devoted,  heart  and  soul  to  the  performance  of 
his  share  of  the  service  ;  Mr.  Barrel)  coaxing 
and  clamoring  from  behind  the  curtain,  with 
the  resisters  of  his  authority ;  and  Mr.  Cod- 
wise dividing  his  time  in  equal  proportions  be- 
tween the  oysters,  the  leading  out  of  the  men 
from  the  stalls,  baiting  Mr.  Finch's  patients 
from  where  he  stood,  and  bantering  Mr.  Bar- 
rell's from  over  the  top  of  the  curtain.  At 
length  the  noise  ceased  from  behind  the  cur- 
tain, and  Mr.  Barrell  came  stumpinsr  forth; 
Mr.  Finch  dismissed  his  last  patient  from  un- 
der his  hand ;  Mr.  Codwise's  last  oyster  had 
disappeared.  The  benches  were  full ;  and 
there  they  sat,  all  in  a  row,  in  their  sleeves, 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


237 


their  faces  of  a  bright  red,  brought  on  by  the 
spirited  exertions  of  Mr  Finch,  and  their  hair 
flying  all  abroad. 

Pulfer  inquired  what  all  this  meant.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  He  didn't  want  respectable 
voters — freemen,  freshly 'delivered  from  bon- 
dage, voting  an  independent,  patriotic  ticket — 
coming  up  to  the  polls  in  dirty  faces — did  he  ? 
He'd  like  to  have  'em  show  a  clean  counte- 
nance among  their  fellow  citizens — wouldn't 
he  ?  What  was  better  for  'em  than  baths  and 
towels  ?  This  was  Mr.  Barrell's  explanation, 
and  it  agreed  well  enough  with  a  rumor  which 
had  prevailed  that  prisoners  were  to  be  brought 
down  from  the  island  to  vote  at  the  coming 
election. 

At  the  head  of  the  row  there  was  an  old 
window,  which,  being  greatly  battered  and 
damaged  by  age,  admitted  such  currents  of  air 
as  might  be  prowling  about.  The  gentlemen 
in  the  sleeves  murmured  at  this,  and  ventured 
to  hint  that  the  cold  was  coming  it  rather  sharp 
and  strong. 

"  Be  silent,  ye  scum  of  the  earth,"  cried  Mr. 
Codwise,  the  moment  he  detected  a  glimpse 
of  insubordination,  coming  forward  and  plant- 
ing himself  directly  in  their  front,  at  the  saiue 
time  gently  hoisting  his  shirt  collar,  "  arn't  we 
making  men  of  you  ?  How  do  you  expect  to 
b|  worthy  of  freedom  if  you  don't  fit  yourself 
for  it  by  a  course  of  trials  and  tribulations  ? 
Look  at  me  !  Didn't  I  risk  my  neck  in  getting 
you  off  the  island — whose  your  deliverer  but  j 
me,  you  bottle-flies  ?  There's  few  rich  men's 
sons  would  ha'  done  as  much — is  there,  Mr. 
Finch  ?  is  tliere,  Ban-ell  ?  True,  I  might  ha' 
been  sittin'  by  my  father's  parlor  fire,  eatin' 
sandwitches  and  drinkin'  claret — and  what  do 
I  do  ?  Why,  I  hire  an  omnibus  at  an  expense 
of  three  dollars  an  hour,  didn't  I,  Mr.  Finch  ? 
and  blow  me  tight  if  I  didn't  wait  upon  you,  you 
miserable  wretches  off"  the  island,  as  though 
you  had  been  so  many  Broadway  promenaders 
of  the  sex,  help  you  into  your  carriage  sAd 
bring  you  to  a  friend's  house  for  lodgings — 
didn't  I,  Mr.  Barrell?  and  now  you  grumble 
about  that  winder,  do  you  ?  May  my  buttons 
drop  off",  and  my  boots  run  down  at  the  heel, 
if  I  don't  give  up  politics  and  go  into  the 
shades  of  private  life,  if  I  see  any  more  sich 
ingratitude  and  beastliness  !" 

Puffer  looked  at  the  speaker,  saw  how  poor 
and  frivolous  he  was,  in  spite  of  his  trinkets 
and  fair  apparel,  but  when  he  spoke,  in  boast 
of  the  home  where  he  might  be  sheltered,  a 
feeling  wakened  in  Puffer's  heart  which  he 
could  not  subdue.  He  thought  of  himself  and 
the  other  together,  side  by  side,  and  asked  him- 
self, almost  repiningly,  why  the  vague  hope 
that  he  might  be  one  day  restored  to  a  home  he 
had  not  known  for  years,  should  not  be  ful- 
filled ?  Why,  as  in  the  other  case,  the  trinkets 
he  wore  upon  his  person  were  pledges  of  pa- 
rental attachment,  why  the  little  trinket,  the 
little  broken  jewel  he  had  treasured  so  long,  as 
the  sole  relic  of  any  parent's  love  toward  him, 


should  not  guide  him  by  some  kindly  providence 
back  to  the  happiness  he  should  have  known  ? 
He  wakened  from  his  revery,  and  turning 
quickly  upon  Mr.  Jarve  Barrell,  who  stood 
by  his  side,  he  asked  after  Hobbleshank.  Mr. 
Jarve  Barrell's  information  was  strictly  pro- 
fessional. All  he  knew  or  could  tell  in  the 
premises,  was,  that  the  old  man,  in  company 
with  a  stranger,  had  stopped  a  long  while  ago 
and  ordered  a  large  supply  of  oysters  to  be 
ready  on  their  return  with  sufficient  beer  to 
answer.  They  had  never  come  back,  and  the 
oysters  were  kept  till  midnight,  when  a  party 
of  sailors  luckily  coming  in  swept  them  up. 
That  was  all.  Puffer  asked  no  further  ques- 
tions, but  climbing  the  steps,  thoughtfully, 
without  salutation  or  farewell  of  any  kind 
either  to  the  agent  or  Mr.  Barrell,  was  in  the 
open  air.  There  he  wandered  up  and  down 
two  or  three  by-streets  lost  in  thought. 

At  last  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  re- 
pair to  the  old  man's  lodgings,  and  seek  infor- 
mation of  his  two  old  friends  ;  this  might  only 
give  pain,  and  to  what  purpose  ?  Just  then  a 
drum  sounded  about  the  corner,  the  current  of 
his  thoughts  was  changed,  and  he  turned  into 
the  next  street.  A  boy,  in  a  cocked  paper-hat, 
(a  brigadier's  hat  at  least),  beating  a  drum 
with  great  energy,  marched  at  the  head  of  a 
company  of  youth,  who,  fitted  out  in  belts  and 
sticks,  and  bearing  crickets  and  hurdygurdys  in 
their  hands,  tramped  along,  assuming  the  port 
of  martialists  and  sticking  close  to  the  heels  of 
their  leader.  Puffer,  with  others,  fell  in  at 
their  wake  and  followed  them  down  the  city  to 
the  front  of  a  public  hall,  embellished  with  the 
full-length  of  a  tall  military  gentleman  in  a 
blue  coat  and  yellow  breeches,  where,  forming 
a  line,  they  plied  their  instruments  for  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  and  then  marched  ofl^.  Puffer 
Hopkins  entered  the  hall ;  the  great  room  up 
stairs  was  packed  close  with  citizens,  listening 
to  an  excited  individual,  who  walked  up  and 
down  the  platform,  swaying  his  arms  and  foam- 
ing at  the  mouth,  as  though  he  were  in  a  cage, 
roaring  to  be  let  out.  This  seemed  to  be  to 
the  crowd  an  entertamment  of  the  first  de- 
scription ;  but  Puffer,  paying  little  heed  to  the 
orator,  who  he  knew  was  going  furious  ac- 
cording to  an  understanding  with  the  committee 
that  arranged  the  meeting,  glided  about  the 
room,  singling  out  a  man  here,  a  man  there, 
and  whispering  a  word  in  his  ear.  In  a  few 
minutes,  keeping  clear  of  the  platform  and 
coasting  along  the  wall  out  of  view  of  the  light, 
he  got  forth  into  the  street  again. 

Wherever  he  moved  indications  of  the  con- 
test of  to-morrow  were  rife.  The  oyster- 
houses  and  tap-rooms,  everywhere,  were  full ; 
the  citizens  throwing  themselves  upon  oysters 
and  punches,  with  infinite  spirit,  all  through 
the  night,  and  pausing  only  every  now  and 
then  to  form  into  a  group  and  enter  upon  a  dis- 
cussion of  the  prospects  and  chances  of  the 
day.  Sometimes  a  grim  boy  staggered  by  under 
a  fardel  of  ballots  from  the  printers ;  sometimes 


■%. 


/ 


238 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


a  bill-sticker  paused,  and,  clattering  lus  paste- 
pot  on  the  pavement,  proceeded  to  embellish 
the  wall  with  a  pictorial  and  ornamental  broad- 
sheet. Every  street  had  its  public  meeting  in 
the  upper  chamber  of  a  tavern,  whose  win- 
dows glared  with  light.  It  was  noticeable 
that  in  the  neighborhoods  of  the  Gallipot 
meetings — the  friends  of  Gallipot  being  in 
possession  of  the  city — the  public  lamps  were 
lighted  and  burned  away  in  the  most  brilliant 
and  cheerful  humor  imaginable  ;  whereas,  in 
all  the  streets  lying  about  a  meeting  of  the  op- 
position, for  a  furlong  or  better,  they  utterly  re- 
fused to  afford  a  single  ray  to  any  that  might 
be  in  search  of  such  meeting  or  place  of  re- 
sort. Not  only  this,  but  it  would  not  infre- 
quently happen  that  a  public  well  would  be 
found  to  be  sunk,  or  undergoing  repair,  at  the 
very  mouth  of  the  opposition  halls,  affording  a 
capital  opportunity  for  curious  geological  in- 
vestigation to  such  gentlemen  of  the  opposition 
as  might  be  inclined  to  step  in.  Even  as  it 
was — as  if  to  supply  any  deficiency  of  the  cor- 
porate light — new  lights  sprung  up  on  every 
hand  as  the  night  deepened.  In  committee 
rooms  and  other  resorts  all  over  town,  men 
were  gathered  about  their  tables,  mapping  out 
the  work  of  to-morrow,  brooding  stealthily 
over  circumventions  and  manoeuvres  and 
strokes  of  craft ;  in  others,  cutting  tickets  and 
folding  them;  in  others,  nursing  the  patriotic 
furor  in  innumerable  punches,  cock-tails,  and 
cobblers.  And  so  from  every  quarter  their 
dusky  lights  streamed  upon  the  street — making 
the  air  close  and  sultry — and  portending  surely 
enough  the  storm  that  was  to  break  by  morn- 
ing. Puffer,  as  he  hurried  abou't,  dipping  in 
for  a  minute  at  a  caucus,  for  another  minute  at 
a  tap-room,  and  again  at  a  public  meeting, 
where  they  seemed  bent  on  keeping  huddled  to- 
gether all  night  long,  seething  and  reeking  and 
growing  more  confused  and  more  determined, 
the  longer  they  tarried ;  Puffer  waxed  warm, 
too,  and  retired  to  the  Fork,  with  a  head  full 
of  schemes  and  a  heart  all  on  fire  with  the 
sure  hope  of  a  triumph. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   CHARTER    ELECTION. 

The  April  sun  streamed  upon  a  city  in  the 
very  crisis  of  a  fever,  flushed  and  curtained  all 
over  with  flags  like  a  mighty  booth  or  tent  of 
war.  The  color  had  apparently  all  passed  out 
of  the  red  brick  houses — now  pale  with  plac- 
ards— into  the  faces  of  the  inhabitants.  The 
election,  rumbling  and  foretelling  itself  for 
months,  had  come;  and  while  parts  of  the 
town — whole  streets  and  neighborhoods — had 
the  appearance  of  being  abandoned  and  deso- 
late, others  boiled  and  overflowed  with  life  like 
so  many  whirlpools.  Each  poll  or  headquarter 
of  the  wards  was  the  centre  and  heart  of 


streams  that  choked  the  streets  and  blocked 
up  all  passage  through  or  beyond.  Banners 
run  high  up  in  the  air,  coiled  and  twisted  and 
turned  about  as  often  as  the  politicians  over 
whose  heads  they  floated ;  others,  stretched 
across  the  thoroughfares,  brushed  the  hats  of 
the  crowds,  and,  as  they  wavered  to  and  fro, 
helped  to  fan  the  fire  into  a  flame.  The  ex- 
citement was  by  no  means  diminished  when  the 
voters — many  of  whom  had  been  up  all  night 
long  preparing  for  the  contest — rubbed  their 
eyes,  and  read  upon  the  fences  affidavits  (which 
had  just  come  out)  to  the  eflect  that  Gallipot, 
the  candidate  of  the  Bottomites — as  they  were 
known  at  the  canvass — had  been  a  smuggler  of 
British  paints  through  the  customhouse  for 
years ;  yes,  British  paints.  Mr.  Gallipot's 
enemies  laughed  horribly  when  they  read  it ; 
but  when  they  had  leisure  to  turn  round  and 
read  on  an  opposite  wall  (it  had  been  drafted, 
printed,  sworn  to,  and  posted  up  almost  while 
they  were  busy  spelling  out  the  other),  that 
Mr.  Blinker,  the  president  of  the  Phoenix  com- 
pany, and  their  own  candidate — he  had  been 
put  up  at  the  last  moment  by  the  opposition — 
had  murdered  a  traveller  fourteen  years  before, 
at  Rahway,  New  Jersey,  whose  bones  he  had 
kept  ever  since  in  a  writing  desk  with  a  false 
bottom,  in  his  own  house — they  grinned  again, 
but  this  lime  they  writhed  and  twisted  as  tl^y 
grinned. 

In  the  mean  time  all  parties  were  at  work  at 
their  polling  places.  In  all  the  lower  region 
of  the  city  the  battle  went  smoothly;  the  vo- 
ters dropped  in  one  by  one,  as  to  a  party,  with 
their  notes  of  invitation  in  their  hands,  and 
quietly  deposited  their  ballots,  and  passed 
away.  Further  up,  and  nearer  the  heart  of  the 
city,  where  life  may  be  supposed  to  be  more 
rampant  and  furious,  there  were  constant  out- 
breaks, little  playful  jets,  all  day  long. 

As  these  bubbled  up  from  time  to  time  and 
burst,  fragments  of  timber,  branches  of  oak 
adid  hickory,  were  thrown  out  with  such  vio- 
lence and  spirit,  as  to  send  voters  of  a  peace- 
ful turn  of  mind  trotting  up  the  sloping  streets 
which  lead  from  this  infested  region ;  and 
when  such  voters  chanced  to  be  of  a  respectable 
bulk  and  tonnage,  they  were  watched  with  no 
little  curiosity  and  interest  by  lookers-on  who 
stood  at  the  top,  and  saw  with  what  pain  and 
anxiety,  and  redness  of  face,  they  toiled  up. 

In  another  ward  the  poll  had  been  construct- 
ed and  arranged  a  good  deal  on  the  principle  of 
a  puzzle,  which  the  voters  frequenting  there 
were  required,  as  an  agreeable  day's  pastime, 
to  solve.  First,  you  had  to  go  through  a  long 
blind  hall,  from  the  street;  then  out  into  a  yard; 
then  up  a  flight  of  stairs,  through  a  long  dark 
room;  and  then  up  a  ladder,  when,  in  an 
apartment  so  small  that  its  inmates  must  have 
been  got  in  by  legerdemain,  you  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  meeting  three  gentlemen — two  of  them, 
who  approved  of  the  juggle  which  had  been 
set  by  their  own  party,  smiling  cheerfully — be- 
hind their  green  box,  ready  to  wait  upon  you. 


) 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


239 


Here  was  a  delightful  recreation  for  aged 
gentlemen  of  inactive  habits,  and  delicate 
young  gentlemen  in  tight-strapped  pants ;  an 
admirable  device,  and  it  worked  well,  for  the 
plotters  polled  two  votes  to  one — as  they  had  a 
great  run  of  sailors  from  q||government  vessel 
in  the  harbor,  in  the  morning,  all  on  their  side, 
and  quite  as  spirited  an  accession  of  lamp- 
lighters in  the  afternoon. 

But  it  was  at  the  East   river  poll   where 
Puffer  Hopkins  labored,  that  the  struggle  was 
steadiest   and  fiercest;  it  was   the   tie   ward, 
where  parties  had  in  the  previous  election  cast 
an  equal  vote,  and  the  whole  city  now  hung  | 
anxiously  upon  its  returns.     The  poll  was  held  ' 
in  an  old  yellow  building,  its  gable  upon  the 
street,  and  its  front  facing  the  river ;  the  voting  ; 
room  was  an  obscure  dark  corner,  reached  by  ; 
a   narrow   entry,   full   of   crooks    and  turns,  \ 
through  an  old-fashioned  door-way.     Around  ' 
this  a  great  number  of  voters  had  lodged  the 
night  through,  to  be  in  readiness  to  put  in  the  \ 
earliest  vote  the  first  day ;  among  them  were  ! 
the  lightning-maker,  whose   uneasy  slumbers  | 
against  the  wall  had  betrayed  themselves  by  ; 
incessant  cries  of  "  bring  the   buckets  !"  and 
the   cobbler,  who  had  not  slept  a  wink,  inas- 
much as  he  had  been  engaged  with  a  one-eyed 
stone-cutter  in  an  elaborate  argument  to  show  : 
that  the  only  debts  a  man  was  bound  to  pay, 
were  his  grocer's  (a  line  of  business  his  wife's 
brother  was  in),  and  his  shoemaker's.     It  was 
a  pleasure  to  Pufler  Hopkins  to  learn  that  the  ' 
cobbler — a  convert  of  his  own — had  deposited 
the  first  vote,  although  with  such  emphasis  as 
to  stave  in  the  cover  of  the  ballot-box,  and 
cause  himself  to  be  taken  into  keeping  by  a 
couple  of  officers,  who  led  him,  roaring  and 
remonstrating,  to  a  neighboring  watch-house. 
Before  the  morning  was  half  spent  the  election 
was  in  full  progress;  there  were  men  running 
up  and  down  the  streets   bringing  in  voters; 
others,   housed   in   small    wooden    booths   or 
cabins,  distributing  ballots ;  some  declaiming, 
in  high  gusty  voices ;  some,  farther  apart  from 
the  throng,  calculating  the  chances  of  the  can- 
didates ;  and  others,  even,  who  had  withdrawn 
into  by-streets  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  poll, 
plotting   the   distribution   of  the  offices   that 
would  fall  to  the  share  of  the  victorious  party. 
Toward  the  evening  of  the  first  day,  to  which 
moment,  as  commanding  the  largest  throng  of 
spectators,    he    had    reserved    himself,    Mr. 
Blinker  came  upon  the   ground,  attended  by 
two  or  three  hangers-on  and  runners,  and  look- 
ing very  grand  and  decisive.     There  was  an 
extraordinaiy  severity  in  his  look  ;  although  his 
coat,  a  faded   chocolate,  was   something  the 
worse  for  wear,  and  a  thought  or  two  below 
the   usual   style   of  the  president.     This  was 
odd;  but  presently  it  began  to  be  whispered 
about,  as  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  it,  that  this 
identical  chocolate  garment  was  the  cast  coat 
of  a  distinguished  senator  of  the  United  States, 
who  had  lately  made  a  triumphant  tour  through 
the  city.     It  was  soon  discovered,  too,  that  the 


neck-stock  which  Mr.  Blinker  now  wore  was 
of  the  very  same  sable  and  satin  texture  as 
that  worn  by  his  eminent  model  on  that  occa- 
sion. Mr.  Blinker  had  made  influence  with  the 
great  man ;  and  this  was  the  result.  As  he  was 
watched,  moving  down  the  walk  majestically 
making  gracious  nods  and  recognitions  on  either 
hand,  it  occurred  to  the  lookers-on  that  Mr.  B. 
emulated  not  a  little  the  gait  and  manner,  and 
assumed,  as  nearly  as  was  attainable,  the  voice 
of  the  illustrious  senator.  The  spectacle  was 
imposing  but  not  conclusive;  two  loafers,  to 
be  sure,  bailed  the  air  with  their  hats  with 
such  vehemence  as  to  drive  the  bottoms  out ; 
but  the  effect  of  this  was  entirely  destroyed  by 
a  couple  of  ragged  young  rascals,  who  had  been 
put  forward,  clinging  to  his  chocolate  skirts, 
and  whining  out  the  paternal  appellation,  till 
they  were  dragged  off  by  main  force,  amid  the 
shouts  of  the  mob,  "  That's  a  cruel  wretch !" 
«  What  a  unfeelin'  father  !"  and  so  forth. 

While  Mr.  Blinker  spent  his  time  in  this 
way,  strutting  about  the  poll— it  was  his  native 
ward,  and  he  had  a  pride  in  sticking  to  it — his 
antagonist,  Mr.  Gallipot,  honest  Peleg  Galli- 
pot, was  all  over  town,  in  his  paint-dress,  ma- 
king interest,  shaking  hands,  chewing,  smoking, 
drinking,  as  though  he  had  been  fifty  men  in- 
stead of  one.  The  Gallipot  hacks  and  stages 
rushed  about,  with  great  linen  flags  streaming 
to  the  wind,  as  though  the  horses  had  votes  as 
well  as  the  half-drunken  gentlemen  inside,  and 
were  anxious  to  get  them  in.  Puffer  Hopkins, 
for  one,  was  ever^'where  ;  haranguing ;  folding 
tickets ;  diving  into  committee-rooms ;  arguing 
on  the  kerb;  was  at  every  man's  ear;  had 
everv  man  by  the  hand.  He  seemed  to  have 
multiplied  himself;  every  third  carriage-door 
that  opened,  lo  !  out  popped  Puffer,  leading  by 
the  hand  a  couple  of  misty  sailors ;  a  super- 
annuated old  man  ;  a  quaker  that  hadn't  voted 
for  nineteen  years,  or  some  other  wonder  and 
miracle. 

The  first  day  closed ;  and  at  night  the  Galli- 
pots and  Blinkerites  repaired  to  their  respect- 
ive quarters  for  an  irregular  canvass  of  the 
result.     The  Gallipot  party  met  in  the  upper 
chamber  of  the  poll,  of  which,  as  the  party  at 
present  in  power,  they  had   possession;  and 
their  meeting  was  sufficiently  promiscuous  and 
piebald.     Along  benches   fronting  the  raised 
platform,  were  seated,  cheek  by  jowl,  gentle- 
'  men  in  fine  beaver  hats,  and  tatterdemalions, 
with  no  covering  but  their  own  matted  and  dis- 
!  cordant  locks  ;  some  in  broadcloth  coats  of  the 
latest  cut,  and  some  in  jackets  that,  judging  by 
their  texture  and  complexion,  seemed  to  have 
been  fashioned  out  of  sweeps'  blankets.     The 
I  room  was  full,  so  full  that  it  overflowed,  a 
!  loafer  or  two,  upon  the  stairs ;   and  two  or 
!  three  men  who  occupied  the  platform,  and  who 
had  watched  the  progress  of  .the  voting,  down 
stairs,  through  tlie  day,  called  over  by  turn,  a 
list  of  voters  which  they  held  in  their  hands. 


As  they  called,  some  one  or 


other  in  the  crowd 


would  answer  for  each  name,  «  good,'*  «  bad,' 


i 


240 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


"  doubtful,"  as  the  case  might  be ;  the  answer  | 
being  given  by  such  as  supposed  themselves  I 
familiar  with  the  way  of  thinking  and  political  j 
turn  of  the   person   called.     This  proceeding  | 
was  kept  up  till  the  roll  was  finished  ;  which  | 
was  no  sooner  done,  than  an  ambitious  young  j 
gentleman,    who   had   stood   at   the   doorway 
watching  its  close,  rushed  oiF  as  special  express 
and  postboy,  to  carry  the  result  to  Fogfire  hall, 
where  it  was  waited  for  with  much  anxiety. 
Two  or  three  speeches  of  a  highly  infiammfCtory 
character  were  delivered — the  meeting  broke 
up — and  the  first  day's  work  was  over. 

The  sun,  which  had  been  in  a  fine  mood  all 
the  first  day,  shining  like  a  great  eye  into  all 
corners  of  the  city,  warming  voters  into  life, 
rolled  up  the  sky,  on  the  morning  of  the  second, 
apparently  as  good-humored  as  ever.  The 
Blinkerites  were  delighted ;  they  were  the  fair- 
weaiher  party,  and  their  well-dressed  voteis 
poured  in  in  a  steady  stream  for  a  couple  of 
hours  or  better;  but  when,  toward  noon,  a 
large,  ill-looking  cloud  came  looming  along 
from  the  northwest,  they  began  to  grow  gloomy, 
and  sundry  of  the  Bottom  leaders  walked  round 
the  corner  and  shook  hands  on  the  prospect  of 
a  good  pelting  shower. 

It  was  a  false  alarm  ;  the  cloud,  a  mere  gust 
of  wind,  passed  off;  the  Blinkerites  brightened 
up  wondei  fully.  The  tide  was  running  strong 
and  deep  in  their  favor ;  two  to  one,  at  least, 
entering  the  boxes  on  their  side.  Troops  of 
nice-looking  gentlemen  were  hunying  in ;  gen- 
tlemen of  doubtful  politics  were  going  over  ev- 
ery minute.  Blinker  was  standing  against  a 
great  empty  hogshead,  on  the  corner,  dividing 
the  offices  to  his  friends,  who  were  gathered  I 
round  him  in  large  numbers,  in  advance.  Ever 
since  the  cloud  had  blown  over  (which  to  be 
sure  they  couldn't  help),  the  Boltomites  had 
been  horribly  cast  down.  What  was  to  be 
done  ?  Just  then  there  was  a  shuffling  of  feet 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  poll ;  a  tumult  in 
the  entry  ;  the  crowd  outside  looked  in — there 
were  officers'  staves  crossing  and  clashing  in 
the  hall ;  great  brawny  arms  raised  and  brought 
down  with  wonderful  vigor — bodies  pushed 
about — and  presently  the  whole  melee  came 
tumbling  into  the  street.  The  Gallipot  lead- 
ers rubbed  their  hands  and  chuckled ;  they 
knew  what  it  meant.  A  detachment  of  the 
Bottom  Club  had  been  concealed  under  the 
stairway  of  the  hall,  all  the  morning,  lying  in 
wait  for  an  opportunity  (in  the  meantime, 
amusing  their  leisure  by  tripping  up  as  many 
inconsiderate  Blinker  voters  as  they  could  as 
they  passed  in)  for  a  decisive  demonstration. 
They,  like  their  friends  without,  had  formed 
good  hopes  of  the  shower ;  but  when  the  air 
cleared  up  so  brightly  and  provokingly,  they 
could  restrain  themselves  no  longer.  A  cat- 
call had  been  given,  certain  members  of  the 
fraternity  had  forced  their  way  in  at  the  back- 
door of  the  polling-room,  others  from  the  neigh- 
boring bar,  and,  first  crowning  the  ofliceis  in 
attendance,  they  had  distributed  themselves 


about  the  hall  and  engendered  the  tumult — onfe 
of  their  little  plans  for  reorganising  and  reform- 
ing society — which  gave  such  unmixed  satis- 
faction to  their  out-of-door  friends.  This  blow 
was  a  decisive  one  ;  the  timid  and  peace-affect- 
ing Blinkerites  k^t  aloof;  and  although  the 
Blinkerite  leaders  came  upon  the  ground  in  the 
afternoon,  in  tarpaulin  hats  and  shag  rounda- 
bouts, it  was  impossible  to  recover  themselves. 
When  the  poll  was  shut,  it  was  admitted  on  all 
hands  that  they  had  run  behind,  a  hundred  at 
least.  There  was  another  meeting  for  a  can- 
vass, which  differed  from  the  other  in  no  re- 
spect, save  that  in  its  very  midst,  a  great  polit- 
ical calculator,  rushing  in  breathless  from  his 
own  house,  where  he  had  been  casting  up  the 
question,  averred  that  they  were  to  have,  un- 
less their  friends  made  superhuman  exertions 
to-morrow  (notwithstanding  present  flattering 
prospects),  a  majority  of  only  twenty-five,  with 
a  floating  prospect  of  three  more  if  the  weath- 
er proved  foul.  He  staked  his  head  on  this  re- 
sult. Another  express  was  run  to  Fogfire  hall ; 
sundry  speeches  of  a  still  more  excitable  qual- 
ity delivered ;  and  the  meeting  dispersed,  fe- 
verish and  resolute. 

The  third  day  brought  unexpected  relays 
from  all  quarters.  The  hall,  the  blind,  the  fee- 
ble, the  asthmatic — came  wheezing,  and  hob- 
bling, and  tottering,  and  groping  their  way  to 
the  poll.  Some  poor  scarecrows  that  appeared 
to  have  been  mouldering  away  for  years,  in 
their  piecemeal  garments,  in  out-of-the-way 
holes  and  corners,  were  led  in  by  the  hand,  and 
stood  around  as  though  they  had  been  just  dug 
out.  Others,  reeking  and  bloated,  with  lack- 
lustre eyes,  appeared  before  the  green  boxes, 
and  voted  in  the  same  manner  as  they  would 
have  .called  for  a  twopenny  pint  of  spirits. 

The  caldron  had  been  stirred  to  its  bottom, 
and  its  very  dregs  were  floating  up.  Those 
that  now  voted  were  stragglers,  coming  in  one 
by  one  ;  but  presently,  a  sharp-eyed  looker-on 
might  have  discovered  that  a  more  steady 
stream  was  setting  in,  of  a  somewhat  similar 
class.  This  was  Mr.  Finch's  second  detach- 
ment (his  first  had  finished  their  work  in  the 
various  wards,  stealthily,  the  two  previous 
days),  his  Island  volunteers,  who  entered  the 
polls  at  intervals,  deposited  their  votes  and 
quietly  withdrew  beyond  reach  of  the  officers' 
eyes  as  soon  as  possible — going  in,  that  was 
Mr.  Finch's  device,  most  frequently  on  the  arm 
of  some  gentleman  of  known  character,  who 
lent  his  responsibility  for  the  purpose,  and 
sharing  his  good  character  at  the  ballot-box.  ^ 
One  of  them,  a  notorious  pickpocket,  but  who 
had  chalked  his  face  deeply  enough  to  get  for 
himself  the  sympathy  of  being  a  gentleman  in 
ill  health,  had  even  tottered  in,  leaning  on  the 
shoulder  of  a  little  parson  of  an  earnest  parti- 
san disposition.  ^ 

Sometimes,  as  it  happened  more  than  once,    *■ 
when  the  volunteer  firemen  of  Blinker  politics 
gathered  in  any  considerable  number  about  the 
poll,  waiting  to  put  in  their  vote,  a  violent  fire- 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


241 


alarm  would  happen  to  be  rung  out  from  a  neigh- 
boring market,  which  soon  sent  them  scamper- 
ing away;  afire  in  New  York  taking  prece- 
dence of  a  funeral,  an  election,  and  everything 
else,  but  an  invitation  to  a  hanging  inside  of 
the  prison  yard.  For  these  alarms,  the  Bot- 
tomites  were  indebted  to  the  bell-ringer  of  their 
club,  who  lingered  about  the  market,  pulling 
the  bell  at  opportune  moments,  of  which  he 
was  advised  by  a  trusty  messenger  sent  down 
from  the  poll.  The  excitement  deepened  as 
the  day  advanced;  quidnuncs  and  inquirers 
came  hurrying  in  from  every  direction,  to  learn 
how  the  contest  was  going. 

As  the  day  approached  its  close  the  creed  of 
the  two  parties  broadened ;  their  promises  and 
professions  became  more  frequent  and  more 
liberal ;  their  aflection  for  the  poor — the  most 
readily  reached  by  such  devices — more  devoted 
and  fraternal.  One  party  threw  out  the  sug- 
gestion that  a  poor  man  should  have  two  votes, 
in  consideration  of  the  hardships  and  disad- 
vantages of  his  lot.  This  the  drummers  and 
declaimers  of  the  other  party  answered  by  sug- 
gesting that  if  gentlemen — gentlemen  of  means 
and  ability — had  the  disposition  they  professed 
to  serve  the  poor,  why  didn't  they  give  'em 
rooms  in  their  three-story  houses,  with  clean 
basins  and  towels  and  plenty  to  eat  ?  Advan- 
cing in  this  way,  in  their  proclamations  and 
professions,  they  at  last  became  so  comprehen- 
sive in  their  philanthropy,  that  certain  pover- 
ty-stricken and  simple-minded  gentlemen,  who 
stood  by  listening  with  greedy  ear,  flattered 
themselves  that  they  and  their  families  were  as 
good  as  provided  for,  for  the  ensuing  year,  and 
went  in  and  voted  for  one  ticket  or  another,  ac- 
cording as  they  preferred  the  fare^- lodgings, 
and  accommodations  held  out  by  either  party. 

The  concotirse  about  the  poll  had  swelled 
Steadily  for  hours ;  the  street  was  full ;  the 
windows  of  the  neighborhood  were  packed  close 
with  heads  and  faces ;  every  lookout  place  of 
the  headquarters  itself,  to  the  very  roof,  was 
occupied  by  men,  women,  and  children,  look- 
ing eagerly  down,  and  watching  the  progress  of 
the  contest.  There  was  a  great  lumber-pile 
hard  by,  and  this,  too,  the  crowd  had  climbed, 
and  now  swarmed  about  its  top.  As  the  sun 
went  down,  the  crowd  swayed  to  and  fro,  and 
there  were  certain  persons  in  it  who  seemed  to 
rock  it  back  and  forth  as  they  would  a  cradle, 
when  suddenly  surging,  with  a  terrible  impulse 
against  the  wall,  it  burst  its  way  into  the  house, 
and  there  was  a  cry  that  the  ballot-boxes  were  in 
danger.  In  a  minute  the  officers  came  hurry- 
ing, pale-faced,  into  the  street,  where  they  were 
tossed  about  in  the  crowd,  the  black-and-white 
tops  of  their  staves  floating  about  like  so  many 
fishing-droppers ;  the  mob  swarmed  in  at  the 
windows,  over  the  back  fence,  through  the  haU 
(last  of  all),  and  the  polling-room  was  in  a  trice 
completely  overrun. 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Halsey  Fishblatt,  who 
had  prevailed  on  two  or  three  stuidy  men  to 
lift  him  on  their  shoulders,  stood  up,  as  well  as 


he  could  with  such  support,  and  removing  his 
hat,  from  which  a  cloudy  shower  of  newspa- 
pers fell,  presented  his  face  at  the  broken  fan- 
light of  the  entry-door.  His  hands  were  lifted 
up  in  supplication,  and  his  look  was  an  im- 
ploring one.  It  was  some  time  before  he  could 
get  a  hearing. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  do  beseech  you,  I  entreat  and 
implore  you,  as  you  valile  your  characters  as 
citizens  and  as  men,  to  restrain  yourselves." 
From  the  imperfect  character  of  the  support  on 
which  he  depended,  Mr.  Fishblatt's  observa- 
tions were  extremely  irregular  in  their  deliv- 
ery; one  being  given,  as  was  this,  with  his 
face  at  the  window,  and  the  next  being  entire- 
ly lost  in  the  wood-work  behind  which  his  head 
descended.  "  I  would  ask  any  gentleman 
here,"  remarked  Mr.  Fishblatt,  when  he  came 
up  again,  "  if  he  keeps  a  snufl'-box  ?  Did  he 
value  his  privileges  ?  There  were  a  couple  of 
thousand  persons  in  that  crowd,  as  far  as  he 
could  judge,  tliree  children  to  each;  there  was  a 
spectacle,  was  it  not  ?  The  rights  and  immuni- 
ties of  six  thousand  of  the  rising  generation  haz- 
arded by  the  present  outrageous  outbreak."  He 
went  down  again  for  a  few  minutes.  "  The 
ballot-box,  gentlemen,"  continued  Mr.  Fish- 
blatt, on  his  reappearance,  "  is  the  ark  of  our 
safety ;  it's  the  foundation  of  our  institutions, 
board,  lodging,  and  two  suits  a-year  to  all  of 
us.  What  would  we  be  without  the  sacred  bal- 
lot-box ?  Where  would  stand  your  City  hall  ? 
Where  the  old  Sugar  house  in  Liberty  street  ? 
Where  the  Fourth  of  July  ?  Where  the  im- 
mortal names  of  Perry  and  Hamilton  ?  Where" 

He  went  down  again ;  this  time  for  good,  for 
his  supporters,  learning  that  the  inspectors  had 
got  off  with  their  boxes  through  a  by -gate  in- 
to the  next  yard,  and  so  from  one  yard  to  anoth- 
er, to  a  place  of  safety,  had  withdrawn,  and 
Mr.  Fishblatt  was  permitted  to  fall  like  a  half- 
risen  balloon,  among  the  crowd.  The  crowd, 
who  had  given  but  little  heed  to  Mr.  Fishblatt's 
appeal,  finding  there  was  no  further  sport  go- 
ing forward,  gradually  broke  up  and  dispersed. 
The  election  was  at  an  end ;  the  great  contest 
determined  one  way  or  the  other. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  END   OF  LEYCRAFT. 

Poor  Leycraft !  The  belief  which  his  re- 
pentant soul  had  cherished  for  years,  lay  dead 
at  his  heart.  One  by  one  every  hope  had  crum- 
bled. The  boy,  such  was  the  conviction  each 
unanswering  face  pressed  upon  him,  the  boy 
was  dead.  To  that  pale  young  form,  cold  and 
death  ward,  as  to  him  it  always  lay  stretched  in 
the  wood,  there  was  no  resurrection.  It  was 
gone  into  another  world,  and  seemed  dragging 
him,  by  a  gentle  violence  he  could  not  resist, 
after.    The  remorse  which,  though  sometimes 


,A^        ^:" 


242 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


torpid,  had  been  never  entii  ely  subdued,  un- , 
coiled  itself  more  and  more,  and  pierced  him 
with  strokes  which  caused  him  to  cry  aloud 
with  anguish.  He  could  not  be  silent  nor  at 
ease.  Pie  had  fled  from  house  to  house,  lodg- 
ing to  lodging,  where  the  horrible  secret  he  was 
constantly  urged  to  babble,  caused  men  and 
women  to  fall  aAvay  from  his  presence  like  that 
of  one  sick  with  the  plague.  Even  in  cellars 
and  cheap  resorts,  where  the  language  of  crime 
and  wrong  is  a  familiar  dialect,  they  avoided 
his  conversation,  and  begged  him,  in  God's 
name,  to  ease  his  soul  to  parsons  and  magis- 
trates, and  not  to  them.  Even  the  grim  ten- 
pin-player  had  deserted  him.  Leycraft's  con- 
stant wakings  at  the  dead  of  night,  and  the 
dreadful  reproaches  with  which  his  soul  la- 
bored against  itself,  were  too  much  for  him. 
So  he  flew  from  place  to  place ;  from  employ- 
ment to  employment.  He  tried,  and  in  vain, 
to  quell  his  unhappy  thoughts,  to  cheat  him- 
self of  that  dreadful  belief  of  the  boy's  death, 
by  a  constant  change  of  work.  He  Avas  now 
alone,  in  a  rope-walk,  where  Ishmael  Small's 
prying  ubiquity  had  found  him.  Tl\*>  walk 
was  a  long,  low-roofed  shed.  It  was  piiched 
in  a  hollow,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  and 
was  out  of  sight  of  human  habitation,  and  be- 
yond the  sound  of  human  voice.  About  it  noth- 
ing but  rank  grass  and  odious  weeds,  thick 
with  thorns  and  death-white  blossoms,  grew 
and  pressed  forward  to  the  very  door.  On 
either  side  the  shed  was  pierced  with  small 
narrow  windows,  its  whole  length,  looking  out 
on  one  hand,  on  a  sluggish  vein  of  water  that 
oozed  through  the  hard  soil,  and  on  the  other, 
upon  the  field  of  shrubs  and  brambles.  Here 
Leycraft,  at  the  earliest  hour  of  the  day — it  was 
just  sunrise,  and  the  sun,  striking  the  shed  on 
its  eastern  end,  filled  the  walk  with  shadows — 
stood,  his  beard  untrimmed,  and  his  waist  en- 
compassed with  un  worked  flax,  giving  him  the 
appearance  of  a  satyr. 

He  stood  at  the  remotest  end  and  looked 
down  its  whole  dark  length,  with  an  eye  which 
grew"  blank  and  unsettled  when  it  found  noth- 
ing to  rest  upon.  Then  it  passed  from  win- 
dow to  window  back  again,  more  blank  than 
ever ;  no  friendly  face  looked  in,  not  even  the 
miserable  picker  who  used  to  beg  the  refuse 
flax  and  ropes'-ends.  He  would  have  giv- 
en the  world  if  only  Ishmael  had  come  and 
taunted  him  in  the  old  fashion.  And  then, 
with  something  of  prayer  and  earnest  imploring 
in  his  features,  he  shot  his  glance  into  a  cor- 
ner, where  two  wrens  had  held  their  nest  for 
years,  borrowing  tow  and  threads  of  twine 
from  the  floor  to  build.  The  two  wrens  were 
gone.  Not  a  sparrow  nor  a  fly  crossed  tli€  un- 
lucky window-sills.  A  dread  stillness  was 
'present,  resting  like  a  cloud  upon  the  roof  and 
thickening  the  air.  The  very  walk  seemed  to 
have  gone  into  decay;  it  tottered  and  shook 
like  one  in  a  palsy,  as  the  silent  winds  hurried 
past.  What  wonder  if  Leycraft's  soul  was  ap- 
palled within  him  ? 


«' Lightnings  blast  me  I"  he  muttered,  strug- 
gling against  the  feeling  that  crept  upon  him, 
and  made  him  cold  to  the  heart ;  "  what  do  they 
mean  by  leaving  me  here  ?  Why  don't  the 
sharks  and  indefatigables  come  and  lake  me  and 
hang  me  ?"  Here  he  cast  a  sideway  look  at  the 
rope  he  had  begun  to  twist.  "  I  wish  they'd 
send  out  the  green  wagon  and  treat  me  to  a 
ride  to  the  Tombs.  Why  don't  they  ?  What 
do  they  mean  ?  They  don't  know  their  duty — 
that's  plain.  I  ought  to  be  kept  in  a  cell  till 
this  cursed  fever's  gone  off";  and  then  I  should 
be  hung  out  to  dry."  He  laughed  at  the  fancy  ; 
but  it  was  a  wretched,  soulless  laugh^  which 
betrayed  him  more  than  his  words.  His  thoughts 
took  a  new  turn,  and,  catching  his  breath,  in 
the  surprise  with  which  another  and  deeper 
purpose  than  that  of  yielding  his  body  to  the 
magistrates  glided  into  his  mind,  he  went  on 
now  faster  than  ever  with  his  task ;  drawing 
out  the  flax  with  a  secret  satisfaction — as  he 
paced  backward  along  the  hard,  cold  floor— 
every  now  and  then  putting  forth  his  whole 
strength,  and  twisting  the  strands  as  firm  and 
close  as  iron.  It  was  wonderful  with  what  care 
and  skill  he  framed  his  work,  choosing  the 
cleanest  flax  in  all  the  bunch,  where  there  was 
ivo  spot  nor  blemish — his  eye,  in  its  supernatu- 
ral keenness,  could  have  detected  a  flyblow — 
shaping;  each  strand  delicately  to  an  equal  size, 
and  twisUng  them  all  so  cleanly  together,  that 
the  cord,  as  fast  as  formed,  was  admirably 
round  anjj  firm,  and  not  a  thread  or  fibre  hung 
loose.  There  was  a  strange  pleasure  in  Ley- 
craft's  look  when  he  saw  how  well  he  pros- 
pered in  his  work ;  but  even  in  the  midst  ot 
his  task  a  shudder  came  upon  him ;  his  face 
grew  dark  and  livid  by  turns;  and  his  eyes 
wandered  about  and  seemed  to  dwell  on  a  ter- 
rible and  appalling  company  that  was  present 
only  to  him.  For  a  time  his  hands  refused  to 
do  the  service  to  which  they  had  been  con- 
strained, and  struggled  against  it,  as  if  they 
too  were  endowed  with  a  fearful  consciousness. 
In  this  pause  and  agitation  of  his  spirit,  he 
searched  his  garments,  and  brought  forth  from 
his  breast-pocket,  a  small,  square  parcel,  \yhich 
he  proceeded,  tremblingly,  to  open,  fixing  his 
eyes  more  keenly  and  steadily  as  each  envelope 
was  removed.  His  hand  at  length  held  dis- 
closed a  half-bracelet,  with  its  clasp  ;  and  while 
he  regarded  it  he  shuddered  anew,  and  writhed 
as  in  sudden  pain.  What  was  he  to  do  with 
this  ?  He  could  not  bear  it  about  with  him 
longer — it  seemed  too  like  the  child's  voice 
whispering  in  his  ear ;  frail  tress  as  it  was,  it 
held  him  fast,  as  a  cable,  to  the  spot  where  the 
deed  had  been  done;  its  brassy  clasp  glared 
upon  him  like  a  serpent's  eye.  It  seemed  to 
him  now  like  the  dead  boy's  legacy — for  he  had 
taken  it  almost  from  his  hand ;  carrying  with 
it,  at  all  seasons  of  daj  and  night,  its  own 
avenging  conditions.  What  was  to  be  done 
with  it  ?  At  this  moment,  and  while  the  ques- 
tion demanded,  every  minute,  an  answer  more 
loudly,  a  shrunken  and  troubled  face  looked  in 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


243 


at  one  of  the  windows  of  the  walk.  It  was  the 
face  of  an  old  man,  who,  full  of  an  anguish  dif- 
ferent— ah  !  how  different,  from  that  of  Ley- 
craft — had  wandered  in  the  suburbs,  many  days, 
and  many  weary,  wearj-^  nights,  too,  and  who 
had  strayed,  in  the  vacancy  that  had  come  up- 
on him,  to  that  place.  It  was  Hobbleshank ; 
who,  when  he  had  gathered  thought  to  peruse 
the  person  before  him  more  closely,  and  saw 
what  unearthly  look  had  settled  in  his  features 
— how  white,  and  trenched  with  deep,  dark 
lines  as  it  was,  like  a  scarred  coffin-plate  it 
seemed — recoiled  from  the  Avindow,  and  gave 
signs  of  retreating  altogether. 

"  For  Heaven's  good  sake  !"  cried  Leycraft, 
in  a  tone  of  anguish  that  went  to  the  old  man's 
heart,  "  don't  leave  me  now.  Stay  only  an 
liour  or  so,  if  not  so  long,  five  minutes  may  do ; 
five  minutes,  at  least.  Come,  come,  you'll 
give  me  five  minutes  !" 

The  old  man  returned  to  the  window,  but 
resisted  steadily  all  entreaty  to  come  in. 

"  This  is  cruel !"  said  Leycraft,  aloud,  and 
then,  partly  to  himself,  "  the  last  man  with 
whom  I  shall  change  word ;  and  he  won't  give 
me  his  company  as  a  Christian,  but  stands  there 
gazing  through  a  window  on  me,  as  if  I  were  a 
wild  beast  at  a  show." 

At  that  moment,  Leycraft,  who  had  bent 
down  while  uttering  these  words  to  himself, 
raised  his  head  and  caught  the  eye  of  the  old 
man — his  neck  stretched  forward  its  utmost 
length — fastened  on  the  bracelet  which  he  held 
in  his  open  hand.  He  caught  it  back  at  once, 
and  restoring  it  quickly  to  its  enclosure,  thrust 
it  into  his  breast. 

There  was  something  fearful  in  that,  old 
man's  face,  now  that  the  light  fell  upon  it; — 
it  was  the  very  face  that  had  watched  him  all 
through  the  night,  in  the  garret  of  the  farm- 
house, and  against  which  he  had  contended. 
This  was  another  blow  that  staggered  him  on 
swifter  to  his  fate.  He  went  on  stranding  and 
coiling  the  rope,  holding  everj'  feature  rigid, 
and  bracing  his  nerves  with  all  his  will,  lest 
his  purpose  should  give  way.  The  cord  was 
finished.  Leycraft  rose  up,  wiped  his  brow, 
on  which  a  cold,  thick  sweat  had  gathered — 
went  to  the  window,  and  while  Hobbleshank 
could  not  move  in  his  surprise,  he  placed  in 
his  hand  the  parcel  he  had  concealed. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  take  that;  it's  a  bequest 
from  a  man  that  will  never  know  man  more, 
[t's  the  gift  of  a  young  friend,  the  dearest  I 
ever  had,  and  I  wish  you'd  make  much  of  it." 

He  then  proceeded,  without  another  word, 
to  put  every  utensil  of  the  walk  in  it?  place ; 
coiled  up  the  rope  he  had  made  with  so  much 
care,  in  the  crown  of  his  hat ;  closed  the  win- 
dows, leaving  Hobbleshank  without,  lost  in 
vague  wonder  and  alarm ;  drew  to  the  door, 
and  putting  the  key  in  a  safe  concealment, 
where  the  other  workmen  might  find  it  when 
they  came — as  they  would  in  an  hour  or  two — 
he  withdrew  from  the  walk,  which  was  now 
dark,  and  close  as  a  tomb.    He  shaped  his  way 


!  toward  the  river,  looking  back  not  once,  but 
choosing  the  obscurest  paths  and  bye-ways, 
and  following  them  steadily.  Once  he  leaped 
a  wall,  and  crouching  as  he  ran,  he  skirted 
along  the  fence  for  half  a  mile  or  more,  and 
then  he  got  into  an  untravelled  road,  where  he 
made  good  speed,  and  with  a  comfort — such 
comfort  as  his  condition  allowed — to  himself. 
In  leaving  this  he  was  forced  to  pass  a  public 
way  where  there  was  a  constant  throng  of 
travel ;  and,  while  in  act  of  crossing,  hear- 
ing the  rattling  of  wheels  from  the  city,  he  fled 
into  a  blackberry  meadow,  and  there  lay  hid  in 
the  bashes  for  better  than  an  hour. 

He  was  now  within  sight  of  the  woods ;  and 
when,  emerging  from  his  ambush,  his  eye  first 
fell  upon  them,  he  shrunk  back,  and  his  feet 
for  a  moment  refused  to  bear  him  on.  It  was 
an  instant  only ;  and  then  he  laughed  to  him- 
self at  his  folly  in  spoiling  the  good  gait  he  had 
been  travelling. 

At  the  woods — the  black,  dull,  hemlock 
woods,  which  lay  like  a  dark  stain  upon  the 
earth — he  did  not  enter  at  a  point  which  would 
bear  him  soonest  to  the  place  he  sought ;  but 
fetched  a  circuit  of  better  than  a  furlong,  and 
looking  about  him  with  a  trembling  eye,  he 
crept  into  them,  as  if  by  stealth.  The  sun  had 
not  yet  made  good  his  strength,  and  the  woods 
still  swarmed  with  bats  and  birds  of  darkness, 
which  kept  about,  and  shut  back  the  light  by 
the  wide-spread  wings  with  which  they  op- 
pressed the  air.  Under  foot  the  ground  was 
heavy  with  a  sluggish  sweat,  rather  than  dew, 
and  through  blind  paths  and  among  tufts  of 
useless  grass,  Leycraft  picked  his  way ;  wind- 
ing about  in  long  circles,  and  only  approaching 
the  spot  by  degrees.  His  eyes  wandered  be- 
tween the  trees,  as  though  a  phantom  were 
walking  just  before  him ;  if  he  had  cast  a  look 
upward  but  once,  he  would  have  seen  how 
blue  and  peaceful  was  the  sky  above  him — but 
this  he  heeded  not.  He  had  come  to  the  edge 
of  a  by-path  that  cut  through  the  woods ;  in  a 
minute  more  and  he  would  be  on  the  very  spot 
itself.  He  paused  and  sat  upon  a  fallen  trunk 
to  gather  his  strength.  What  he  had  done 
and  what  he  was  to  do  came  upon  him  in  all 
their  hideousness,  and  his  heart  misgave  him. 
He  would  have  retreated  if  he  could.  At  that 
moment  he  heard  a  step  approaching ;  a  man 
passed  by,  and  as  Leycraft  looked  out,  oh  how 
his  soul  begged  and  implored  that  he  would 
come  and  reason  with  him,  and  steal  from  his 
heart  the  purpose  which  clung  like  a  dagger  in 
its  very  core  !     The  cold  sweat  stood  upon  his 

j  brow,  in  the  agony  with  which  he  was  moved. 

I  The  man  bore  in  his  hand  a  walking-stick, 
with  which,  with  a  determined  look,  he  smote 
a  tall  weed  that  grew  in  the  path,  to  the  ground. 
There  was  clearly  no  hope  for  Leycraft.  Hf 
sprung  up,  and  almost  at  a  bound,  stood  upon 
the  earth  where,  more  than  twenty  years  ago 
he  had  cast  down  a  young  child,  as  he  would  r 
frail  vessel,  that  all  its  life  might  be  spilled 
and  never  gathered  up  again.    He  knew  th* 


244 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


place — knew  it  at  once,  down  to  the  smallest 
blade  that  grew  about.  The  rock  was  there, 
under  the  lee  of  which  the  basket  that  held  the 
child  had  been  set;  the  old  gnarled  branch 
stretched  over  it — older  now  than  when  it 
shook  its  young  summer  leaves  upon  the  ground. 
Every  circumstance  and  incident  of  the  act 
rushed  back  into  his  mind  with  a  fearful  dis- 
tinctness. How  he  had  borne  the  child  from 
the  farm-house  in  his  arms — the  very  look  of 
the  nurse  who  had  intrusted  it  to  him  in  the 
belief  that  a  little  air  would  be  so  reviving  and 
refreshing  to  the  poor  dear — how,  when  he 
heard  the  laugh  and  prattle  of  young  children 
at  play  in  an  orchard  through  which  he  passed, 
he  had  repented  of  any  part  in  the  deed — and 
how,  again,  when  he  bethought  him  of  the  rage 
of  the  broker,  and  the  spite  he  would  wreak 
on  him  through  the  debtor's  jail,  he  had  hurried 
on.  There  was  one  good  thought,  too,  that 
came  back :  that  when  he  had  laid  the  child 
where  he  was  to  be  left  to  die— for  his  soul  re- 
fused to  do  it  rougher  violence — he  had  lifted 
a  leaf,  shed  by  the  overhanging  branch  upon 
its  little  lips,  so  giving  it  another  chance  to 
live.  He  remembered,  too,  how  he  had  severed 
the  bracelet  about  its  neck,  in  twain,  taking 
one  of  its  parts  and  leaving  the  other,  with  the 
hope  that  the  child,  should  it  live  to  escape  its 
perilous  exposure,  might  be  recognised  and  re- 
claimed. 

As  he  was  pondering,  the  dead  child  seemed 
to  spring  from  the  ground,  rising  slowly  upon 
him,  and  growing  rigid  in  every  limb  as  he 
rose,  until  he  stood  regarding  him  with  a  fixed 
stony  eye,  his  little  arm  stretched  toward  him 
in  menace,  more  terrible  than  if  it  had  been  a 
mailed  hand  aimed  against  his  breast.  He 
staggered  before  it.  The  wind,  which  had  been 
ga.thering  since  sunrise,  swept  through  the 
wood  with  a  howl  like  that  of  an  angry  popu- 
lace. Leycraft,  whose  face  and  brow  dripped 
with  sweat,  and  whose  body  was  as  chill  and 
comfortless  as  if  it  had  been  steeped  in  the 
river,  cast  a  fearful  glance  behind  him,  and 
snatching  off  his  hat  in  desperate  haste,  he 
stepped  upon  the  rock,  and  made  fast  an  end 
of  the  cord  to  the  old  branch,  which  the  tree 
held  out  like  a  withered  arm  toward  him.  The 
tree  creaked — there  was  an  awful  groan,  and 
the  forfeit  was  paid.  At  that  moment  a  crow 
flew  screeching  from  a  neighboring  tree-top 
straight  through  the  wood,  and,  as  it  rose 
toward  the  clouds  that  lowered  on  its  flight,  it 
seemed  like  the  dark  spirit  of  the  man,  on  its 
way  to  the  angry  heaven  whose  judgment  he 
had  dared  to  invoke. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

hobbleshank's  return. 

Upon  the  ground  where  he  had  fallen  in  the 
shock  of  surprise  and  bewilderment,  Hobble- 


shank  sat,  with  the  trinket  in  his  hand,  which 
seemed  to  hold  him  spell-bound  and  motionless. 
As  he  recovered  his  powers,  and  was  aware  of 
the  gift  in  his  charge,  he  would  have  shouted 
to  Leycraft,  and  called  him  back,  but,  when  he 
looked  in  the  direction  he  had  taken,  Leycraft 
was  out  of  sight. 

The  clasp  was  discolored  as  if  often  held  in 
a  damp  hand ;  but  the  tress,  its  other  part,  was 
fresh  and  bright,  in  its  auburn  hues,  as  when 
first  set  in  its  place ;  and  as  he  turned  it  over 
and  over  again,  his  tears  fell  fast  upon  it,  for 
he  knew  well — who  could  mistake  it? — the 
sweet  brow,  now  lying  in  the  earth,  from  which 
it  had  been  shorn.  Then  he  recalled  what  the 
strange  man  had  said.  "It's  the  gift  of  a 
young  friend,  the  dearest  I  ever  had,  and  I 
wish  you'd  make  much  of  it !"  He  repeated 
them  over  and  over  again.  Yes,  those  were 
the  words.  And  then  a  hope  came  floating  in- 
to his  mind  that  was  like  a  new  life  and  air  to 
all  his  powers ;  a  hope  that  filled  his  heart  with 
a  genial  noon,  in  which  all  old  despondencies, 
and  sorrows,  and  sadnesses,  shrunk  away,  and 
left  him  glad  and  happy,  beyond  measure.  The 
boy — his  child — his  young  self — so  the  words 
gave  him  warrant — was  not  dead.  He  had 
lived  to  be  the  companion  of  grown  men  ;  to  be 
with  them,  and  with  them  share  friendship  and 
intimacies.  So  he  construed  what  Leycraft 
had  said.  He  bounded  up,  and  choosing  out 
the  fairest  of  all  the  roads,  he  took  his  way  to 
the  city.  It  was  a  green  path ;  and  the  trees, 
which  had  stepped  to  the  road-side  from  a 
neighboring  wood,  for  that  very  purpose,  bent 
over  the  traveller,  and  whispered  peace  and  a 
pleasant  journey  to  him.  Then  he  came  to 
bare  fences,  along  which  the  small-eyed  birds 
hopped  and  twittered,  making  merry  with  the 
old  man  as  he  came  galloping  along.  After 
this,  there  was  an  open  tract  of  sky  and  field 
about  which  the  swallows  flew  swiftly,  writing 
their  names  in  the  air,  and  tying  all  sorts  of 
hard  knots  as  they  skimmed  along,  backward 
and  forward,  and  up  and  down. 

At  the  pace  with  which  he  speeded  on,  he  was 
soon  in  the  edge  of  the  city.  The  bells,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  were  ringing  a  quick 
peal ;  if  they  had  been  the  voices  of  angels  ho- 
vering in  the  air,  they  could  not  have  sounded 
more  sweetly  to  Hobbleshank. 

He  came  to  a  park  or  square,  in  which  chil- 
dren were  at  play,  and  bursting  through  a  gate, 
he  borrowed  from  a  little  blue-eyed  lad — who 
yielded  it  partly  in  fear,  partly  in  love — the 
hoop  on  which  he  was  resting — the  old  man 
sprang  away  like  the  youngest  of  them  all, 
and,  in  the  madness  of  his  new  hope,  drove  it 
round  and  round  the  park,  humming  to  himself, 
« It's  the  gift  of  a  young  friend,  the  dearest  I 
ever  had,  and  I  wish  you'd  make  much  of  it  I" 
Leaving  the  park,  with  thanks  to  his  young 
friend,  whom  he  had  caught  in  his  arms  and 
blessed  with  kisses  that  exploded  like  so  many 
squibs  through  the  place,  he  rambled  breath- 
lless,  but  by  no  means  wearied,  into  a  great 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


245 


thoroughfare.  Here  he  found  new  objects  to 
feed  his  rapture.  There  were  caps  and  canes, 
and  dainty  little  Wellington-boots  in  the  shops, 
in  which  the  haughtiest  parent,  the  show-bill 
said,  might  be  proud  to  see  his  son  eating 
ices  and  walking  Broadway. 

How  often,  ah,  how  often,  during  his  twen- 
ty years  of  sore  trial  and  anguish,  had  the  old 
man  rambled  from  window  to  window,  from 
shop-door  to  shop-door,  choosing  a  little  blue- 
tasselled  cap  at  one,  a  pearl-tipped  cane  at 
another,  and  the  jauntiest  pair  of  Wellingtons 
'he  could  pitch  his  eye  upon  at  another — and, 
in  his  fancy,  arraying  the  boy  who  should  have 
been  so  apparelled,  and  at  that  moment  walk- 
ing,  with  a  little  hand  in  his,  at  his  side  !  He 
had  so  taken  the  child  from  the  day  he  was  lost, 
and  carried  him  forward,  in  imagination, 
through  all  the  stages  of  childhood  and  youth, 
up  to  the  manhood,  where,  if  but  now  living, 
he  would  have  arrived. 

He  well  remembered  the  very  day  on  which 
the  child  had  attained  his  quizzical,  bird-like 
swallow-tail,  which  the  doating  old  man  had 
picked  out  and  even  bargained  for,  months  be- 
fore. Pondering  upon  these  old  pleasures,  his 
feet  had  brought  him,  almost  without  the  guid- 
ance of  his  will,  to  a  door  in  a  by-street,  the 
red  and  yellow  board  over  which  denoted  that 
a  select  school  for  children  was  kept  within. 

He  opened  the  gate,  the  trick  of  which  he 
knew   well,  walked   through   a   paved   alley, 
and  turning  in  at  a  door  half  way  up,  was  in 
the  very  heart  and  bosom  of  the  select  school 
at  once.     The  select  schoolmistress — his  old 
friend  and  who  knew  his  humor  well — was 
seated  in  a  well-worn  rocker  in  the  middle  of 
her  little  room,  arrayed  in  her  plain  neat  gown 
and  cap,  her  book  open  on  her  lap,  her  arms 
folded  upon  her  breast,  and  watching,  with  a 
kindly  look,  through  her  great  glasses,  the  ef- 
forts of  a  tiny  white-haired  child,  to  master  the 
twenty-sixth  letter  of  the  alphabet.     Hobble- 
shank  laid  off  his  hat,  took  his  seat  at  the  side 
of  the  mistress,  who  had  not  even  turned  when 
he  came  in,  although  the  whole  row  of  little 
scholars  stared  in  a  line  from  the  bench  on 
which  they  were  fixed  against  the  wall.    They 
all  knew  the  old  man,  but  it  was  so  long  now 
since  he  had  been  at  the  school,  that  they  could 
not  avoid  a  welcome  with  their  looks.   What  a 
tuneful  nest,  embowered  in  its  obscure  corner, 
had  that  little  school  been  to  him  !     How  his 
eye  had  ranged,  as  his  finger  would  on  a  mu- 
sical instrument,  along  the  class,  beginning  at 
the  least  and  youngest,  and  sounding  his  way 
up,  fancying  each  in  turn  to  be  his  child   and 
son.     They  had  caught  his  look  and  loved  him 
for  it.     His  joy  was  too  overflowing,  too  much 
in  excess,  to  admit  of  his  tarrying  long  there 
or  anywhere ;  and  so,  leaving  a  tribute  of  good- 
will in  the  mistress's  hand,  to  be  distributed 
among  the  scholars,  and  begging  in  her  ear  for 
a  half-holyday  for  the  school,  he  broke  away 
and  was  in  the  street  again. 
Even  the  three  gilt  balls  which  hung  dan- 
16 


gling  over  the  broker's  door  in  the  street 
through  which  he  hurried,  and  which  used  to 
look  so  hideous  to  him,  now  seemed  to  have  a 
gleam  of  sunshine  and  promise  in  them.  There 
was  another  street,  the  next  to  his,  through 
which  he  could  not  fail  to  pass.  Here,  years 
before,  he  had  formed  an  intimacy,  a  very  close 
and  friendly  intimacy,  with  a  clothier's  block 
which  stood  at  the  corner  (to  be  sure  it  had  no 
head,  your  finely-dressed  gentlemen  rarely 
have),  swelling  and  expanding  its  breast  in  aU 
the  splendors  of  a  blue  frock  and  pantaloons, 
with  a  handsome  white  vest  and  ruffles  to 
match.  The  intimacy  lasted  six  months,  du- 
ring which  the  old  man  had  paid  a  daily  visit 
to  his  silent  friend,  when  it  was  abruptly  bro- 
ken off,  because  Hobbleshank  was  quite  sure 
his  son  must  by  that  time  have  outgrown  gar- 
ments of  that  gentleman's  cut  and  dimensions. 

Farther  on,  and  still  nearer  the  heart  of  the 
city,  Hobbleshank,  hurrying  along  in  a  joyous 
mood — he  had  directed  his  feet  that  way — came 
upon  a  house  in  which,  even  at  broad  day,  there 
was  a  sound  of  music,  a  throng  of  carriages  at 
the  door,  and  the  very  house  itself  palpitating 
and  quaking  with  the  pulses  of  the  gay  dance 
that  was  going  on  within.  The  old  man  had 
a  good  heart  to  join  in  on  the  very  flagging 
where  he  stood,  for  the  house  and  he  were  old 
and  early  friends.  Far  back  in  that  past  time, 
whence  dated,  in  two  directions,  all  his  joys 
and  sorrows,  it  had  been  Aunt  Gatty's ;  there 
it  was  that  Hobbleshank  had  first  met  his  young 
wife  ;  there  had  been  wedded  to  her ;  and  there 
had  spent  many  a  joyous  night,  when  the  world 
was  young  with  him,  and  when  even  old  Aunt 
Gatty  had  wealth  and  kind  words  more  at  com- 
mand than  now.  As  he  stood  by  the  door,  gos- 
siping with  the  drivers  and  other  loungers — 
gathering  what  he  could  of  the  story  of  the 
wedding  that  was  going  forward,  and  compa 
ring  it  as  he  went  along  with  the  circumstan- 
ces of  his  own — his  heart  reproached  him  for 
tarrying  there,  and  withholding  his  good  for- 
tune from  his  two  kind  old  friends  at  home. 
Casting  a  bright  half-dollar  upon  the  ground — 
where  he  left  the  coachmen,  who  had  been  for 
a  long  time  scant  of  calls,  scrambling  for  it — 
he  hurried  away.  At  the  good  speed  with  which 
he  moved,  and  by  dint  of  running  in  and  out — 
from  street  to  pavement,  from  pavement  to 
street — not  less  than  forty  times,  he  was  in  no 
very  long  time  at  his  own  door,  which  he  con- 
fessed to  himself  had  something  of  an  outland- 
ish look,  now  that  he  had  been  absent  from  it 
so  long. 

Bursting  in  to  declare  his  news,  he  was  ar- 
rested in  the  very  mid-career  of  his  exultation, 
by  a  deep  moan,  proceeding  from  the  corner  of 
the  chamber.  Looking  thither  he  was  inex- 
pressibly shocked,  and  stood  rooted  at  the  very 
threshold.  In  the  corner  of  the  room,  close  in 
the  remotest  angle  of  the  hearth,  bent  nearly 
double  (ten  years  at  least  older  in  her  look  than 
when  he  had  left  her),  and  gazing  into  vacan- 
cy, sat  Aunt  Gatty,  clad  in  deep  mournine. 


246 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


even  to  her  small  crimped  cap,  which,  jet-black 
and  fitted  closely  to  her  head,  gave  to  her  fea- 
tures a  pale  and  deathly  aspect.  At  her  side 
stood  Dorothy,  tending  on  her  in  some  office 
suited  to  her  condition,  and  striving  to  sooth 
her  with  words  of  solace  and  comfort. 

The  aged  woman  refused  to  be  comforted, 
and  thrust  her  companion  away  from  her,  con- 
stantly ejaculating,  "He  is  dead — dead;  and 
I  am  the  unlucky  woman  that  killed  him. 
Is  this  the  way  that  I  fulfilled  a  deathbed  trust  ? 
God  !  oh,  blessed  God  !"  and  here  she  moaned 
and  pined  as  in  an  agony  that  wrung  her  very 
soul.  "  Deal  gently  with  me  for  this — it  was 
not  my  wish — he  would  go  forth  ;  but  then,  I 
should  have  held  him  back,  even  by  force.  Oh, 
my  dear,  kind  playfellow — now  in  heaven — is 
this  the  way  I  have  kept  my  promise  ?  Look 
not  in  God's  book  of  records  and  see  what  is 
against  Gatty — your  Gatty,  you  loved  to  call 
me.  Plague  me  no  more,  Dorothy,  I  have  slain 
the  poor  old  man ;  go  away,  in  Heaven's  name, 
and  let  me  die.     Go  away." 

Then,  while  Dorothy  stood  by,  weeping  and 
wringing  her  hands  over  this  mournful  wreck, 
the  aged  woman  fell  away  into  vacancy,  awa- 
king only  every  now  and  then  to  utter  a 
deep  moan,  and  renew  her  complaint. 

Hobbleshank,  who  had  regarded  all  these 
goings-on  with  a  bewildered  look,  could  re- 
strain himself  no  longer,  but,  hurrying  forward, 
stood  before  them — his  hat  a  little  to  one  side, 
where  he  had  fixed  it  that  his  friends  might 
know  at  a  glance  what  mood  he  was  in,  and 
the  great  square  breastpin,  shining  like  an  illu- 
mination in  the  front  of  his  bosom.  He  stood 
before  them — his  doubtful  eye  closed  hard,  and 
the  other  opened  in  full  blaze  upon  them,  a 
smile  on  his  face,  and  a  hand  extended  to  each. 
In  this  extraordinary  costume  and  posture  it 
was  some  time  before  even  Dorothy  was  wil- 
ling to  acknowledge  him ;  and  even  after  she 
had  admitted  it  was  Hobbleshank  and  no  coun- 
terfeit— there  remained  his  right  hand,  still 
extended,  waiting  to  be  grasped  by  Aunt  Gat- 
ty. It  was  a  long  time  before  Aunt  Gatty  was 
willing  to  look  at  him ;  and  when  she  did,  at 
length,  turn  her  head  slowly  about  and  take 
measure  of  his  person,  she  regarded  him  with 
infinite  scorn  and  repulsion. 

"  It's  a  cheat,"  she  said,  after  a  long  survey, 
and  a  longer  pondering,  "  you  are  practising  up- 
on me ;  this  is  not  my  old  friend  that  I  am  to 
account  for ;  no,  no  !  Don't  you  think  I  know 
my  good  friend  Hobbleshank  ?  This  is  some 
one  that  has  stolen  his  garments  and  is  trying 
to  play  tricks  with  me."  She  returned  to  her 
old  posture,  and  could  be  brought  by  no  per- 
suasion or  entreaty  to  a  further  recognition. 

"  We  must  leave  her  to  herself,"  said  Dor- 
othy, drawing  Hobbleshank  apart ;  "  you 
will  get  back  into  her  recollection  by  degrees. 
It  takes  days  with  her  now  to  fix  and  unfix  a 
notion.    She  will  presently  fall  asleep." 

They  watched  her  for  a  little  while,  when 
slumber,  coming  in  to  befriend  exhausted  na- 


ture, crept  upon  her,  and  bearing  her  to  her 
bed  within,  and  laying  her  gently  to  rest,  they 
returned  to  the  other  chamber.  Hobbleshank, 
reviving  rapidly  from  the  gloom  which  Aunt 
Gatty  had  cast  upon  his  spirits,  took  a  place 
by  a  small  table  that  Dorothy  had  drawn  out, 
and  launched  forth  in  a  glowing  description  of 
the  good  luck  on  which  he  had  so  lately  stum- 
bled. Dorothy,  who  could  not  share  in  all  the 
good  hopes  which  he  built  on  the  disclosure  of 
the  stranger  and  the  possession  of  the  half- 
bracelet,  did,  nevertheless,  strengthen  and  en- 
courage Hobbleshank  to  go  on  in  these  commu- 
nications, by  a  cold  ham,  which  she  produced 
from  a  closet,  where  it  had  stood  untasted  and 
inviting  the  knife  for  several  days ;  and  also 
by  calling  in — through  the  ministry  of  a  rag- 
ged-haired and  bare-footed  girl,  who  was  al- 
ways on  the  prowl  for  small  errands  in  the 
great  hall — a  pot  of  Albany- brewed  and  two 
dozen  oysters,  which,  the  last  being  well  pep- 
pered and  swallowed  at  a  snap,  added  not  a  lit- 
tle to  the  spirit  of  the  old  man's  narration. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A   NOTABLE   SCHEME   OF  MB.    FYLER   CLOSE. 

There  was  not  a  phase  of  the  neighboring 
sick  man's  malady,  from  the  day  he  mis-but- 
toned his  coat  in  the  yard — to  which  pass  he 
was  brought,  being  a  tradesman,  by  the  fall  of 
wheat  from  twenty  shillings  to  ten  at  a  clap — 
down  to  that  when  he  was  laid  shouting  on  his 
bed,  that  Fyler  Close  had  not  watched.  By 
the  hour  he  stood  at  his  window — forgetting 
baker,  blacksmith,  and  haberdasher,  in  the  ear- 
nest gaze  with  which  he  regarded  every  turn 
of  the  disease,  while  the  patient  rambled  the 
yard,  in  its  early  stages,  or  lay  strapped  upon 
his  couch  at  its  height.  The  tears,  the  groans, 
the  whims,  the  flights  and  wanderings  of  the 
lunatic,  were  a  delicious  banquet  to  Fyler. 
He  meant  to  cut  with  a  weapon  of  double  edge, 
and  this  sharpened  it,  both  sides  at  once.  The 
deed  was  found — there  could  be  no  question  of 
that — which  helped  Hobbleshank  back  into  the 
farm-house  whence  Fyler  had  dislodged  him, 
by  a  master-stroke,  many  years  ago.  Should 
he  succeed  in  recovering  possession,  there 
would  be  a  long  and  heavy  arrear  of  rents  to 
be  returned.  This  would  never  do.  The  boy, 
to  be  sure,  must  be  found — must  be  proved  to 
be  alive.  Notwithstanding  the  bold  and  hardy 
face  with  which  he  gave  out  that  such  as  would 
find  the  child  must  grope  in  the  earth,  digging 
deep,  an  uneasy  conviction  that  he  lived  kept 
crowding  into  his  mind.  Vague  rumors  to  this 
eflfect,  traceable  to  no  clear  source,  it  is  true, 
had  from  time  to  time  prevailed.  He  knew  of 
Leycraft's  death ;  Ishmael  had  brought  in  the 
news  the  second  day  after.  He  had  been  found 
on  his  knees,  the  branch  bent  and  twisted  from 
its  place  by  an  unearthly  struggle,  his  head 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


247 


turned  to  one  side,  as  if  regarding  an  object 
that  stood  at  his  side,  just  behind  him — and  his 
hands  clasped  firmly  together. 

Fyler,  on  hearing  these  circumstances,  had 
merely  called  the  man  a  fool,  wondered  he 
hadn't  taken  poison,  which  would  have  been  a 
quieter  death — and  dismissed  the  subject,  ap- 
parently from  his  mind.  To  be  sure,  he  had 
had  an  unpleasant  vision  the  night  after,  in 
which  Leycraft  appeared,  on  his  knees,  knock- 
ing at  the  door  of  his  closet,  and  begging,  in 
God's  name,  to  be  let  in.  But  what  of  that  ? 
The  dream  had  passed  away ;  and  getting  up 
the  next  morning  a  quarter  of  an  hour  earlier 
than  usual,  he  opened  his  door  cautiously,  and 
finding  no  such  supplicant  there — as,  in  truth, 
he  had  half  expected  to — he  put  himself  at  ease. 

Then  there  was  the  bracelet,  which  he  knew 
Leycrafl  had  carried  on  his  person  for  years, 
but  which  Ishmael's  stealthy  scrutiny  had  failed 
to  find  there  noAV,  another  clew  to  the  child. 
The  cloud,  he  confessed  to  himself,  began  to 
thicken  a  little ;  and  now  he  meant  to  clear  all 
obstacles  and  entanglements  at  a  bound.  In 
a  few  days  the  forge  was  silent ;  the  anvil 
uttered  not  so  much  as  a  tinkle — the  broker 
had  levied  his  judgment,  which  had  hung  dan- 
gling, like  a  great  chain,  for  months  over  the 
blacksmith's  head :  the  blacksmith's  fire  was 
quenched,  and  his  hammers  muffled  for  ever. 
A  few  days  more,  and  the  haberdasher — thrift- 
less woman — was  forced  to  send  her  children 
out  privily  to  beg ;  Fyler  had  swept  her  shop 
with  a  comprehensive  bill  of  sale.  The  piano 
in  the  yellow  house  had  gone  gouty  in  the  legs 
long  ago ;  and  was  now  taken  to  the  hospital 
in  the  square,  out  of  a  movement  of  pure  be- 
nevolence in  the  bosom  of  Mr.  Close.  As  to 
the  baker,  on  a  close  scrutiny  of  accounts,  the 
broker,  finding  a  clear  balance  against  himself 
of  four-and-threepence,  with  a  fraction,  thought 
it  not  expedient  to  move  him  just  at  present. 
All  that  remained  was  the  Row,  to  show  to  the 
world  that  Fyler  Close  was  worth  a  cent ;  and 
Fyler  chanted  a  psalm  to  the  tune  of  a  rattling 
song  he  had  heard  at  a  cheap  place  of  enter- 
tainment when  he  was  a  young  man,  with 
great  spirit,  as  he  chinked  the  silver  in  his 
hand  and  thought  of  this.  He  had  finished  the 
psalm,  and,  getting  into  a  more  advanced 
stage  of  pleasaniry,  was  striving,  with  whimsi- 
cal success,  to  adapt  some  common-metre  meas- 
ure that  he  might  recall,  to  the  fitful  shouts  of 
his  neighbor,  when  Mr.  Small  came  in,  bear- 
ing upon  his  left  arm  a  pile  of  clothes,  hung 
loosely  over,  and  in  his  right  a  crook-necked 
stafi",  with  which  he  had  thrust  the  door  open, 
and  wliich  he  now  employed  in  putting  it  to 
again.  Upon  his  head,  covering  and  extin- 
guishing the  glory  of  his  own  individual  cap, 
rested  a  straw  hat,  stretching  out  before  and 
behind,  twisted  up  convulsively  at  the  sides, 
and  discolored  and  stained  in  every  strand  with 
sweat.  Mr.  Small  might  have  been  mistaken 
by  a  rash  observer,  at  first  sight,  as  he  stood 


resting  on  his  crook,  for  a  patriarch  gone  to 
seed.  The  broker  knew  him  for  what  he  was, 
and  hailed  him  at  sight. 

"  This  is  a  melancholy  affair,  Ishmael,"  said 
the  broker,  shaking  his  head  dolefully. 

"  It  can't  be  helped  ?"  asked  Ishmael,  while 
a  lurking  smile  crept  upon  his  visage. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  can't,"  rejoined  Mr.  Close ; 
"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  avoid  going  out  of  my 
wits." 

"  Anyhow,  Uncle  Fyler,"  said  Ishmael,  "  I 
hope  for  my  sake  you'll  not  go  so  far  you  can't 
come  back  again.  You'll  be  good  enough  to 
recollect  that." 

"  It's  very  painful,  though,"  continued  Fy- 
ler ;  "  here  am  I,  Ishmael,  this  morning  in  full 
possession  of  all  my  faculties,  according  to  hu- 
man observation,  equal  to  a  calculation  in  com- 
pound interest,  or  the  drawing  of  a  mortgage, 
with  extra  conditions  and  policy-clauses — be- 
fore night  what'Jl  I  be  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  to  say,"  said  Ishmael,  starting 
back  and  lifting  both  hands,  as  though  to  shut 
out  a  disagreeable  vision. 

"  But  I'm  not,"  answered  Fyler,  twitching 
his  whiskers,  "  a  miserable  wreck,  an  insane 
rag-picker ;  what'll  be  my  business  ?  To  go 
about  running  into  gutters,  and  poking  street- 
pools  and  rag-heaps — and  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  it  disagreed  with  me  so  much  as  to  make  me 
twist  my  face  and  beat  myself,  and  do  such  go- 
ings-on that  everybody'll  say, '  Fyler  has  lost 
his  reason.'  " 

«I  shouldn't  wonder,"  echoed  Mr.  Small, 
and  at  the  prospect  of  so  cheerful  a  result, 
presented  so  vividly,  both  Fyler  and  Ishmael 
broke  into  a  gentle  laugh. 

"  Was  he  in  his  right  mind  always  ?"  asked 
Fj'ler,  looking  up  edgewise  at  Ishmael  from 
where  he  sat,  allowing  his  glance  to  rest  a  mo- 
ment, in  its  way,  upon  the  garments  over  his 
arm.    "  Was  the  owner  of  these  always  right  ?" 

"  Wonderfully  so,"  answered  Ishmael ;  'Uhe 
very  sanest  picker  I  ever  knew.  He  was  a  ex- 
traordinary chap,  that  old  fellow,"  pursued 
Mr.  Small,  "  he  would  pick  a  couple  of  hogs- 
heads a  day,  sir,  and,  with  a  run,  jump  over 
'em  at  night,  standing  on  end,  as  lively  as  a 
grasshopper  in  the  first  line  o'  business.  He 
had  a  ambition  above  rags,  and  that  was  the 
ruin  of  him.  One  morning — it  was  a  lovely 
one — the  baker's  winders  was  all  full  of  smo- 
king rolls  and  fresh  gingerbread,  the  milk- wag- 
ons was  on  the  jump,  and  the  red-cheeked 
chambermaids  puttin'  their  houses  into  clean 
faces,  like  queens' — our  friend  goes  out  in 
prime  spirits  to  pick  a  little  before  breakfast. 
There  was  a  big  heap  in  Hanover  square  to 
be  overhauled  that  afternoon,  and  the  thoughts 
of  that  before  him  put  him  in  such  a  flow,  he 
could  hardly  hold  in  for  joy.  Well,  sir,  he 
was  a-goin'  along  all  well  enough,  till  he  comes 
to  'Publican  alley,  and  there  he  balked— he 
wanted  to  be  an  old-clo'  man,  and  there  was 
something  up  that  alley  that  tempted  him  worse 


248 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


than  a  evil  spirit.  He  couldn't  hold  back  ;  so 
up  the  alley  he  bolts,  leaving  his  basket  (which 
he  begun  to  be  ashamed  of),  at  the  mouth  ;  he 
comes  to  a  airy,  a  very  deep  but  very  delicious 
airy,  too,  for  there,  as  he  peeps  through  the 
raiJin',  he  sees  that  vicious  old  coat  that  was 
to  be  his  undoin',  a  hangin'  in  its  old  place 
over  the  back  of  a  chair,  close  up  by  the  win- 
der ;  the  winder  was  up — the  old  chap  listened 
— there  was  nobody  stirrin' — he  laid  himself 
close  up  against  the  rail,  and  stretched  down 
his  stick  till  he  gets  the  old  feller  by  the  col- 
lar, and  begins  to  tug.  Tuggin'  was  fatal  work  ; 
he  was  too  wiolent ;  the  gate  he  was  leanin' 
agin  gives  way — the  gratin'  to  the  coalhole 
was  up — the  old  chap  pitches  headlong  in,  and 
slidin'  on  his  belly  to  the  very  bottom,  cracks 
his  neck.  There  was  the  vanity  of  'spirin' 
above  his  sphere  !  He  was  a  bosom-friend  o' 
mine ;  and  as  he  forgot  to  mention  me  in  his 
will,  I  bought  his  hat  and  trousers  and  stick 
and  basket,  from  the  crowner's  man,  for  a 
couple  of  plugs,  to  remember  him  by.  They 
was  cheap  at  that !" 

"  I  wonder  if  they  would  fit  me,  Ishmael — it 
would  be  curious  to  try,  wouldn't  it  V 

The  broker  lifted  the  garments  gently  from 
Ishmael's  arm,  displaced  the  hat,  and,  posses- 
sing himself  of  the  crook  and  basket,  placidly 
withdrew  to  his  closet,  leaving  Mr.  Small  lean- 
ing against  the  casement,  his  cap  jauntily 
cocked  and  one  leg  crossed  upon  the  other,  re- 
garding the  broker  as  he  withdrew  with  a  look 
of  the  profoundest  admiration  and  respect.  It 
was  capitally  done,  that  he  couldn't  deny. 

In  a  few  minutes,  during  which  audible 
laughter,  kept  pretty  well  under  though,  had 
resounded  from  the  closet,  an  outlandish  fig- 
ure appeared  from  its  concealments,  locking 
the  door  carefully  behind  and  thrusting  the  key 
in  a  pocket.  It  wasn't  the  broker.  Ishmael, 
unbending  from  the  posture  he  had  maintained, 
and  spreading  himself,  with  a  hand  on  either 
knee  after  the  manner  of  a  jockey  making  him- 
self familiar  with  the  points  of  a  horse  on  show, 
said  it  wasn't  Fyler  Close — he'd  stake  his  life 
on  it — it  wasn't  Fyler. 

The  figure  moved  out  upon  the  floor,  as  if  to 
give  Mr.  Small  an  opportunity  to  confirm  his 
impressions.  They  couldn't  be  shaken  ;  he 
clung  to  his  first  belief.  There  was  the  old 
yellow  hat,  which  helped  the  face  underneath 
it  to  a  look  so  small  and  shrunken ;  then  the 
roundabout  and  trowsers,  loose  and  flaunting, 
and  washed  by  a  thousand  showers  and  sweats 
and  stains,  out  of  all  color.  No  reasonable 
man  could  have  thought  of  going  out  of  his 
senses  (even  from  an  overgrown  coat  and  short 
pantaloons),  into  such  an  ill-assorted  apparel. 
Moving  up  and  down,  the  figure,  keeping  a 
hard,  steady  countenance,  proceeded  to  fish 
with  the  crooked  stick  which  he  carried  in  his 
hand,  in  various  sections  of  the  apartment  as 
in  imaginary  pools,  and  drew  up  from  time  to 
time  supposititious  strips  of  canvass  and  linen, 


which,  with  great  care  and  skill,  he  deposited 
,  in  the  bottom  of  a  basket  that  hung  upon  his 
I  arm.     Excellent !     Ishmael   protested   that  it 
;  brought  his  friend  the  picker  back  so  vividly 
I  before  his  mind,  that  it  was  as  much  as  he 
he  could  do  to  refrain  from  shedding  tears.  Af- 
j  ler  practising  in  this  way  for  better  than  a 
I  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  figure  came  and  halted 
I  before  Ishmael,  letting  the  arm  which  held  the 
j  basket  fall  its  full  length,  and  in  the  other  hold- 
I  ing  the  stick — as  is  the  established  custom  of 
pickers — with  its  crook  downward,  and  regard- 
ing Mr.  Small  with  melancholy  steadiness  of 
;  visage. 

!      "  I'm  a  poor  old  man,  now,  Ishmael,"  said 
j  the  old  gentleman ;  "  very  poor — worth  not  so 
I  much  as  Mrs.  Lettuce.      By-the-by,  Ishmael, 
;  isn't  it  strange,  Mrs.  Lettuce  has  never  called 
for  that  balance  on  the  mortgage  in  the  mas- 
ter's hand  ?     It  was  just  three  shillings  and  a 
penny,  and  it's  very  wrong  in  her  not  to  look 
to  it.     You  should  mention  it  when  you  see 
her.     It's  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence  not 
to  look  after  her  own.  Have  you  seen  the  poor 
woman  lately,  Ishmael  ?" 

Ishmael  averred  that  he  had,  in  the  mar- 
ket. 

"  What  did  she  say,  Ishmael — did  she  seem 
to  bear  her  fortune  meekly  ?" 

"  She  said,"  answered  Ishmael,  who  was 
bursting  with  suppressed  satisfaction  at  the 
masterly  manner  in  which  the  old  gentleman 
was  carrying  it  ofi" — "  She  said,  sir,  that  you 
was  one  of  the  greatest  scoundrels  that  ever 
went  unhung ;  that  you  had  robbed  her  of  her 
radishes,  and  'sparagus,  and  stockings,  and 
money,  and  character,  like  a  heathen  boy-con- 
strictor, she  called  it ;  and  she'd  see,  sir,  wheth- 
er she  wouldn't  have  satisfaction  out  of  you 
yet !" 

"  I  wonder  what  the  poor  old  woman's  Hy- 
ing on  that  makes  her  so  savage  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Close,  mildly. 

"  As  far  as  I  can  learn,"  answered  Ishmael, 
"  for  the  last  fortnight  on  b'iled  turnip-tops — 
not  such  a  very  violent  species  of  food." 

"  Where  does  she  get  boiled  turnip-tops,  I'd 
like  to  know?"  asked  Mr.  Close,  whose  eyes 
began  to  gleam  a  little. 

"  They're  given  to  her  by  her  old  friends  in 
j  the  market,"  replied  Ishmael ;  "  but  they've 
cut  oft'  the  supply,  at  last — it  sp'ilt  the  sale. 
She'll  beg  a  couple  of  weeks  more,  with  an 
old  cloak  and  red  handkercher,  they  all  say, 
and  then  she'll  go  to  the  almshouse." 

"  The  best  thing  the  poor  creature  can  do,'* 
said  Fyler ;  "  I  thought  so  long  ago.  She'll  be 
much  more  comfortable  there  than  out  of  doors 
blabbing'  secrets  and  ripping  up  old  stories  of 
no  use  to  any  one." 

The  interview  with  Mr.  Small  concluded, 
the  broker  saying  that  he  had  a  heavy  day's 
work  before  him — foursquares  and  better  than  a 
dozen  streets  to  scour — pulled  open  the  door,  and 
went  forth — Ishmael  following  at  a  distance. 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


249 


ft4^         CHAPTER  xxvnr. 

THE    BURNING   OF   CLOSE's  ROW. 

At  day-wages  the  broker  could  not  have 


through  the  city.  A  flame,  no  larger  than  a 
man's  hand,  'had  been  seen  to  flicker  through 
the  ground  window  of  a  wooden  building,  and 
presently  the  whole  city  was  astir.  At  first 
two  or  three  distracted  men  in  leathern  hats — 
toiled  more  painfully.  Early  and  late  he  was  ■  they  had  been  the  first  to  discover  it— ran  up 
busy,  with  stick  and  basket,  in  alley,  highway,  |  and  down  the  adjacent  streets,  shouting  at  the 
and  thoroughfare.  He  groped  every  kennel,  I  top  of  their  lungs,  "  Fire !  fire  !"  Then  a  score 
and  questioned  every  heap  in  the  ward.  After  j  or  two  of  neighbors  tumbled  out  of  their  beds, 
a  shower  he  might  be  seen  hovering  about  the  \  and  taking  it  up,  with  the  scantiest  possible 
street-pools  like  a  buzzard.  If  he  had  been  a  apparel  for  a  public  appearance,  hurried  about 
picker  from  infancy  he  could  not  have  driven  .  the  block  echoing  the  cry.     Then  other  dis- 


his  trade  with  more  diligence.  He  was  es 
pecially  careful  to  ply  his  business  where  he 
would  fall  under  the  eye  of  certain  gentlemen, 
pointed  out  to  him  by  the  vigilance  of  Mr. 


tracted  people,  bursting  out  at  front  doors, 
which  went  to  after  them  with  a  crash,  scram- 
bling up  from  cellars  or  down  from  garrets 
where  they  lodged,  tore  through  the  streets. 


Small,  as  possessing  a  talent  for  observation,  |  Presently  a  reinforcement  of  men  in  leathern 
and  an  obliging  disposition  in  coming  forward,  j  hats  appeared,  rushing  in  wherever  there  was 
which  would  render  them  very  useful  in  the  I  a  lane,  or  square,  or  alley,  and  renewing  the 
event  of  any  little  matter  of  Mr.  Close's  being  !  shout,  "Fire !  fire!"  From  various  taverns  and 
broiight  before  the  courts.  This  was  a  class  !  rooms  about  the  city  where  dancing  had  been 
of  sharp-eyed  small  tradesmen,  who  were  al- 1  kept  up  to  a  late  hour,  certain  young  gentle- 
ways  in  their  doors,  or  at  the  corner,  or  com-  men,  casting  off  their  coats  and  leaving  them 
ing  through  a  street,  or  passing  to  a  ferry,  or  do-  in  charge  of  their  fair  partners,  by  which  it 
ing  something  or  other  which  enabled  them  to  appeared,  when  the  red  shirts  came  to  be  dis- 
be  eye-witnesses  of  more  than  half  the  stage-  closed  that  they  were  volunteer  firemen  in  dis- 
accidents,  brav/ls,  frays,  and  other  street-inci-  i  guise,  broke  into  the  street,  rushed  distractedly 
dents  of  the  whole  city.  As  Fyler  passed  the  j  about  for  a  few  minutes,  until  they  had  fixed 
doors  of  these  vigilant  observers,  he  would  |  their  gripe  upon  an  engine-rope,  when,  setting 
place  his  basket  on  the  ground,  his  crook  lyiAg  |  forward,  they  aimed  with  many  others  in  a  like 


across  it,  and  proceed  to  rap  his  forehead  with 
great  violence  with  his  knuckles ;  which  per- 
formance over,  he  would  take  up  his  basket  and 
proceed  to  his  work,  knocking  his  brow  stead- 
ily through  the  day,  at  the  rate  of  about  three 
dozen  knocks  to  a  square.  There  was,  among 
his  prospective  witnesses,  one  in  particular — 
a  dealer  in  crockery — of  such  an  extremely 
acute  turn  of  mind,  as  to  have  been  known,  in 
a  case  of  manslaughter,  tried  at  the  Oyer  and 
Terminer,  to  have  seen  the  blow  struck,  stand- 
ing in  his  own  shop-door  and  looking  through 
two  bow-windows  to  the  other  side  of  a  corner 
where  the  affray  had  happened ;  identifying 
the  prisoner  by  the  color  of  his  hair.  There 
was  a  valuable  man  for  Mr.  Close !  and  when 
he  came  along  the  front  of  his  shop  the  knock- 
ing was  very  violent  and  long-continued,  and 


plight,  for  the  spot  where  the  blaze  was  now 
mounting  into  a  beacon-light. 

The  throng  and  tumult — which  deepened 
every  minute — centred  about  a  row  of  wooden 
buildings  standing  in  a  back  yard.  The  flame 
had  a  sure  hold  upon  his  prey,  and  coiled  round 
striking  it  over  and  over  again,  in  some  new 
and  vulnerable  point  with  its  tongues  of  fire. 
Every  bell  in  the  metropolis  was  now  sound- 
ing, and  new  forces  came  hurrying  into  the 
yard;  the  engines  clattered  over  the  fence 
which  had  been  thrown  down,  and  began  to 
take  their  order — the  flame  seemed  to  know  it 
all,  thrusting  out  a  broad  red  face  from  the 
windows  to  welcome  them,  skipping  with  a 
nimble  step  up  and  down  the  stairs,  and  dan- 
cing about  the  roof,  and  in  the  very  eaves  for 
joy,  to  see  so  many  friends  about.     The  crowd 


varied  by  a  succession  of  lively  leaps  over  the  .  swelled  till  it  overflowed,  not  only  that  yard, 


basket,  back  and  forth,  as  it  stood  upon  the 
ground. 

Ishmael,  in  the  meantime,  performed  the 
part  cast  to  him,  by  happening  in  the  neighbor- 


but  the  next  and  the  next,  and  all  the  neigh- 
boring streets. 

The  roofs,  stoops,  and  windows,  all  about 
were  filled  with  faces  that  glowed  in  the  flame ; 


hoods  where  Fyler  plied  his  calling,  and  taking   and  even  on  the  housetops,  far  away,  a  single 
occasion  to  point  him  out  to  various  doctors,  as  ;  figure,   sometimes    more,   might   be    descried 


a  worthy  old  gentleman  (reduced  in  circum 
stances),  a  little  beside  himself,  and  whom  he 
would  be  sorry  to  see  committing  any  violence, 
such  as  braining  a  child  or  the  like.  They 
had  furnished  him  with  certificates  of  his  con- 
dition, and,  learning  that  he  was  a  friend  of 
the  poor  old  gentleman's,  begged  him,  in  Heav- 
en's name,  to  take  him  straight  to  Bellevue. 

One  night — Fyler  had  been  missed  from  all 
his   customary    rounds   that   day — toward   its 


standing  out  against  the  sky.  The  hoarse 
trumpets  of  the  engineers  sounded — the  hose 
had  been  dropped  in  the  cisterns — there  was  a 
thumping  of  engine-arms,  a  thin  jet  of  muddy 
water  rose  asainst  the  flame,  and  the  fire 
bounded  up,  livelier  than  ever.  The  supply 
had  given  out.  The  river  was  tried,  and  now 
they  would  have  gone  on  triumphantly,  had 
not  a  discovery  been  made  to  the  effect  that  all 
the  tall  men  on  the  engines  were  wasting  their 


close,  there  was  a  portentuous  cry  sounded ;  strength  in  hoisting  up  certain  short  gentle- 


250 


PUFFER  HOPKIiVS. 


men  and  half-grown  youths,  who  had  fastened 
upon  the  engines,  that  they,  the  short  gentle- 
men, might  be  in  reach  of  the  arms  to  do  their 
part  in  bringing  them  down  again.  As  soon 
as  this  was  amended — by  ejecting  the  short 
gentlemen  and  their  associates,  in  a  body,  per- 
emptorily from  the  yard,  from  returning  to 
which  they  were  only  restrained  by  the  offi- 
cers' staves  that  began  to  ply  about — they 
made  head.  The  inmates  now  came  hurrying 
out — men,  women,  and  children — bearing  in 
their  arms  some  little  worthless  trifle,  and  cast- 
ing a  frightened  look  back  upon  the  burning 
row.  There  was  one,  a  stout  man,  who  car- 
ried in  his  arms,  as  tenderly  as  though  it  had 
been  a  child,  a  glass  case  shrouded  in  crape, 
which  concealed,  as  might  be  guessed  by  such 
glimpses  as  the  flame  allowed,  what  seemed 
some  child's  toy  or  other.  Then  a  lean  man, 
with  great  staring  eyes,  came  out  with  a  run, 
and  looked  about  him  as  though  something  had 
happened  on  a  much  grander  scale  than  he 
had  expected.  As  soon  as  this  person  had  re- 
covered himself  a  little,  he  borrowed  from  one 
of  the  companies  a  couple  of  fire-buckets,  fill- 
ing which  constantly  (although  some  consider- 
able rents  in  the  sides  and  bottoms  prejudiced 
his  labors  not  a  little),  he  did  what  he  could, 
running  back  and  forth,  toward  extinguishing 
the  fire.  They  had  now  all  escaped  from 
the  row  except  one ;  and  that  one  (the  stout 
cobbler),  instead  of  descending  quietly  like  a 
Christian  and  good  citizen,  was  seen  tramping 
and  dancing  about  the  roof  like  a  madman ; 
throwing  his  hat  into  the  air  and  catching  it, 
with  other  demonstrations  of  the  wildest  joy. 
He  and  the  fire  seemed  to  understand  each 
other  well.  They  shouted  to  him  to  come 
down,  to  little  purpose ;  they  sent  up  huge  jets 
of  water,  and  these  he  shook  from  his  ears  like 
a  great  dog  that  liked  the  sport.  Even  a  fire- 
man, who  had  acquired  a  great  name  by  his 
prowess  in  bringing  old  men  and  women  out 
of  dormer  windows,  down  the  long  ladder,  and 
who  had  been  constantly  climbing  up  and  down 
the  same  and  calling  to  any  that  might  be  lurk- 
ing there,  roasting  privily,  to  come  out — even 
he  had  gone  to  the  very  top  round  and  be- 
sought the  cobbler  in  vain.  In  his  own  good 
time,  and  when  everybody  thought  there  was 
no  escape  for  him — a  minute  before  the  roof 
tumbled  in — he  came  hand  over  hand  down  the 
lightning-rod,  fixed  against  the  gable,  and 
reached  the  ground  without  a  scratch.  Once 
down,  instead  of  employing  his  time  in  rescu- 
ing what  he  could,  he  devoted  himself  with  ex- 
traordinary ardor  to  casting  such  articles  of 
furniture,  bedposts,  chairs,  or  utensils,  as  he 
could  lay  hands  on,  into  the  flames;  which, 
hurrying  from  point  to  point,  he  kept  feeding 
as  he  would  a  hungry  dog  that  had  found  great 
favor  in  his  eyes  for  the  very  force  of  his  appe- 
tite. So  the  cobbler  kept  the  fire  alive,  and 
diminished  more  and  more  the  stock  of  proper- 
ty whose  distinctions  it  was  his  pleasure  to 
loathe  and  help  to  level. 


Whenever  a  rafter  yielded,  or  a  heavy  tim- 
ber fell  in,  a  spare  old  figure,  apparently  avail- 
ing himself  of  the  new  light  that  flamed  up  the 
sky  and  fell  back  reflected  on  the  earth,  was 
seen  stealing  about,  bearing  a  basket  on  his 
arm,  and  in  his  hand  a  crooked  stick,  with 
which  he  drew  from  the  heaps  small,  charred 
bits  of  wood  and  worthless  cinders,  and  filled 
his  basket. 

At  times  he  paused  in  his  painstaking  task, 
and  going  about  to  the  circle  nearest  to  the  fire, 
he  removed  his  hat,  and,  extending  it  to  each 
in  turn,  begged  piteously,  both  with  look  and 
voice,  for  alms — a  penny  only — a  penny  for  a 
ruined  man.  Whenever  they  refused  him,  as 
they  often  did,  not  knowing  him  as  the  owner 
of  the  burning  row,  he  would  turn  away  and 
mutter  in  answer  to  questions  which  no  one 
had  addressed  to  him. 

"  You  are  right,  sir,"  he  would  say,  "  the 
man's  leg  was  out  of  joint,  and  General  Wash- 
ington thought  a  potato  poultice  just  the  thing." 
Then,  going  a  few  steps  forward,  he  would 
pause  at  a  heap,  and  begin  counting  cinders 
into  his  basket,  as  though  it  had  been  so  much 
solid  coin.  Such  as  knew  the  broker  heaved 
a  sigh  of  compassion.  Fyler  Close  was  cer- 
tainly distracted — gone  mad,  beyond  all  con- 
trgversy.  No  wonder,  they  said  to  them- 
selves ;  such  a  blow — meaning  the  burning  of 
his  buildings — was  enough  to  unsettle  any 
man's  senses.  ^     . 

Ishmael,  too,  was  on  the  ground,  displaying: 
a  praiseworthy  and  astonishing  activity  in  his 
endeavors  to  save  what  he  could  from  the 
wreck,  so  as  not  to  bankrupt  the  Phoenix  com- 
pany at  once !  Every  other  minute  he  was 
diving  into  the  row,  at  the  seeming  peril  of  his 
neck,  but  taking  good  care  to  emerge  at  an 
early  opportunity  by  means  of  an  outlet  on  the 
other  side,  which  he  knew  of,  tarrying  in  the 
cellar  only  long  enough  to  whistle  such  a  tune 
as  might  lead  the  by-standers  to  scamper  off, 
dropping  whatever  they  had  in  their  hands  and 
protesting  that  there  was  a  goblin  in  the  vault. 
And  when,  at  length,  the  flames  reached  the 
lightning-maker's  loft,  there  were  a  dozen  re- 
ports or  more  in  succession,  a  broad  sheet  of 
all  colors,  blood-red  and  lightning-blue  pre- 
dominating, shot  up  into  the  sky — there  was  an 
involuntary  clapping  of  the  hands  on  the  part 
of  the  j  uvenile  portion  of  the  crowd — Ishmael 
stood  by,  as  ardent,  but  more  secret,  in  his  ap- 
plause than  any.  At  the  moment  of  the  illu- 
mination— which  had  been  duly  announced  ia«.  ^ 
advance  by  the  explosion — the  lightning-ma-  W 
ker,  who  was  still  busy  with  his  impracticable 
buckets,  paused  in  his  labors,  and,  looking  up, 
a  smile  crossed  his  pallid  face.  His  works  had 
gone  off  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  audience,  and 
he  was  almost  content,  although  his  wife  and 
children  stood  in  the  next  yard  with  scarcely  a 
rag  to  their  backs. 

This  brilliant  display  seemed  to  have  a  pe- 
culiar effect  upon  Mr.  Close ;  for  he  ran  about 
while  its  brightness  lasted  with  extraordinary 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


25X 


nimbleness,  pointing  it  out  to  every  one  in  the 
yard,  and  saying,  in  a  wild  way,  "  That's  the 
man,  his  name  is  John  Augustus  Jones,  and 
he  owes  me  one  and  ninepence  for  tapping  his 
heels." 

How  mad  the  poor  broker  was !  The  fire 
kept  burning,  although  it  began  to  yield — roll- 
ing up  smoke  and  flames,  which,  mixing  to- 
gether, passed  off  in  a  turbid  cloud  toward  the 
river.  The  night  itself  was  dark  and  gusty ; 
and  the  flames,  at  one  time  driven  hither  and 
thither  by  the  wind,  laid  eager  hold  of  houses, 
and  sheds,  and  churches,  so  that  had  not  men 
flitting  about  with  buckets  driven  them  back, 
the  whole  neighborhood  would  have  been  in  a 
blaze. 

But  now  it  began  to  yield,  and  the  broker 
moved  about  in  its  flickering  light.  He  was 
suddenly  accosted  by  a  person  of  a  bluff  physiog- 
nomy, strengthened  with  huge  black  whiskers, 
who,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  would  have  drawn 
him  quietly  aside.  Fyler  turned,  and,  regard- 
ing him  with  a  look  of  great  steadfastness  and 
severity,  requested  his  arm  to  wither.  The 
arm  did  not  wither,  but,  on  the  contrary,  seemed 
to  acquire,  by  the  very  behest,  a  greater  tena- 
city of  gripe ;  which,  when  Fyler  discovered 
it,  he  attributed  to  the  circumstance  of  his  hav- 
ing touched  it  with  the  wrong  hand. 

"  This  will  do,  old  chap,"  said  the  other, 
transferring  his  hold  to  the  collar  and  drawing 
the  broker  about  with  very  little  regard  to  the 
established  usages  of  society ;  "  we've  had 
enough  of  this.  These  buildings  were  heavily 
insmed,  and  you're  wanted  down  town  on  bu- 
siness. Come,  I  know  you  well  enough,  Mr. 
Fyler  Close." 

"  You  lie,  sir,  allow  me  to  say,"  rejoined  the 
broker,  turning  upon  his  assailant.  "  I  am 
Barabbas,  the  king  of  the  Jews,  and  my  moth- 
er's Mary  Scott,  the  clear-starcher,  in  Repub- 
lican alley.  I  am  Barabbas,  I  tell  you,  and  you 
owe  me  for  the  whiskers  you've  got  on." 

"  It  won't  do.  Uncle,"  said  the  officer,  "  it's 
a  capital  fetch,  but  your  primin's  wet;  you 
must  come."  Whereupon,  folding  the  broker's 
arm  closely  in  his  own,  and  putting  on  the  air 
of  his  bosom  friend,  taking  him  out  on  a  pleas- 
ure excursion  against  his  will,  he  drew  him 
along.  Some  of  the  by-standers,  who  had  been 
moved  by  the  affecting  manner  in  which  Fyler 
had  conducted  himself  through  the  evening, 
murmured  a  little,  but  refrained  from  active  in- 
terference. Ishmael — who  had  held  himself 
,  aloof— and  who,  to  tell  the  truth,  had  observed 
the  eye  of  the  black-whiskered  man  more  than 
once  fixed  on  his  friend,  during  the  fire,  and 
who  noticed  that  he  went  off  and  returned, 
whispering  with  another  before  he  left  (which* 
observations  there  had  been,  however,  no  op- 
portunity to  make  known  to  Fyler),  Ishmael 
now  stole  close  by  his  side  and  pressed  his 
hand. 

Fyler  knew  the  hand,  and  felt  its  pressure. 
In  that  there  was  some  hope  yet. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  ROUND-RIMMERS'  COMPLIMENTARY  BALL. 

From  the  point  where  the  peninsula  of  brick 
puts  forth  upon  Chatham  square,  running  or 
walking  along  its  base  on  the  Bowery,  a  mile 
or  better  out  of  town,  and  shooting  along  its 
oblique  side  on  Division  street,  gliding  gradu- 
ally off  toward  the  East  river  at  Scammel 
street,  or  thereabouts — lies  the  mighty  province 
of  East  Bowery.  And  over  all  the  region  of 
East  Bowery  is  spread — holding  it  in  close 
subjection — the  powerful  clan  of  Round-rim- 
mers  ;  a  fraternity  of  gentlemen,  who,  in  round 
crape-bound  hats,  metal-mounted  blue  coats, 
tallow-smoothed  locks,  and  with  the  terrible 
device  of  a  pyramid,  wrought  of  brassy  but- 
tons, standing  square  upon  their  waistcoats, 
carry  terror  and  dismay  wherever  they  move. 
It  isn't  the  crape-bound  hats — giving  out  to 
the  public,  as  they  do,  that  the  gentlemen  who 
wear  them  are  dead  to  the  great  world  of 
watchmen  and  indefatigables,  pieachers  and 
practitioners  of  peace  and  amity.  Nor  is  it 
their  strait-skirted  blue  coats,  nor  their  brazen 
pyramids,  that  make  them  a  terror  to  all  ages 
and  both  sexes.  Nor  is  it  their  independent 
carriage  in  public,  and  the  extreme  freedom 
with  which  they  sway  their  arms.  The  true 
secret  of  their  power  rather  lies  in  the  circum- 
stance that  they  always  rove  in  bands ;  that, 
like  the  wolf,  when  one  only  is  seen  on  the 
prowl,  the  herd  may  be  guessed  to  be  close  at 
hand,  ready  to  rush  in  and  bear  their  brother 
through  whatever  peril  he  may  encounter — 
from  the  clandestine  kissing  of  a  woman  to  the* 
tripping-up  and  desecration  of  the  corporate 
person  of  the  mayor.  Now,  it  is  well  known 
that  these  classical  gentry  have  haunts  of  their 
own,  where  no  small-heeled  boot  or  mustached 
face  is  permitted  to  intrude ;  that  they  drink  at 
their  own  resorts ;  grow  temperate  and  moral 
in  churches  or  chapels  of  their  own ;  and  that 
they  break-down  or  pigeon- wing,  where  a  white 
kid  glove  would,  at  a  single  wave,  raise  an  in- 
surrection. 

And  yet  the  Round-rimmers  condescend  to 
join  the  common  world  in  certain  of  their  ob- 
servances ;  they  have  committees  among  them- 
selves, where  smaU  men  swell  into  great,  by 
dint  of  volubility  and  intrigue.  They  make 
presentations,  after  their  fashion,  to  distin- 
guished men;  and  give  complimentary  balls, 
where  they  get  a  fever  to  a  boiling  pitch.  It 
was,  in  fact,  with  these  very  objects  in  view, 
that  the  mighty  brotherhood  of  Round-rimmers 
resolved  on  irradiating  the  head  of  Mr.  Am- 
brose De  Grand  Val  with  the  splendors  of  a 
grand  complimentary  ball,  for  the  accuracy 
with  which  he  had  chalked  their  floors  and 
mixed  their  punches,  and  the  skill  with  which 
he  had  guided  them  and  their  fair  partners 
through  the  mazes  of  a  winter's  dances.  Of 
coarse  there  was  the  calling  of  a  meeting;  the 


252 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


passage  of  resolutions — very  tender  and  affect- 
ing as  they  touched  upon  the  relations  which 
had  existed  between  the  parties,  and  very  flat- 
tering when  they  came  to  mention  Mr.  De 
Grand  Val ;  and  the  appointment  of  a  commit- 
tee to  preside  over  the  arrangements.  The 
arrangements  were  made;  the  night  had  ar- 
rived. 

The  committee,  on  which  were  several  reso- 
lute men,  had  determined  on  a  bold  stroke. 
They  meant  to  have  this  known,  through  all 
coming  time,  as  the  ball — the  grand  compli- 
mentary ball,  before  which  the  lamps  of  all  fu- 
ture balls  should  wax  dim,  and  all  future  com- 
mittees of  arrangement  stand  abashed.  It 
should  be  a  double-headed  ball — a  ball  with 
two  great,  overwhelming  attractions.  One  of 
them  would  be  Mr.  De  Grand  Val,  the  distin- 
guished beneficiary,  whose  head  was  already 
engraved  on  the  ticket,  with  an  entire  wheat- 
sheaf  in  one  corner,  in  lieu  of  the  more  regular 
accompaniment  of  a  chaplet  for  his  brow,  and 
a  pair  of  long-legged  doves,  billing  each  other, 
and  going  through  a  duet  in  the  other.  So  far 
— good.  In  looking  about  for  another,  they 
determined,  in  the  abstract,  that  it  should  be  a 
politician — an  eloquent,  distinguished,  and  pop- 
ular politician,  of  prepossessing  manners  and 
agreeable  address.  Puffer  Hopkins,  who  had 
won  such  honor  in  the  late  contest — who  was 
hand  and  glove  with  several  of  the  leading 
members  of  the  committee,  was  the  very  man  ; 
and  Puffer  was  invited  to  be  present,  which  he 
graciously  acceded  to,  and  requested  to  be  in 
readiness  by  a  certain  hour,  to  be  put  in  a  hack 
by  a  branch  of  the  general  committee,  who 
would  wait  upon  him  to  the  ball. 

Puffer,  who  \yas  not  sorry  to  avail  himself 
of  so  capital  an  opportunity  to  extend  his  fame 
among  the  members  of  a  powerful  body,  was  ap- 
parelled and  ready  to  a  minute,  having  approach- 
ed as  nearly  as  was  prudent  to  the  costume  of  his 
constituents — he  dared  not  adopt  the  pyramid, 
nor  the  flat  locks,  exactly,  but  he  laid  aside  his 
straps,  and  garnished  his  hat  with  a  broad  belt 
of  black  riband.  With  the  aid  of  the  commit- 
tee, who  called  for  him,  he  entered  the  car- 
riage, two  aiding  from  within  by  seizing  his 
arms,  and  two  from  without  by  placing  a  hand 
against  his  person,  and  thrusting  it  gently  for- 
ward with  a  respectful  pressure.  The  supernu- 
merary committee-man — four  inside — mount- 
ed the  box  with  the  driver ;  the  coach  whirled 
away ;  and,  at  a  rattling  pace,  they  were  soon 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Bowery,  or  Vauxhall  gar- 
dens— the  royal  pleasure-ground  of  the  Round- 
rimmers — the  extreme  limit  of  their  territory 
on  the  west — where  the  grand  complimentary 
ball  was  to  be  given.  Two  large  variegated 
lamps  blazed  in  the  front  of  the  gate,  to  the 
admiration  of  one  or  two  hundred  observant 
boys  ;  the  blast  of  a  trumpet,  evidently  blown 
by  a  short-winded  gentleman,  from  the  inter- 
mittent nature  of  its  peals,  burst  forth ;  and 
Puffer,  entering,  was  overwhelmed  with  the 
gorgeousness  and  splendor  of  the  spectacle  that 


broke  upon  him.    In  the  first  place,  the  gar 
den,  to  which  he  was  a  stranger,  was  filled 
with  trees — which  was  a  novelty  in  a  New 
York  public  garden — some  short  and  bushy, 
others  tall  and  trim,  hut  actual  trees.     Then 
there  were  a  thousand  eyes  or  better  lurking 
and  glaring  out  in  every  direction,  in  the  shape 
of  blue  and  yellow  and  red  and  white  lamps, 
fixed  among  the  trees  and  against  the  stalls. 
Then  there  was  a  fountain  ;  and  then,  through 
two  rows  of   poplars,   commanding  a  noble 
perspective  of  two  white  chimneytops  in  the 
rear,  there  stretched  a  floor — the  ballroom-floor 
itself.     He  had  no  further  opportunity  for  ob-^ 
servation,  for  the  committee,  hurrying  him  away- 
lest  he  should  be  seen  before  the  proper  time 
for  his  presentation  to  the  company  had  ar- 
rived, bore  him  to  a  small  room  aside,  where  he 
found  a  separate  pitcher  of  lemonade  and  an 
honorary  paper  of  sandwiches  devoted  to  him- 
self, partaking  of  which,  and  being  allowed 
time  to  smooth  his  locks  and  dust  his  pumps, 
he  was  carried  forth  into  the  air  again.     This 
time  he  was  borne  by  the  committee,  who  stuck  • 
close  to  his  person,  into  a  private  path,  so  dark 
and  shady  that  a  deed  of  blood  might  have 
been  quietly  done  upon  him ;  winding  in  and 
out  among  the  shrubs  whenever  any  of  the  com- 
pany— the  more  tender-hearted  of  whom  affect- 
ed the  place  in  couples — came  in  sight,  until 
they  reached  the  extremity  of  the  garden  oppo- 
site that  at  which  they  had  entered.    The  chair- 
man of  the  committee  gave  a  low  whistle — 
there  was  a  burst  of  music  from  the  orchestra, 
who  swarmed  in  a  box  midway  among  the  trees 
like  so  many  robin-redbreasts,  and  P after  found 
himself  upon  a  platform,  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
his  hand  upon  his  waistcoat  where  his  heart 
lay,  bowing  to  a  large  assemblage  of  both  sex- 
es, who  stood  gathered  upon  the  floor  waving 
handkerchiefs   and    shouting,   shrieking,   and 
hallooing,  a  whole  menagerie  of  welcomes.  An 
acute  ear  might  have  detected,  in  the  pauses 
of  this  tumult,  a  sound  arising  in  a  remote 
quarter  of  the  garden,  resembling  not  a  little 
the  blows  a  stout-handed  cooper  deals  upon  his 
kegs,  when  he  is  anxious  to  fix  or  unfix  their 
hoops ;   thither  two  ambitious  members  of  the 
committee,  who    had  been  unable  to   agree 
which  should  have  the  honor  of  attending  Mr. 
Hopkins  upon  the  platform,  had,  by  the  advice 
of  mutual  friends,  withdrawn,  and  in  a  stall, 
by  the  light  of  three  or  four  blue  and  yellow 
lamps,  were  proceeding  to  settle  the  point  ac- 
cording to  the  established  custom  and  usages 
of  Round-rimmers. 

From  his  elevated  position  Puffer  command- 
ed a  view  of  the  entire  spectacle  as  it  moved 
fcrward.  Upon  the  floor,  arranged  in  sets  of 
eight  each,  which  had  been  momentarily  dis- 
turbed by  his  reception,  and  which  were  now 
re-formed,  were  a  great  number  of  young  gen- 
tlemen in  fancy  pantaloons,  of  corduroy,  white 
jean,  and  nankin,  close  at  the  knee  and  flaunt- 
ing at  the  ankle ;  collars  rolled  tight  under  the 
chin  over  parti-colored  neckerchiefs  of  em- 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


253^ 


phatic  blue  or  red,  the  smooth  locks  cropped 
close  behind,  and  the  customary  brass-mount- 
ed coats,  ornamented  with  cauliflowers,  or 
large  monthly  roses  at  the  buttonholes,  and  at 
their  sides  an  equal  number  of  young  ladies, 
some  of  whom  were  red-nosed  and  flat-breast- 
ed, and  others  of  a  rounded  form  and  great 
beauty  of  feature,  in  dazzling  calicoes,  dan- 
gling earrings,  that  shone  through  the  night 
like  fireflies,  kerchiefs  of  an  equally  emphatic 
hue  spread  upon  their  breast,  and  ringlets  dis- 
posed upon  their  brow  with  a  glossy  smooth- 
ness that  emulated  their  partners.  The  gen- 
tlemen stood  with  their  arms  a-kimbo  on  their 
hips  J  the  ladies  doing  homage  to  their  lieges 
with  faces  turned  smilingly  upon  them.  The 
band  struck  up,  the  couples  dashed  oflf,  throw- 
ing out  limbs  with  an  unexampled  vigor  in  ev- 
ery direction — the  gentlemen  thumping  the 
floor  with  their  heels  at  every  descent — the  la- 
dies mounting  into  the  air  and  whizzing  about, 
till  the  dangling  rings  buzzed  through  the 
trees  like  fireflies  on  the  wing.  Sometimes  a 
gentleman  in  the  furor  of  his  zeal,  came  spank- 
ing upon  the  floor ;  sometimes  a  lady,  losing* bal- 
ance in  the  heat  of  her  motion,  dashed  head- 
long into  the  ruffles  of  one  of  the  stationary 
young  gentlemen  off  duty,  who  were  gathered 
in  groups  about  the  edges  of  the  dance.  Sud- 
denly there  was  an  abrupt  pause  in  the  orches- 
tra, every  instrument  down  to  the  triangle 
stood  still,  and  the  company,  looking  up  in 
wonder  of  the  cause,  saw  that  the  orchestra  to 
a  man  was  standing,  and  that  every  eye  was 
fixed,  with  painful  earnestness,  upon  the  other 
end  of  the  floor.  The  beneficiary — the  illus- 
trious De  Grand  Val — had  come  in  sight.  He 
was  in  the  hands  of  the  committee ;  and  the 
committee  were  coming  along  as  fast  as  the 
crowd  that  hung  upon  their  progress  would  al- 
low them.  Every  now  and  then,  a  face,  smi- 
ling and  black- whiskered,  was  just  visible  for 
a  moment  and  disappeared  again  in  the  throng. 
Then  a  hand  might  be  discovered  touching  the 
smiling  face  and  flying  off  from  it,  as  in  a  sort 
of  playful  or  aflfectionate  spasm.  This  by  no 
means  helped  to  abate  the  enthusiasm ;  the  or- 
chestra was  excited  beyond  bounds.  The  trom- 
bone had  climbed  a  tree,  and  was  shaking  down 
lamps  and  green  caterpillars  ever  so  fast,  in  a 
disordered  state  of  mind  brought  on  by  over- 
excitement.  With  many  pauses,  by  slow  sta- 
f  ges,  they  had  reached  the  head  of  the  floor, 
■*  where  certain  gentlemen,  with  blue  ribands  at 
their  buttonholes,  who  had  restrained  them- 
selves with  difficulty,  rushed  down  the  floor, 
and  seizing  Mr.  De  Grand  Val,  whose  body 
was  springing  back  and  forth,  in  a  series  of  re- 
markable congees  at  the  rate  of  forty  a  minute, 
tore  him  away  and  bore  him  to  the  foot  of  the 
platform,  from  which  Puffer  and  his  committee 
hung,  watching  their  proceedings  with  a  won- 
derful intensity  of  interest.  De  Grand  Val  was 
at  length  got  upon  the  stairs,  so  that  he  was 
just  above  the  heads  ;  and  then  when  those  im- 
mortal legs  burst  into  full  view,  the  ardor, 


which  had  kept  in  some  sort  of  limits,  burst 
into  demonstrations  of  affectionate  admiration 
that  were  touching  to  behold.  The  young 
gentlemen  clapped  their  hands,  and  made  in- 
ward comparisons  with  their  own — the  young 
ladies  sighed  and  threw  up  their  pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs. Once  upon  the  stage,  a  most  agree- 
able and  imposing  interview  passed  between 
the  master  and  Puffer  Hopkins,  in  which  each 
bore  himself  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  the 
company.  Mr.  De  Grand  Val  advanced  a  step 
or  two,  a  gentleman  in  a  blue  riband  suddenly 
appeared  from  the  other  side,  advanced  a  step 
or  two  and  paused.  Something  was  coming ; 
for  Mr.  De  Grand  Val  hung  his  head  and  pro- 
duced his  pocket-handkerchief. 

There  was  a  dead  silence ;  every  eye  in  the 
place — even  the  cross-eyed  waiter's  that  al- 
ways served  the  creams  in  one  box  and  the 
spoons  in  the  opposite — was  fixed  upon  the 
gentleman  in  a  blue  riband.  He  had  a  small 
parcel  in  his  left  hand  and  his  right  was  ad- 
vanced. 

"  Respected  sir,"  began  the  gentleman  in  the 
blue  riband,  securing  the  parcel  with  a  fresh 
hold,  "  I  beg,  on  behalf  of  my  associates  and 
self,"  here  he  looked  hurriedly  about  to  other 
gentlemen  in  blue  ribands  at  his  side,  "  to 
present  to  you  the  gift  enclosed  in  the  wrapper 
which  I  hold  in  my  hand.  The  pair  of  satin 
smalls  which  I  now  present  to  you,  are  the 
medium  through  which  we  wish  to  convey  to 
you  our  sense  of  the  delicate  and  distinguished 
manner  in  which  you  have  performed  the 
arduous  duties  you  have  undertaken  for  our 
benefit  and  our  advancement.  "We  present 
them  to  you  as  they  came  from  the  hands  of 
that  ingenious  artist,  James  Jones  of  143  Can- 
non street,  unaltered  and  unsullied.  We  give 
them  to  you  as  emblematical  of  the  many  hours 
we  have  passed  together  in  similar  and  kindred 
garments,  beguiling  life  of  its  tediousness  and 
dissipating  the  midnight  winter-strained.  The 
smalls  are  three  feet  in  length,  have  two  feet 
six  inches  breadth  of  beam  and  front,  and 
carry  one  person.  Other  causes  than  the  mere 
desire  of  seeing  you  clothed,  have  led  to  the 
construction  of  the  great  work  now  before  us ; 
they  have  been  built  not  only  to  warm  your 
limbs,  but  also  to  gratify  the  eyes  of  your 
aflfectionate  scholars  and  friends.  The  im- 
portance of  having  the  seams  made  secure  and 
the  buttons  well  fastened,  was  awfully  demon- 
strated in  the  case  of  Mr.  Wail,  whose  panta- 
loons, being  inadequately  constructed,  burst 
open,  as  you  may  recollect,  the  season  before 
last,  in  the  presence  of  one  hundred  and  eighty 
scholars,  in  no  less  than  five  distinct  rents.  The 
late  Mr.  Larkin  was  also  a  suflferer  in  the  same 
way;  but  not  to  quite  the  same  extent.  In 
presenting  you  these  smalls  I  wish  to  call  your 
attention  to  some  of  their  peculiar  and  charac- 
teristic features.  Examine  them— they  are  not 
breeches,  they  are  not  trowsers,  they  are  not 
slops.  They  have  neither  open-bottoms  nor 
straps  5  bu^,  what  is  most  singular,  they  have 


254 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


neither  a  hind  pocket  nor  side  pocket,  not  even 
a  place  to  put  a  watch  in.  I  desire  now  to  ex- 
press an  individual  wish.  As  boy  and  man  I 
have  witnessed  the  devotion  and  personal 
sacrifices  with  which  you  have  flown  about 
your  ball-rooms,  rending  your  linen  for  the 
pleasure  and  gratification  of  your  fellow-citi- 
zens. But  I  have  witnessed  too,  with  sorrow, 
what  individual  mortification  and  discomfort 
you,  with  others,  have  brought  upon  yourself 
by  sitting  thoughtlessly  down  on  dusty  chairs 
and  unclean  benches.  The  wish  which  I 
ardently  ofier  is,  that  while  you  employ  these 
smalls  in  dancing  to  the  delight  of  our  whole 
community,  they  may  be  associated  in  your 
mind  only  with  what  is  pure  and  agreeable,  dis- 
daining any  familiarities  with  Windsor  soap  and 
washing-tubs.  In  conclusion,  I  take  the  liber- 
ty on  behalf  of  our  company  generally,  in  say- 
ing that  we  feel  ourselves  honored  by  the 
presence  of  Puffer  Hopkins,  Esq.,  our  distin- 
guished friend  and  fellow-citizen.  We  do  not 
show  him  sky-rockets  and  bengola  lights,  but 
we  show  him  that  James  Jones  has  been  busy 
in  the  arts  of  peace  with  a  view  to  promote  the 
comfort  of  our  beloved  preceptor,  Mr.  De 
Grand  Val.     Accept  these  smalls." 

The  gentleman  in  the  blue  riband  advanced 
a  step  or  two  again,  Mr.  De  Grand  Val  like- 
wise advanced  a  step  or  two.  Mr.  De  Grand 
Val  was  in  possession  of  the  parcel.  He  cast 
his  eye  down  upon  the  wrapper,  then  he  turned 
enchantingly  and  looked  about  with  a  compre- 
hensive smile  which  opened  his  whiskers  and 
disclosed  his  teeth  and  embraced  all  parties 
present,  on  the  platform  and  off,  both  sexes, 
and  even  an  interloper  who  stood  gazing  from 
the  remotest  end  of  the  floor.  There  was  a 
dead  silence  again.  Mr.  De  Grand  Val  was 
about  to  reply. 

"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  De 
Grand  Val  deeply  moved,  "  I  accept  this  token 
in  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  given.  I  regard  it, 
and  shaU  always  regard  it,  as  an  evidence  of  ; 
your  devoted  attachment,  tried  principles  and ! 
prompt  payments,  as  long  as  I  live.  When- '. 
ever  I  look  at  them,  whenever  I  wear  them,  I ' 
shall  call  to  mind  the  spirit  with  which  you 
have  availed  yourself  of  my  instructions,  the 
promptitude  with  which  you  have  cashed  my 
quarterly  bills.  They  and  I  shall  be  insepar- 
able, provided,  as  I  have  an  abiding  conviction, 
they  fit.  They  will  serve — how  happily  !— to 
recall  to  me  the  purity  of  the  young  ladies 
whom  I  have  instructed,  the  manliness  of  the 
young  gentlemen."  Here  there  began  to  be  a 
movement  of  applause.  "  By  saying  this,  how- 
ever, ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  do  not  mean  that 
I  shall  always  wear  these  satin  smalls.  No, 
no.  God  forbid  that  I  should  ever  be  seen 
performing  the  ordinary  duties  of  life  in  these 
precious  garments,  your  afiectionate  gift.  Dis- 
tant be  the  time  when  it  shall  be  said  that  Am- 
brose De  Grand  Val  was  known  to  have  had 
on  his  smalls  riding  a  trotting  match  on  the 
avenue,  or  miicing  slings  at  Fogfire  hall,  or 


climbing  a  sloop's  mast  on  the  East  river.  I 
1  shall  reserve  them,  ladies  and  gentlemen — and 
I  think  you  have  anticipated  me  in  this  state- 
ment— for  more  select  and  dignified  occasions. 
;  I  think  I  may  venture  to  wear  them  at  a  wed- 
ding ?" — "  You  may,"  from  a  large  portion  of 
the  audience — "  but  not  on  a  fishing  excur- 
sion ?" — "  No,  no,  shrimps  and  salt-water  is 
fatal !" — "  On  the  shady  side  of  the  Bowery  ?" 
:  — «  To  be  sure  !"— "  But  not  to  church— that 
'  wouldn't  do."  And  Mr.  De  Grand  Val  laughed 
aloud  as  much  as  to  say,  "That's  a  good  one  !" 
!  "  But,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  am  afraid  I  shall 
■  be  compelled  to  make  an  exception — a  single 
exception — as  to  the  rule  I  have  laid  down  for 
!  myself  in  the  use  of  these  smalls.  1  have  a 
'  friend,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  a  dear  friend,  a 
I  former  pupil  of  mine — known  to  some  of  you 
I  — who,  in  a  moment  of  unrestrained  hilarity, 
playfully  thrust  a  caseknife,  which  he  happen- 
I  ed  to  have  about  him,  a  couple  of  inches  or  so 
into  the  body  of  a  thick-headed  watchman ; 
,  this  trifling  circumstance  has  called  the  atten- 
tion of  the  state  toward  him ;  the  state  wants 
him  'up  the  river,  and  when  he's  called  for  he 
j  asks,  as  a  favor,  that  I  will  go  up  with  him.  I 
know  how  gratifying  it  will  be  to  our  friend  to 
see  me  in  these  smalls,  and  now,  ladies  and 
j  gentlemen,  as  a  parting  /avor,  I  ask  to  be  per- 
mitted to  use  them  on  that  occasion  !"  At  this 
I  there  was  a  universal  response,  "  In  course" 
— "  By  all  means" — and  so  forth,  to  which  Mr. 
De  Grand  Val  bowed  in  his  best  manner,  and 
ended  by  laying  his  hand  upon  his  breast,  and 
uttering  in  a  heart-broken  voice,  "  Ladies  and 
gentlemen,  I  thank  you  !"  There  was  scarce- 
ly a  dry  eye  in  the  garden.  At  the  moment 
when  Mr.  De  Grand  Val  was  discovered  with 
the  wrapper  under  his  arm,  descending  the 
platform  with  the  committee,  twelve  cotillions 
— spread  along  the  floor — burst  into  a  dance 
expressive  of  tumultuous  joy.  Pufler  kept  his 
station  on  the  platfoi-m,  surveying  the  dance, 
his  thumbs  thrust,  politician-wise,  in  the  arm- 
holes  of  his  vest,  and  his  eye  ranging  along 
from  set  to  set — when  suddenly  it  came  upon 
an  object  which  fixed  it  as  firmly  in  his  head  as 
if  it  had  been  an  eye  of  stone.  A  dark-eyed 
young  lady,  only  three  sets  from  the  stage,  of 
great  personal  attractions,  stood  facing  a  great 
sturdy-shouldered  fellow  who  seemed  to  be  her 
partner  in  the  dance,  (although  Pufler  would 
not  believe  it),  and  where  the  light  of  more 
than  a  dozen  lamps  fell  upon  her  face.  He 
could  not  be  mistaken.  It  was — it  must  be  the 
dark-eyed  young  lady  he  had  met  at  Mr.  Fish- 
blatt's  entertainment.  He  stepped  from  the 
platform  and  lounged  down  the  floor  in  com- 
pany with  a  member  of  the  committee.  He 
thought  he  would  like  to  confirm  his  impres- 
sions by  her  voice ;  in  that  he  could  not  err, 
for  he  recollected,  now  that  his  head  swayed 
that  way,  there  were  tones  in  it  that  could  not 
be  counterfeit  or  delusive. 

«  Fine  weather  for  young  ducks,"  said  the 
dark-eyed  young  lady. 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


266 


^'Not  bad  neither  for  heifers  and  bullocks," 
said  the  sturdy-shouldered  5'oung  gentleman. 
*'  Speaking  of  bullocks,  if  Bill  Winship  don't 
keep  inside  his  chalk  I'll  cut  his  plumb  for 
him."  And  he  glanced  at  a  young  gentleman 
of  a  brawny  build,  who  was  working  his  way 
Avith  might  and  main,  through  a  complicated 
figure. 

"  Bill ! — Bill  Winship,  come  over  here !" 
cried  the  dark-eyed  young  lady  across  the  floor, 
as  soon  as  Mr.  Winship  had  achieved  his 
position  again.  "  Joe  Marsh's  distributing 
knuckle  soup  to-night,  and  he  wants  you  to 
take  a  sup." 

"Never  mind  quite  yet,"  cried  the  sturdy- 
shouldered  young  gentleman,  Mr.  Marsh  him- 
self; "  only  don't  you  throw  }'our  legs  quite  so 
much  ox-fashion  or  knockin'-down  time  '11  come 
afore  to-morrow  daylight !     That's  all !" 

The  dark-eyed  young  lady  and  the  sturdy- 
shouldered  young  gentleman  laid  their  heads 
together  and  conferred  in  a  dialect  which  was 
in  a  great  measure  unintelligible  to  Pufler 
Hopkins,  but  having  reference,  as  he  saw  by 
their  glances,  to  the  young  gentleman  across 
the  floor  who  kept  dancing  beyond  his  chalk  in 
spite  of  the  friendly  warning  of  Mr.  Marsh. 
As  soon  as  he  could  address  the  young  lady, 
without  rashly  invading  the  privacy  of  her  in- 
terview with  Mr.  Joe  Marsh,  Puifer  came  for- 
ward and,  begging  her  hand  for  the  next  dance, 
took  the  place  of  the  sturdy-shouldered  Marsh, 
who  withdrew,  tugging  very  fiercely  at  the  ties 
of  his  neckcloth,  evidently  meditating  sum- 
mary death,  either  to  himself  or  his  brawny 
opposite.  The  dark-eyed  young  lady  imme- 
diately entered  upon  conversation  with  Puffer; 
referred  to  the  entertainment  at  Mr.  Fishblatt's, 
not  forgetting  Alderman  Crump  nor  Mr.  Blin- 
ker ;  touched  pleasantly  upon  their  wanderings 
on  the  way  to  her  residence ;  came  down  to  the 
present  ball,  glanced  at  its  striking  points,  and 
all  in  very  chaste,  appropriate,  and  elegant 
language,  which  startled  Puffer  not  a  little 
when  contrasted  with  her  discourse  with  Mr. 
Joseph  Marsh.  Who  was  the  young  lady  ? 
What  was  she  ?  There  was  evidently  a  mys- 
tery about  her.  She  had  two  tongues  like  the 
double-headed  heifer  at  the  show;  and  now 
that  he  looked  more  closely,  she  was  dressed  in 
a  style  quite  as  singular  and  composite.  A 
part  of  her  dress — her  gown  and  shawl,  folded 
over  the  breast,  were  in  the  very  height  of  the 
Round-rimmer's  fashion  ;  but,  then,  about  her 
neck  there  was  a  delicate  necklace  of  pearl 
and  her  hair  hung  from  her  brow,  in  fair  glossy 
curls  that  leaped  like  the  young  tendrils  of  the 
vine  in  the  spring  breeze,  at  every  motion  of 
the  dance. 

The  ball  went  on  with  unabated  spirit.  Puf- 
fer Hopkins  and  his  partner  bounded  forward, 
chassed,  dos-a-dos'd,  and  balanced  with  a  vigor 
and  accuracy  that  were  the  delight  of  the 
whole  set. 

"  I  balance  for  you,"  said  the  dark-eyed  young 


lady,  as  soon  as  it  was  their  turn  to  rest.     "  I 
chassez  and  forward  across  for  my  father." 

What  could  this  mean  ?  The  mystery  was 
deepening  and  the  dark-eyed  young  lady  bright- 
ened into  clearer  and  fairer  beauty  every 
minute.  He  ventured  to  ask  if  her  father  was 
in  the  gardens.  Oh,  no ;  he  was  at  home 
studying  the  gazetteer.  There  was  no  oppor- 
tunity for  further  questions,  for  at  that  moment 
a  figure  encased  in  white  came  bounding  up  the 
floor — the  dancers  opening  and  forming  a  line 
on  either  side  and  clapping  their  hands  with 
great  earnestness  as  he  came  along.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  point  or  pitch  at  which  you 
could  say,  the  excitement  is  at  its  height.  De 
Grand  Val  had  come  upon  the  floor  (having 
privily  withdrawn  for  that  very  purpose)  in  his 
presentation  satin  smalls !  How  well  they 
fitted  him  !     What  a  figure  !     What  motions  ! 

De  Grand  Val  begged  them,  if  they  loved 
him,  to  re-form  at  once — he  couldn't  bear  to  see 
them  idle — and  taking  his  place  at  the  head  of 
the  first  set,  at  the  very  top  of  the  floor,  he 
struck  into  the  dance.  Were  there  ever  such 
leaps,  such  pirouettes,  such  graceful  turnings 
of  a  partner,  such  pigeon-wings !  Every  eye 
was  upon  him,  and  when,  in  the  enthusiasm  of 
art  he  sprung  into  the  air,  tossing  his  skirts  al- 
most over  his  ears,  there  was  visible  on  the 
waistband  of  his  smalls,  an  inscription  worked 
in  with  black  silk,  "  Presented  to  Ambrose  De 
Grand  Val  by  his  affectionate  and  admiring 
pupils" — there  was  another  thrill,  deeper, 
stronger,  more  like  electricity  than  any  yet ! 
The  excitement  was  now  at  its  height.  The 
orchestra  was  in  a  state  of  extraordinary  fer- 
vor ;  the  base-drum  roared  and  rumbled  out  of 
all  bounds ;  the  violin  snapped  a  string  in  its 
excessive  agitation  and  hurry;  the  trombone 
and  triangle  were  beside  themselves  and 
wouldn't  keep  in  tune.  The  young  ladies 
threw  off  their  kerchiefs  upon  their  arms — the 
gentlemen  their  coats  upon  the  bushes  and 
benches  behind  them,  displaying  red  under- 
shirts, and  a  great  variety  of  hoists,  embellish-  * 
ed  sometimes  with  a  great  black  heart  of 
leather  in  the  middle,  or  with  mystical  creeping 
vines,  breaking  out  all  over  in  sheepskin  blos- 
soms. At  intervals  the  company  rushed  down 
from  the  floor  into  the  stalls  at  the  sides  of  the 
garden,  and  falling  upon  various  refreshments 
there  set  out,  acquired  so  much  vigor  as  to  re- 
turn to  the  stage  in  astonishing  force  of  wind 
and  limb.  At  the  end  of  every  third  dance  or 
so,  the  gentlemen,  resigning  all  care  of  their 
partners,  marched  in  a,  body  to  the  bar  at  the 
other  end  of  the  garden,  fronting  the  floor, 
where  the  bar-tenders,  standing  in  a  row  in 
their  sleeves,  wrought  constant  miracles  in  the 
mixing  of  slings,  punches,  and  cobblers.  And 
so  they  kept  it  up  by  the  hour,  beyond  mid- 
night, when  some  slight  abatement  in  the  spir- 
it of  the  entertainment  began  to  show  itself. 
Every  now  and  then  a  set  fell  off,  one  by  one, 
until  there  were  only  a  few  stragglers  about 


256 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


the  floor,  kept  together  by  almost  superhuman 
exertions  on  the  part  of  the  gentlemen  in  the 
blue  ribands.  At  last  there  was  no  one  left 
but  the  gentlemen  in  blue  ribands  themselves, 
■who  wandered  hither  and  thither,  gathering  up 
shawls,  combs,  and  other  stray  articles  aban- 
doned by  their  owners. 

The  lights  were  out  or  smoking  in  their  last 
remains,  the  waiters  asleep  upon  the  benches, 
and  the  great  De  Grand  Val  roamed  about  the 
paths  and  bowers  of  the  garden,  in  his  satin 
smalls,  unattended  and  unobserved. 

Puffer — to  whom  she  had  been  courteously 
resigned  by  Mr.  Joseph  Marsh,  who  had  attend- 
ed her  thither,  and  who  went  off  in  search  of  Mr. 
Bill  Winship,  the  obnoxious  dancer — took  the 
dark-eyed  young  lady's  arm  in  his,  and  had  long 
ago  set  forth.  He  knew  the  way  now,  and  it 
was  a  very  different  one — so  it  seemed  to  him, 
although  it  remained  untouched — than  when  he 
travelled  it  before.  The  crossings  were  as 
broad,  the  roads  as  crooked,  the  squares  as 
long;  but  how  miserably  short  and  narrow, 
how  provokingly  straight  they  seemed!  It 
would  have  been  a  pleasure  to  him  to  have  got 
into  Doyer  street  and  wandered  about  all  night 
long.  The  door  was  reached  before  he  had 
thought  of  it;  an  old  woman  came  with  a 
nimbleness,  the  very  recollection  of  which  took 
his  breath  away,  and  then,  when  the  dark-eyed 
young  lady  entered  in,  how  cruelly  quick  she 
was  in  closing  it,  with  her  ugly  old  face  in  her 
very  hood,  and  hurrying  her  away. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

MR.   FISHBLATT's   NEWS-ROOM. 

Through  all  of  Puffer's  dreams  that  night 
there  glided  a  graceful  form ;  a  pair  of  bright 
dark  eyes  glanced  hither  and  thither  like 
meteors,  in  all  the  motions  of  the  dance ;  some- 
times he  was  moving  by  its  side,  sometimes  it 
parted  from  him,  and  when  she  left  his  hand, 
ah  !  how  keen  a  pang  shot  through  his  heart ! 
But  gliding,  and  glancing,  and  full  of  cheerful 
images  as  were  his  dreams — whatever  the  mazes, 
whatever  the  turns,  the  pirouettes,  the  long 
country  dances,  the  perspective  always  closed 
■with  the  fair  dancer's  wearing  a  great  green 
hood,  and  an  old  woman's  head  thrust  inside, 
chattering  and  bobbing  up  and  down.  He  had 
danced  a  score  or  more  cotillons,  reels,  and  flings 
— always  with  the  same  ending,  when,  at  length, 
the  old  head  seemed  somehow  to  get  fixed  upon 
the  young  shoulders,  the  old  body  without  a  head 
galloped  off,  and  the  fair  young  form  was  left, 
chassoing,  double-headed,  among  the  trees. 
This  was  too  much  for  mortal  patience  to  bear, 
and  Puffer  waked  up.  His  first  business, 
when  he  had  fairly  recovered  himself,  was  to 
recall  the  dark-eyed  young  lady,  in  all  her 
agreeable  proportions,  one  by  one,  and  replace 
her  in  his  mind  as  she  had  been  when  he  had 


stretched  himself  to  sleep.  Lately  as  he  had 
looked  upon  her,  it  was  something  of  an  effort  j 
at  one  time  he  would  fix  her  in  a  graceful  at- 
titude bending  forward  to  move,  her  head 
slightly  turned  back  toward  him,  but  then  the 
eyes,  or  the  motion  of  the  arm,  or  the  smile 
that  had  played  upon  her  lip,  would  escape  him, 
and  he  would  begin  again.  He  went  puzzling 
on  in  this  Way,  even  till  he  was  dressed,  though 
this  did  not  prevent  his  appareling  himself 
with  great  skill  and  judgment;  drawing  out, 
from  the  very  bottom  of  a  drawer,  where  it  had 
been  laid  religiously  aside  for  some  select  occa- 
sion, a  bright  blue  neckcloth ;  arraying  his  new 
bufl"  vest,  which  he  had  worn  to  the  ball  to 
marked  advantage,  and  disposing  of  his  hand- 
some blue  coat  so  that  every  wave  and  plait 
should  tell.  With  the  two  tasks,  his  mind,  it 
must  be  confessed,  was  sufficiently  engaged; 
and  when  he  had  laid  the  last  lock  in  its  exact 
place  upon  his  brow,  and  succeeded  in  recall- 
ing the  dark-eyed  young  lady,  in  all  her  beauty, 
even  down  to  the  neat  shoe-tie  (that  his 
dreams  had  not  forgotten),  it  came  into  his 
head,  as  opportunely  as  one  could  wish,  that 
he  ought  to  go  down  to  Mr.  Fishblatt's  at  whose 
entertainment  he  had  first  met  the  dark-eyed 
young  lady,  and  have  a  little  gossip,  just  by 
way  of  relief!  The  day  had,  in  this  way, 
glided  past  dinner-time,  and  he  thought  the  pleas- 
ing idleness  of  the  morning  had  fairly  purchased 
the  afternoon  as  an  extension  of  his  holyday. 

When  he  reached  the  house  of  Mr.  Fishblatt, 
the  door,  in  compliment  to  the  pleasant  weath- 
er, stood  wide  open ;  and  Puffer,  having  estab- 
lished a  sufficient  friendship  to  warrant  it,  pro- 
ceeded at  once  to  the  small  supplemental  room 
in  the  rear,  where  Mr.  Halsey  Fishblatt  held 
his  lair.  Here  he  found  Mr.  Fishblatt  in  his 
arm-chair,  holding,  in  a  firm  gripe,  a  wet  sheet, 
which  he  regarded  with  a  steady  gaze.  At  his 
side  there  was  a  wooden  stool,  on  the  top  of 
which  lay  a  pile  of  damp  newspapers.  The 
reading  of  the  wet  sheet  seemed  to  move  Mr. 
Fishblatt  greatly ;  his  teeth  were  firmly  fixed, 
and  a  thick  sweat,  as  though  it  had  steamed  up 
from  the  newspaper,  stood  upon  his  brow.  His 
attention  was  so  entirely  engrossed,  that  not- 
withstanding the  unusual  gloss  and  neatness 
of  Puffer's  apparel,  he  merely  nodded  to  him  as 
he  came  in,  and,  unfixing  one  of  his  arms, 
waived  him  to  a  seat.  As  soon  as  one  side  of 
the  paper  was  finished — very  little,  apparently, 
to  the  satisfaction  of  Mr.  Fishblatt — he  gave 
the  sheet  a  gentle  shake,  and,  Jetting  it  fall 
into  a  current  of  air  which  set  in  from  the  en- 
try, he  turned  a  leaf,  and  folding  it  back,  fixed 
himself  upon  the  fresh  side. 

Glancing  aside  not  once,  but  ranging  up  and 
down  the  solid  columns  as  steadily  as  a  plough- 
horse  in  a  furrow,  Mr.  Fishblatt  finished  his 
acre  or  half  acre  of  print. 

"  This  is  certainly  an  astonishing  circum- 
stance," he  exclaimed,  folding  his  paper,  lay- 
ing it  upon  his  knee,  and  smiting  it  with  his 
open  palm,  breathing  now  for  the  first  time 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


257 


freely  ;  "  an  astonishing  circumstance  :  on 
Monday,  Busts  of  the  Bladder  made  that  pun- 
gent sally,  and  here  it's  Saturday,  and  no  re- 
joinder from  Flabby — what  can  this  mean  V 

At  this  moment  a  series  of  shouting  boys 
streamed  by  in  the  street,  whose  voices,  at 
their  very  top,  were  broken  in  passing  through 
the  long  hall  and  up  a  flight  of  stairs.  Mr. 
Fishblatt,  however,  whose  ear  was  better  prac- 
tised, started  up  with  a  stern  smile  upon  his 
face,  and  proceeding  to  the  stairhead,  called 
down.  Shuffling  feet  were  heard  in  answer, 
and  tossing  down  a  coin  of  small  dimensions 
upon  the  entry-floor,  merely  said,  '-  The  Pun- 
cheon," and  returned  to  his  seat.  In  a  second 
or  two  the  frowzj'-headed  servant-girl,  with 
her  hair  all  abroad,  appeared  at  the  door,  and 
presented  to  him  a  fresh  sheet,  which  he  fas- 
tened upon  with  great  eagerness. 

"  As  I  thought,"  said  Mr.  Fishblatt,  glancing 
rapidly  down  the  columns.  "An  *  Extra  Pun- 
cheon,' pretending  to  give  late  news  from  the 
Capitol,  but  containing,  in  reality,  Flabby's 
long-expected  reply.  Capital !  capital "  cried 
Mr.  Fishblatt,  as  he  hurried  on  ;  "  Flabby's 
called  Busts  a  drunken  vagabond,  in  the  Pun- 
cheon of  Wednesday-week ;  Busts  called  Flab- 
by a  hoary  reprobate,  in  Monday's  Bladder,  and 
now  Flabby  calls  Busts  a  keg  of  Geneva  bitters 
— says  the  bung's  knocked  out  and  the  staves 
well  coopered.  Capital!  this  alludes  to  a 
thrashing  in  front  of  the  Exchange,  in  which 
Busts  had  his  eye  blacked  and  a  couple  of  ribs 
beaten  in.  Give  us  plenty  of  newspapers !" 
pursued  Mr.  Halsey  Fishblatt,  starting  from 
his  chair  in  the  furor  of  his  enthusiasm.  "  They 
make  a  people  happy  and  intelligent  and  vir- 
tuous. The  press,  sir,  the  press  is  the  palla- 
dium of  liberty,  and  the  more  palladiums  we 
have,  the  freer  we  are — of  course.  See  here, 
sir,  here's  a  big  palladium,  and  here's  a  little 
palladium."  At  this  he  held  forth  to  Puffier's 
gaze,  first  the  mammoth  sheet,  and  then  the 
dwarf,  and  brandishing  them  in  the  air,  pro- 
ceeded :  "  This" — referring  to  the  small  sheet 
— "  is  edited  by  a  couple  of  overgrown  boys  in 
*  Williamsburg,  who  do  their  own  press-work — 
this  by  an  undergrown  man  in  Ann  street,  who 
does  his  thinking  on  the  other  side  of  the  At- 
lantic. Never  mind  that — give  us  more.  This 
people  can  never  be  free,  Mr.  Hopkins,  tho- 
roughly and  entirely  free,  till  every  man  in 
the  country  edits  a  newspaper  of  his  own;  till 
every  man  issues  a  sheet  every  morning,  in 
which  he's  at  liberty  to  speak  of  every  other 
man  as  he  chooses.  The  more  we  know 
each  other,  the  better  we'll  like  each  other — 
so  let  us  have  all  the  private  aftairs,  the  busi- 
'  ness  transactions,  and  domestic  doings  of  every 
■  man  in  the  United  States,  set  forth  in  a  small 
paper,  in  a  good  pungent  style,  and  then  we 
may  begin  to  talk  of  the  advancement  of  the 
human  race.  That's  what  I  call  the  cheap 
diffusion  of  knowledge ;  a  pennyworth  of  scan- 
dal on  every  man's  breakfast-table,  before  he 
goes  to  business." 

B 


Mr.  Fishblatt  having  refreshed  himself  and 
his  hearer  with  a  tumbler  each  of  lemonade, 
from  the  mantel  (the  probable  remains  of  a 
last  night's  entertainment),  was  about  to  re- 
sume, when  he  was  brought  to  a  pause  by  the 
sudden  entrance  of  the  frowzy-haired  servant- 
girl,  who  brought  him  a  parcel  from  the  post- 
man who  was  distributing  the  southern  and 
western  mail. 

"  Ah !  what  have  we  here  ?"  said  Mr.  Fish- 
blatt, taking  the  parcel  from  her  hand.  " '  The 
Nauvoo  Bludgeon,'  f Potomac  Trumpet,'  'West- 
ern Thundergust,'  something  rich  in  each,  I 
will  warrant.  '  The  corporal,'  says  the  Nau- 
voo Bludgeon,"  pursued  Mr.  Fishblatt,  reading 
from  the  newspapers,  as  he  unfolded  them; 
"  '  the  corporal,  we  are  glad  to  see,  has  resumed 
his  editorial  chair.  There  are  few  men  in  the 
press  in  the  United  States,  that  could  be  better 
spared  than  Tomkins ;  there  is  a  raciness  about 
his  paragraphs,  his  humor  is  so  delicate,  his 
good  taste  so  marked  and  prominent  in  all  he 
writes.  In  a  word,  we  couldn't  spare  Tomp- 
kins.' "  Mr.  Fishblatt  unfolded  another  paper, 
remarking  that  the  corporal  edited  the  Potomac 
Trumpet — and  here  it  was,  a  day's  date  later 
than  the  Bludgeon.  "  '  Our  friend  Smith  of  the 
Bludgeon,' "  continued  Mr.  Fishblatt,  reciting 
from  the  Trumpet,  " « has  our  thanks  for  the 
handsome  manner  in  which  he  has  alluded  to 
our  recovery  from  a  critical  sickness.  Smith, 
we  owe  you  one,  and  will  pay  you  as  soon  as 
you  are  on  your  back — if  not  sooner.  We 
were  passing  down  Market  lane,  yesterday, 
when  we  heard  a  voice.  '  Tompkins,'  said  the 
voice ;  *  Hollo !'  We  looked  up — it  was  Grigs- 
by — our  old  friend  Grigsby,  of  Clambake  point. 
He  understood  us,  and  we  passed  on.  Do  you 
take,  Smith  ?' " 

Having  despatched  these,  Mr.  Fishblatt 
came  to  the  Western  Thundergust.  The  Thun- 
dergust was  in  a  furious  rage ;  they  had  been 
purloining  his  jokes,  and  he  wouldn't  tolerate 
it  any  longer. 

"  We  have  submitted  long  enough,"  said  the 
Thundergust,  "  to  the  unbridled  plunderings  of 
the  Nauvoo  Bludgeon  and  the  Potomac  Trumpet. 
We  mean  to  put  a  stop  to  it ;  and,  to  begin  at  the 
beginning,  we  would  like  to  ask  the  man  of  the 
Bludgeon  where  he  got  that  phrase, '  In  a  word, 
we  couldn't  spare  Tompkins  ?'  Does  he  recol- 
lect the  Thundergust  of  Wednesday,  the  15th 
of  July  ?  If  he  doesn't,  we  can  refresh  his 
memory.  *  In  a  word,'  said  we,  speaking  of 
an  article  of  furniture  in  our  late  office, '  we 
couldn't  spare  our  cedar- wood  desk.'  There — 
we  think  we  have  pinned  the  Bludgeon  man  to 
the  wall,  and  now  we'U  dispose  of  him  of  the 
Trumpet,  by  suggesting  whether  it  wouldn't  be 
better  for  him  to  buy  a  copy  of  the  works  of 
Mr.  Joseph  Miller  at  once,  rather  than  be  at 
the  trouble  of  stealing  his  jokes  from  all  the 
newspapers  in  the  country  ?  We  only  suggest 
it ; — while  we  are  on  the  point,  we  might  as 
well  say  that  the  anecdote  of  Grigsby,  in  the 
last  Trumnet  was  stolen  as  it  stands,  from  the 


258 


PUFFEK  HOPKINS. 


first  number  of  this  paper,  where  the  reader 
will  find  it  printed  at  the  head  of  the  first 
column  of  the  second  page.  Paste-hoy,  scratch 
off  the  '  Trumpet* — it'll  be  your  turn  next,  Mr. 
Bludgeon  ;  so  you're  on  your  good  behavior !" 

Just  then,  and  before  Mr.  Fishblatt  could 
dive  deeper  into  the  beauties  of  the  press,  an  in- 
diflerently-dressed  gentleman  in  a  heated  face 
and  damp  hair,  rushed  in,  stumbling  at  the 
#  threshold  in  his  haste,  and  pitching  forward, 
but  taking  the  i)recaution  to  knock  his  hat 
tight  with  one  hand  as  he  stumbled. 

*' Heavens  and  earth!"  exclaimed  the  damp- 
haired  stranger,  as  soon  as  he  recovered  him- 
self, "  it's  passed !" 

"  It  is  ?"  echoed  Mr.  Fishblatt,  in  a  hollow 
and  sepulchral  tone. 

"  It  is,  sir,"  responded  the  stranger,  wildly. 

<'  What !  you  don't  say,  sir,"  continued  Mr. 
Fishblatt,  gazing  steadily  at  him,  "  that  the 
bill  for  clearing  the  navigation  of  the  upper 
Wabash  has  passed  ?" 

The  stranger  did ;  and  he  had  in  his  hat  an 
accurate  report  of  the  debate.  It  had  been 
brought  in  by  special  express  for  the  Junk  Bot- 
tle. An  express-rider,  by-the-by,  had  broken 
his  neck  in  coming  through  New  Jersey,  and 
the  messenger  had  pitched  into  the  office  of  the 
Junk  Bottle  with  such  precipitation  with  his 
parcel,  as  to  have  struck  the  senior  editor 
where  he  knocked  all  the  wind  out  of  him ;  so 
that  they  needn't  look  for  any  leader  to-mor- 
row. He  would  take  off  his  hat  and  they 
would  get  at  the  particulars.  The  damp-haired 
stranger  did  so ;  set  his  hat  upon  the  floor — 
planted  one  foot  upon  a  chair-seat  near  by, 
and  bending  forward,  so  that  the  sweat  dropped 
on  the  paper  as  he  read,  proceeded  to  furnish 
the  following  account,  which  was  heralded  in 
the  Junk  Bottle  with  the  portrait  of  a  small  fat 
cherub,  flying  at  the  top  of  his  speed,  his 
^  cheeks  distended,  and  a  trumpet  at  his  mouth, 
from  which  issued  the  word  "  Postscript !"  in  a 
loud,  bold  type.  It  was  from  the  Washington 
correspondent  of  the  Junk  Bottle. 

"  I  can  hardly  hold  the  quill  in  my  hand  with 
joy  at  the  news  I  am  about  to  communicate — 
news  that  will,  I  am  satisfied,  thrill  the  whole 
country  from  one  end  to  the  other.     The  bill 

FOR  CLEARING  THE  NAVIGATION  OF  THE  UPPER 

Wabash  was  passed  last  night  between  eleven 
and  twelve  o'clock,  after  a  most  animated  and 
stormy  debate,  in  which  the  emissaries  of  pow- 
er put  forth  their  utmost  strength.  Their  sub- 
terfuges, their  cavils,  and  cries  of  ^  Order'  were, 
however,  of  no  avail.  The  bill  had  a  clear  ma- 
jority of  five,  and  the  country  is  safe.  Of  the 
true-hearted  men  who  distinguished  themselves 
on  the  side  of  justice  and  patriotic  principle, 
JPeter  Alfred  Brown,  of  Massachusetts,  was 
pre-eminently  conspicuous.  He  was  seen  ev- 
erywhere during  the  debate,  animating,  exhort- 
ing, encouraging — from  his  place  in  the  house ; 
sometimes,  in  the  energy  of  his  extraordinary 
powers,  standing  up  in  his  chair,  and  sometimes 
addressing  the  house  fiom  his  desk-top,  where 


I  he  took  his  station  at  last,  and  maintained  it 
:  for  better  than  an  hour,  during  which  he  de- 
'  livered  one  of  the  most  remarkable  and  won- 
derful speeches  of  the  present  epoch.  There 
are  few  men,  in  any  age  or  country,  to  be  com- 
pared with  Peter  Alfred  Brown.  I  subjoin  a 
hasty  outline  of  a  few  of  the  most  striking  pas- 
sages in  the  debate. 

"  Mr.  Buffum,  of  Kentucky,  in  opening  the 
discussion,  remarked  that  the  couutiy  was  in 
imminent  danger,  much  more  imminent  than 
he  was  willing  to  confess.  The  people  ex- 
pected much  and  they  got  nothing.  A  crisis 
had  arrived  which  must  be  met.  He  need  not 
describe  to  them  the  present  condition  of  the 
whole  region  around  the  upper  Wabash.  It 
was  little  better  than  a  desert ;  trade,  by  the 
obstruction  of  navigation,  had  fallen  off"  to  noth- 
ing— the  grass  in  the  neighboring  meadows 
was  four  feet  high — vessels  of  transportation 
were  sticking,  absolutely  sticking  in  the  mud 
at  the  wharves,  and  the  cartmen  went  about 
the  streets  whistling  dirges  and  psalm-tunes. 

"  Mr.  Woddle,  of  South  Carolina,  who  rose  in 
reply  to  Mr.  Buflum,  would  not  answer  for  the 
consequences,  if  the    bill   before   the   house 
should  become  a  law.    His  (Mr.  W.'s)  con- 
stituents were  in  a  highly  inflamed  and  excited 
state  of  mind  on  the  subject  of  the  proposed 
clearing.     If  the  upper  Wabash  (they  asked) 
was  once  made  navigable,  what  would  become 
of  the  Little  Pedee  ?     Why,  it  would  sink  to 
a  third-rate  stream,  and  in  the   place  of  the 
honorable  gentleman's  whistling  cartmen,  they 
would  have  a  stagnant  marsh,  full  of  musical 
bullfrogs.     He  (Mr.  W.)  respected  the  consti- 
j  tution  of  the  country,  and  so  did  his  constitu- 
;  ents ;  but,  should  this  bill  pass,  he  could  not 
!  promise  that  a  flag,  with  some  terrible  device, 
j  would  not  be  seen  flying,  in  twenty-four  hours 
;  after  the  news,  from  the  walls  of  Charleston. 
I      "  It  was  at  this  juncture,  that  Peter  Alfred 
I  Brown,   of  Massachusetts,  rose.     Every   eye 
;  was  upon  him ;    and,  without  faltering  for  a 
j  moment,   he  entered  upon   the   subject.     He 
I  showed  clearly,  in  a  masterly  effort  of  better 
■  than  two  hours,  that  the  constitution  had  man- 
I  ifestly  contemplated  the  object  in  the  proposed 
I  bill.   He  showed,  so  that  the  blindest  and  most 
I  jaundiced  eye  could  not  fail  to  see  it,  that  the  fra- 
I  mers  had  provided  for  the  very  contingency  that 
j  had  now  arisen.   He  would  not  occupy  the  time 
I  of  the  house  in  pointing  out  the  express  clause  in 
I  the   constitution   covering  the   present   case ; 
but  he  proved,  by  an  ingenious  and  elaborate 
train  of  reasoning,  in  something  less  than  an 
hour,  that  the  entire  scope  of  that  instrument 
went  to  such  an  efliect.    In  a  peroration,  never 
surpassed  in  the  house,  he  begged  them  to  stand 
by  the  constitution.     His  arms  trembled,  as  he 
held  up  to  their  view  a  printed  copy  which  he 
held  in  his  hand ;  and  when  he  sat  down,  the 
universal  conviction  was  that  he  could  not  be 
answered.    Notwithstanding  this  feeling,  he 
;  was  immediately  followed  by  Marc  Anthony 
;  Daggers,  the  notorious  member  from  Virginia, 


^'St 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


259 


who  poured  out  upon  the  head  of  the  illustri- 
ous Brown  the  vials  of  his  wrath.  There  was 
no  epithet  of  denunciation  he  did  not  heap  up- 
on the  head  of  that  distinguished  man.  'Sir/ 
said  Daggers,  turning  so  as  to  face  Mr.  Brown, 
who  sat  complacent  and  unmoved,  writing  a 
letter  at  his  desk,  '  sir,  you  are  a  disgrace  and 
a  contumely  to  the  American  Congress  ;  a  ped- 
lar of  logic,  and  a  wholesale  dealer  in  false- 
hood and  fable.  Where  you  were  born,  sir, 
the  land,  in  sympathy  with  you,  breeds  noth- 
ing but  copperheads  and  toadstools  ;  the  soil  is 
rocky  as  your  bosom,  steril  as  your  brain.' 
Here  there  were  loud  cries  of  order,  but  Dag- 
gers went  on  without  heeding  them  in  the  least. 
Brown  was  a  buffalo,  ready  to  plunge  his  horns 
into  the  vitals  of  his  country;  he  was  a  vol- 
canic fire,  a  monster,  a  doting  idiot,  and  a  po- 
litical mountebank. 

"  At  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  to  which 
hour  they  had  been  kept  listening  to  the  tirade 
of  Mr.  Marc  Anthony  Daggers,  Mr.  Blathering, 
of  Missouri,  obtained  the  floor.  His  effort  was 
in  every  way  worthy  of  his  matured  powers 
and  reputation.  For  fourteen  years  he  (Mr. 
B.)  had  labored,  single-handed  and  alone,  to 
obtain  justice  for  the  citizens  of  Indiana,  Illi- 
nois, and  Missouri.  For  fourteen  years  he  had 
cried  at  the  top  of  his  lungs  to  the  people  of 
the  United  States,  to  render  their  right  to  the 
residents  on  the  Wabash.  The  Wabash  was 
still  obstructed,  and  if  he,  like  Curtius  of  old, 
could,  by  casting  himself  headlong  in,  reverse 
the  spell  and  open  the  river,  he  was  ready,  at 
any  moment,  for  the  sacrifice.  All  he  asked 
was  an  hour's  notice,  and  an  opportunity  to 
say '  Farewell,'  a  last  farewell,  to  his  wife  and 
children. 

"  The  upper  Wabash,  Mr.  Speaker,  is  a 
stream  rising  in  the  interior  of  Indiana,  at 
about  the  latitude  of  40^^,  &c.  (Here  he  pro- 
duced several  maps,  and  quoted  freely  from 
two  piles  of  books  before  him,  which  occupied 
about  an  hour  and  a  half  delightfully.)  He 
closed  with  an  appeal  to  the  house,  which  sur- 
passed anything  ever  heard  before  within  its 
walls.  I  need  only  give  you  the  concluding 
sentence,  to  show  you  the  magnificent  stamp  of 
the  whole. 

"  '  If  I  were  now  standing  upon  the  summit 
of  the  Chippewayan  mountains,  instead  of  the 
floor  of  this  house,  and  were  suddenly  and  un- 
expectedly seized  with  the  icy  pangs  of  death, 
— if  I  saw  that  my  last  hour  had  come,  and 
that  but  one  more  breath  was  left  me  to  draw, 
I  would  say  with  that  last  breath,  so  that  I 
might  be  heard  by  every  man  in  America, 
«  Clear  the  Wabash  !  in  Heaven's  name  ca- 
reen its  mighty  bottom,  and  let  its  waters  flow 
in  a  mercantile  tide  into  the  Ohio  at  Shaw- 
neetown,  and  into  the  Mississippi  at  Big 
swamp !" ' 

"  The  bill  was  engrossed  at  twenty  minutes 
past  eleven,  and  at  twelve  was  sent  to  the  sen- 
ate for  concurrence.  There  was  an  unexam- 
pled rush  toward  the  stalls  in  the  lobby  and 


the  hotels  on  the  Avenue,  the  moment  the 
house  was  adjourned.  This  tended  somewhat 
to  allay  the  excitement.  Thank  God,  the 
country  is  safe  !" 

"  Curse  that  Junk  Bottle  !"  cried  Mr. 
Fishblatt,  who  had  watched  closely  the  read- 
ing of  the  Washington  letter,  "  it's  always 
bringing  unpleasant  news  by  express  in  ad- 
vance of  the  mail.  Our  trade  is  ruined,  sir. 
New  York  is  a  dead  herring.  All  Kentucky, 
Indiana,  Illinois,  will  flow  into  the  Wabash, 
the  Wabash  into  the  Ohio,  the  Ohio  into  the 
Mississippi,  and  the  Mississippi  makes  a  mouth 
at  New  Orleans.  Where  does  that  bring  us  ? 
I  Not  an  Indiana  turkey,  nor  a  Kentucky  ham, 
nor  an  Illinois  egg,  reaches  the  New  York  mar- 
ket henceforth  for  ever.  In  ten  years  you  may 
expect  to  see  this  mighty  metropolis  a  heap  of 
ruins,  and  auctioneers  going  about  knocking 
down  the  rubbish  in  lots  to  suit  purchasers. 
What  do  they  mean  by  passing  such  bills  ?" 
Mr.  Fishblatt  turned  to  Puffer;  the  damp- 
haired  stranger,  released  from  the  steadfastness 
of  his  gaze,  hastily  resumed  his  hat — to  the 
crown  of  which  he  restored  his  pa^er — and  es- 
caped to  dispense  his  news  in  some  other  quar- 
ter of  the  town.  Pufler,  who  had  stood  aside, 
pondering  in  his  own  way,  on  the  subject  of 
the  upper  Wabash,  and,  tuining  it  about  in  his 
mind  till  he  got  it  in  a  light  that  pleased  him, 
looked  at  Mr.  Fishblatt,  but  made  no  answer. 
But  when  Mr.  Fishblatt  added,  "  I'll  go  and 
see  my  friend,  Mr.  Samuel  Sammis,  and  have 
this  explained — will  you  join  me.  Puffer  ?"  he 
started  from  his  re  very  and  said  it  was  the  very 
best  thing  they  could  do.  In  a  moment  he 
threw  down  the  newspaper,  with  which  his 
fingers  had  been  toying,  held  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  and  was  ready  to  issue  forth  on  the  in- 
stant. Now.  this  alacrity  on  the  part  of  Puf- 
fer— must  we  confess  it? — was  owing  to  an 
unavoidable  accident:  Mr.  Samuel  Sammis 
was  the  father  of  the  dark-eyed  young  lady  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

PUFFER   HOPKINS   IMPROVES   AN   ACQUAINT- 
ANCE. 

A  half-hour's  walk,  in  which  Mr.  Fish- 
blatt harangued  and  expatiated,  without  limit, 
upon  the  iniquity  of  the  bill  for  clearing  the 
upper  Wabash,  brought  them  to  the  Great- 
kiln  road,  abutting  on  the  Hudson,  in  Green- 
wich. And  there,  with  a  flaming  red  front, 
and  a  couple  of  apothecary's  bottles  staring 
from  the  first  floor  like  two  great  blood-shot 
eyes,  stood  by  itself  the  domicil  of  Mr.  Samuel 
Sammis.  Beyond,  standing  upon  the  river, 
and  just  visible  across  the  angle  of  the  house., 
arose  a  pair  of  hay-scales,  with  an  inscription 
to  the  effect  that  Samuel  Sammis  was  weigh- 
master  and  president  of  the  same. 

They  were  led  to  an  upper  story,  for  Mr.  Sain 


260 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


mis,  like  his  friend  Fishblatt,  possessed  the 
second  floor — and,  being  ushered  in,  they 
came  upon  a  party  of  old  and  young  ladies, 
scattered  about  the  apartment,  in  the  very  ze- 
nith and  ecstacy  of  a  full-blown  litter  of  work- 
baskets,  sewing-silk,  and  small-talk.  The  first 
object  that  fixed  the  attention  of  Puffer  as 
they  entered,  was  the  dark-eyed  young  lady 
herself,  busy  fashioning  portentous  capitals, 
in  white  thread,  upon  a  long  red  banner  or 
bunting ;  and,  at  her  ear,  that  everlasting  old 
woman,  whispering  away,  apparently,  at  the 
rate  of  a  page  a  minute  at  least.  There  were 
other  young  ladies,  each  diligent  with  her  scis- 
sors and  needle,  clipping,  binding,  patching. 
None  seemed  to  be  engaged  in  the  literary  de- 
partment but  the  dark-eyed  young  lady ;  and 
not  one,  in  Puffer's  eye,  was  half  as  fair  as  she ! 
There  was  one  small  and  gentle,  with  auburn 
hair  and  lucid,  blue  eyes  ;  another  round  and 
plump ;  another  quite  stately,  with  a  wild, 
flashing  look.  There  seemed  to  be  a  mould  in 
his  heart,  and  no  other  image  would  fit  it  but 
that  one. 

The  dark-eyed  young  lady  smiled  a  welcome 
to  Puffer — turned  to  the  old  lady  at  her  side, 
and  whispering  the  words,  "  My  aunt,"  as  an 
^^-  introduction,  invited  him  to  a  seat.  Mr.  Fish- 
Watt,  who  was  quite  at  home,  was  already  in 
a  chair. 

"  You  are  quite  a  stranger,  Mr.  Fishblatt," 
said  the  aunt,  who  was  a  little,  prim  old 
woman,  dressed  with  exemplary  neatness,  and 
with  a  pair  of  dancing  eyes.  "  You  haven't 
been  to  see  us  since  last  election.  What's  kept 
you  away — rheumatics  ? — no ;  perhaps  it-'s  been 
the  windg  that  has  blown  down  the  city  for  the 
last  month  and  better.  You  was  afraid  of  get- 
ting a  mouthful  if  you  walked  up  this  way. 
Wasn't  that  it  ?  Ah !  ah  !"  And  the  little  old 
woman  broke  into  a  clear,  joyous  laugh  which 
rung  through  the  room  and  was  echoed  by  the 
whole  company  of  stitchers  and  sewers. 

«  Oh,  no ;  nothing  of  that  sort,  I  promise 
you,  upon  my  honor,"  answered  Mr.  Halsey 
Fishblatt,  gravely.  "  My  whole  mind,  soul, 
heart,  and  body,  have  been  engrossed  with  pub- 
lie  affairs — horribly  engrossed ;  so  many  ex- 
citing, and  important,  and  weighty  questions. 
One's  no  sooner  well  disposed  of  than  another 
pops  up.  I  only  despatched  the  other  day  the 
question  about  the  aqueduct,  and,  curse  it, 
here's  another  water-question.  I  am  borne  down 
with  anxiety  and  excessive  thinking.  Where's 
Sammy  ?" 

To  this  question  the  old  lady  made  answer 
that  Samuel  was  at  the  scales ;  that  he  was 
very  busy  at  this  season ;  that  she  would  call 
him  in  if  Mr.  Fishblatt  would  like  to  see  him ; 
and  jumping  up,  in  a  minute  more,  would  have 
put  her  head  forth  toward  the  river  and  sum- 
moned him ;  but  on  Mr.  Fishblatt's  entreaty 
she  refrained,  and  he  went  out  to  seek  him  for 
himself 

Finding  the  field  cl«ar  for  conversation, 
Puffer  addressed  himself  to  the  dark-eyed  young 


lady  to  the  effect  that  she  seemed  to  be  a  little 
in  public  life  as  well  as  Mr.  Fishblatt,  judging 
by  the  use  to  which  she  was  putting  the  bunt- 
ing on  which  she  was  at  work. 

"  Oh,  I  only  do  as  I  am  bid !"  answered  the 
dark-eyed  young  lady,  "  I'd  as  leave  write  one 
thing  in  here  as  another ;  my  thread  and  needle 
are  neutral,  I  assure  you." 

"How  can  you  say  so,  Fanny!"  exclaimed 
the  aunt,  smiling  upon  her,  "  she  is  one  of  the 
most  arrant  little  politicians  in  the  cit)',  Mr. 
Hopkins ;  she  keeps  this  whole  ward  in  a  con- 
stant ferment  with  her  political  tea-drinkings, 
and  dances,  and  complimentary  balls.  You 
know  something  of  her  there,  I  guess ;  and 
now  she's  corrupting  the  alphabet  itself." 

"  Aunt,  I  detest  politics,  and  you  know  I  do !" 
answered  the  young  lady;  "I'd  rather,  any 
day,  walk  down  the  sunny  side  of  Hudson- 
street,  than  carry  the  state  for  our  party !" 

*'  You  see  she  has  a  party — ah !  ah  !  Now, 
Fanny,  I  shall  expose  some  of  your  tricks. 
What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Hopkins  ?  This  young 
lady,  here,  is  so  much  of  a  demagogue,  that, 
though  her  own  tastes  run  in  favor  of  broad 
laces  and  net- work  gloves,  she  tramps,  three 
times  a  week,  the  whole  breadth  of  the  city, 
and  spends  the  morning  in  running  up  and 
down  the  stores  in  Division  street — you've 
seen  them,  the  little  square  shops  with  a  back 
entry  and  a  glass  door,  and  a  green  vine  dang- 
ling against  the  fence,  and  a  young  lady  with 
twisted  ringlets  sitting  between  the  two  ? — there 
she  goes,  and,  with  the  aid  of  the  two-and- 
forty  milliners  of  that  street,  gets  up  dresses 
and  costumes  to  catch  the  cartmen's  daughters 
and  the  young  mechanics  !  Now  don't  deny  it, 
Fanny !" 

During  this  narrative,  Fanny  glanced  stealth- 
ily at  Puffer,  and  blushed  as  deep  a  red  as  the 
silk  she  was  at  work  upon.  Before  Puffer 
could  enter  upon  a  vindication  of  the  young 
lady,  which  he  fully  meditated,  the  little  old 
lady  sprang  up  from  her  chair,  ran  into  the 
corner  of  the  room  where  a  green  shrub  of 
some  kind  or  other  was  vegetating  in  a  blue 
tub,  and  called  Puffer  after  her. 

"  Here's  something  great  for  you  to  look  at, 
Mr.  Hopkins  ;  what  a  stem  !  did  you  ever  see 
such  a  stem  to  a  seven  months'  tree  ?  What 
leaves  !  The  lemons  are  every  bit  as  big  as 
plums — they'll  be  twice  as  large  this  time  a 
year !"  There  was  no  limit  to  the  eloquent 
praises  poured  out  upon  this  domestic  lemon ; 
which  was  steadily  exhibited  to  all  visiters. 
This  was  Fanny's  too — she  had  brought  it  up 
from  a  sprig.  Then  the  old  aunt — who  seemed 
to  have  taken  a  sudden  fancy  to  Puffer — caused 
a  sampler  to  be  unhooked  from  the  wall,  car- 
ried it  to  the  light  and  expatiated  upon  it  at 
equal  length.  Then  she  bustled  to  the  door 
and  whistled  in  a  short-legged  yellow  dog,  who 
stumped  about  the  room,  looking  up  in  every 
body's  face  in  the  most  comical  fashion.  He 
proved  to  be  the  property  of  Miss  Fanny  too ; 
and  his  birth,  parentage,  history,  and  past  ex- 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


261 


ploits  (especially  the  incident  of  his  drinking 
gin  out  of  a  bottle,  in  his  infancy)  were  dwelt 
upon  with  edifying  particularity.  By  the  time 
the  short-legged  dog  had  finished  the  circuit  of 
the  company,  a  savor  of  supper  began  to 
creep  through  the  key-hole  of  an  adjacent  fold- 
ing door,  and  the  aunt,  breaking  off  her  dis- 
course abruptly,  hoisted  the  window  and  shout- 
ed to  Mr.  Samuel  Sammis  that  tea  was  ready. 
Having  delivered '^this  summons  she  closed  the 
window ;  but  presently  hoisted  it  again  to  say 
that  he  had  better  come  at  once.  Mr.  Sammis 
failing  to  appear  as  soon  as  she  desired,  she 
raised  it  a  third  time  to  suggest  that  he  had 
forgotten  they  had  short-cake !  The  appeal 
was  not  in  vain — Mr.  Sammis's  soul  was 
touched  at  last,  and  he  came  in  with  Mr. 
Fishblatt. 

Mr.  Samuel  Sammis  was  a  foxy-looking  little 
gentleman,  in  drab  pants  and  a  weather-wash- 
ed blue  coat,  his  hair  was  thin,  his  linen  ques- 
tionable, and  when  he  came  forward  to  greet 
Puffer,  his  face  was  a  cobweb  of  smiles. 

"  I'm  very  happy  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  said ; 
"I  knew  you  well  by  reputation,  although  I 
hadn't  had  the  honor  to  be  personally  acquaint- 
ed. It's  always  a  pleasure  to  become  acquaint- 
ed with  gentlemen  of  tried  patriotism,  Mr. 
Fishblatt  ?" 

Mr.  Fishblatt  assented  to  the  postulate,  and 
—the  folding-door  being  cast  open — they 
marched  in  to  supper.  The  opening  of  the 
folding-door  disclosed  a  table  spread  with  a 
liberal  variety  of  dishes,  and  steaming  with  a 
cloud  of  tea-smoke  that  hung  aloft.  The  chairs 
were  placed,  and  the  company  were  about  to 
take  seats  at  random,  when  Mr.  Sammis  begged 
them  to  pause. 

"This  table,"  said  Mr.  Sammy  Sammis, 
evolving  a  little  piece  of  pleasantry  which  he 
had  elaborated  in  secret,  with  great  care; 
«  This  table,"  said  he,  "  is  the  empire  State, 
with  the  various  products  of  its  soil.  The 
chairs,  of  which  you  see  there  are  eight,  repre- 
sent the  eight  senate  districts  or  divisions. 
Aunt,"  addressing  the  old  lady,  "  will  you  be 
good  enough  to  sit  for  Dutchess  and  Orange — 
here,  opposite  the  butter,  for  which  Goshen, 
you  know,  is  famous.  Mr.  Fishblatt,  I'll  send 
you  up  the  river  as  far  as  wheat-growing 
Albany — there,  that's  it,  abreast  the  short- 
cake. Mr.  Hopkins,  you're  the  member  for 
New  York,  and  must  take  your  place  at  the 
bottom  of  the  table  and  catch  what  you  can 
from  the  river-counties  as  it  comes  down.  Will 
you  take  charge  of  the  salt-springs  of  Salina — 
I  mean  the  salt-cellars,"  pointing  two  of  the 
young  ladies  to  chairs  at  the  corners  of  the 
board;  "and  you,"  motioning  the  third  to  a 
seat  in  the  centre,  "Miss  Erie,  famous  for 
your  fruits— have  the  region  of  the  peaches 
and  preserves.  I'll  take  the  Oneida  sheep- 
farms  under  my  care,"  settling  into  a  chair 
opposite  a  plate  of  cold  mutton.  "  And  for 
you.  Miss  Fanny,  who  are  always  babbling  and 
making  a  noise,  there's  the  teaboard  for  you — 


the  district  of  Trenton  falls ;  you  may  pour  the 
tea,  but  don't  put  too  much  water  in  it.  You 
may  begin  as  soon  as  you  please." 

They  were  all  in  their  places;  the  dishes 
were  passed  rapidly  from  hand  to  hand ;  the 
tea  poured,  and  they  were  fairly  launched  up- 
on the  meal.  The  weight  of  responsibility 
heaped  upon  them  by  Mr.  Sammis  did  not  seem 
to  have  impaired  their  natural  powers  a  jot ; 
but  each  one — young  ladies  and  all — fell  to  as 
though  they  were  in  reality  so  many  great  pub- 
lic characters,  each  eating  for  a  county. 

After  a  half-hour's  sturdy  devotion  to  the 
products  of  the  Empire  state — as  represented 
by  the  table — a  pause  sprung  up,  and  Mr.  Sam- 
mis availed  himself  of  it  for  a  little  profession- 
al talk. 

"  Fanny,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Sammis,  "  how 
far  have  you  got  in  your  lettering  of  the  ban- 
ner?" 

"The  whole  inscription,"  she    answered.  ^ 
"  '  Bottomites — Uncompromising  friendship  to 
the  clearing  of  the  Wabash.'    That  was  it." 

"  How  could  you  make  such  a  mistake  ?" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Sammis,  in  a  rapture  of  sur- 
prise.    "  It  was  *  hostility,'  not  *  friendship.' " 

*'  I'm  sure  you  told  me  '  friendship,'  father," 
retorted  the  young  lady,  "  and  to  use  the  long-  ^^ 
est  letters  I  could  for  the  word."  fl 

"  It  was  wrong,  my  dear,"  answered  Mr. 
Sammis,  calmly ;  "  absence  of  mind — you'll  al- 
ter it  after  tea,  if  you  please." 

The  Bottomites  had  cried  aloud  in  favor  of 
the  clearing  as  long  as  they  thought  it  wouldn't 
pass;  now  that  it  had  unexpectedly  passed, 
they  changed  their  cry.  The  relettering  of 
the  banner,  was  the  result  of  an  elabor^  con- 
ference of  Messrs.  Fishblatt  and  Saiwnis,  at 
the  hay-scales. 

"  You  think  it  all-important,"  said  Mr.  Sam- 
mis, addressing  Puffer,  after  a  pause,  during 
which  the  business  of  the  table  had  been  dil- 
igently prosecuted ;  "  you  think  it  all-import- 
ant to  carry  our  next  state-election  ?" 

"  Certainly !"  responded  Puffer. 

**  We  must  come  down  to  Cayuga  bridge," 
proceeded  Mr.  Sammis,  "  with  four  thousand, 
or  we  are  done  for  in  the  next  presidential  cam- 
paign. The  river  counties  are  all  right,  I  am 
told ;  Dutchess  gives  us  five  hundred,  and  Al- 
bany county  is  safe  for  at  least  three  hundred 
and  seventy-five." 

"  How  is  the  Fourth  ward  of  the  capital  ?" 
asked  Puffer,  having  in  mmd  a  political  com- 
monplace which  he  was  quite  sure  Mr.  Sammy 
Sammis  would  quote  upon  him. 

"  We  must  have  it !"  averred  Mr.  Sammis, 
"  as  goes  the  Fourth  ward  so  goes  Albany,  and 
as  goes  the  Fourth  ward  so  goes  the  state,  you 
know." 

"  To  be  sure  !"  echoed  Puffer,  "  and  we  must 
make  what  we  can  out  of  the  upper  Wabash, 
at  the  first  election  that's  held." 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Mr.  Fishblatt,  with  en- 
thusiasm, "  we  must  rouse  the  popular  mind 
with  strong  appeals ;  we  mu£t  show  them  the 


262 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


enormity  of  the  measure ;  point  to  the  results, 
if  the  bill  is  allowed  to  pass  into  effect,  lo  this 
city  and  state. 

"  Yes — and  call  upon  them  in  the  name  of 
the  lamented  Decatur,  to  save  the  country  from 
ruin  !"  added  Mr.  Sammis.  "  Decatur  was  a 
man  of  tried  patriotism,  I  think  ?" 

It  was  not  easy  to  keep  Puffer's  mind  to  the 
subject ;  his  eyes  wandered  constantly  to  the 
quarter  where  a  certain  young  lady  was  seat- 
ed; so  that  he  was  soon  dropped  out  of  the  dis- 
course, leaving  Messrs.  Sammis  and  Fishblatt 
to  kee'p  it  up  in  their  own  way.  Puffer's  glan- 
ces were  not  entirely  unnoticed  or  unreward- 
ed. Miss  Fanny,  too,  had,  somehow  or  other, 
grown  pensive  and  uncommunicative,  with  a 
marvellous  coincidence  as  to  time  and  circum- 
stance. When  they  had  returned  to  the  sew- 
ing-room, she  exhibited  to  Puffer  another  flag, 
on  which  she  had  wrought  the  words,  "  For 
Congress,"  with  a  blank  underneath  for  the 
name  of  the  candidate. 

"  I  wish  I  were  allowed  to  fill  it  up,"  she 
said,  looking  at  Puffer. 

Puffer  felt  his  heart  beat  quick,  but  did  not 
venture  to  ask  whose  name  it  would  bear. 
They  seemed  to  understand  each  other  better 
from  that  moment. 

^  "  My  aunt  was  right,"  she  continued,  after 
a  pause,  speaking  now  without  reserve.  "  I 
put  a  restraint  upon  my  feelings  to  please  my 
father ;  you  understand  now  what  I  said  at  the 
ball.  For  my  own  part,  and  on  my  own  account, 
I  would  rather  lead  a  quiet  life,'  aside  from  the 
bustle  and  face-making  of  politics.  Have  you 
ever  had.  such  a  feeling  in  your  busy  life  ?" 

"  Many  and  many  a  time  !"  answered  Puf- 
fer, calling  to  mind  his  poor  neighbor,  and  the 
gentle  quietude  of  his  little  chamber.  "  The 
life  that  glides  away,  like  the  stream  that  clings 
to  its  bed,  I  sometimes  think  may  be  happier 
than  if  it  had  foamed  and  brawled,  and  was 
broken  in  pieces  in  the  clamor  of  a  waterfall." 

"And  yet,  I  don't  deny,"  continued  Miss 
Fanny  Sammis,  «  that  I  would  like  to  have  my 
carriage,  with  one  sleek  horse,  and  ride  through 
Broadway  once  a  week.  I  would  not  care 
about  it  oftener." 

"  Come,  Miss  Fanny,  we  must  have  some 
music !"  cried  Mr.  Sanmiy  Sammis,  stepping 
out  upon  the  floor,  leading  out  one  of  the  young 
ladies  by  the  hand.  "We  have  rested  long 
enough — John,  take  a  partner,"  to  one  of  a 
swarm  of  young  clerks  that  had  come  in  after 
tea.  «  Mr.  Fishblatt— aunt.  Aunt— Mr.  Fish- 
blatt. Start  up,  William,"  to  another  of  the 
young  clerks— and  to  the  last  of  them.  "  Mr. 
Jones,  there's  another  young  lady  left— lead 
her  out !" 

Puffer  had  walked  with  Miss  Fanny  into  the 
other  room,  where,  in  a  recess  behind  the  door, 
stood  an  old  red  piano.  Miss  Fanny  ascended 
the  stool,  and  Mr.  Sammis  cried  out  to  his  part- 
ners in  the  dance,  "  Now,  recollect,  it's  the 
northern  and  western  districts" — his  head 
was  still  running  on  the  political  divisions  of 


the  state.  "  It's  northern  and  western  against 
eastern  and  southern.  The  first  couple  that 
breaks  down  is  in  a  minority,  and  incapable  of 
taking  partners  for  the  next  three  dances. 
Strike  up.  Miss  Fanny  ! — the  Governor's 
march,  if  you  please." 

Miss  Fanny,  with  Puffer  at  her  side,  struck 
the  first  few  notes  with  a  bold  hand,  as  Mr. 
Sammis  desired — but  presently,  as  in  spite 
of  herself,  a  gentler  air  crept  upon  the  keys, 
and,  instead  of  a  cotillon,  she  was  playing  a 
pathetic  ditty. 

"  Louder  and  livelier !"  shouted  Mr.  Sam- 
mis. "  We  want  the  Governor's  march — four 
thousand  strong !" 

She  essayed  the  tune ;  but  the  notes  came 
again  softened  from  her  fingers,  and  seemed 
sighing  back  to  the  words  that  Puffer  breathed 
gently  in  her  ear. 

With  constant  remonstrances  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  Sammy  Sammis,  who  was  dancing  for  the 
whole  northern  tier  of  counties  (the  six  war- 
dancing  tribes  included),  and  constant  relapses 
on  the  part  of  Miss  Fanny,  the  evening  wore 
away. 

At  a  late  hour,  Mr.  Fishblatt,  who,  being  a 
slow  and  solid  dancer,  had,  to  the  surprise  of 
all  parties,  carried  the  day,  called  for  his  hat ; 
had  Mr.  Sammis  aside  in  a  whispered  conver- 
sation, with  occasional  glances  at  Puffer,  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour ;  and,  gallantly  kissing  the 
old  aunt,  summoned  Puffer,  and  left. 

Miss  Fanny  thought  the  travel  of  the  stair- 
way so  perilous,  as  to  bring  a  light  even  to  the 
very  front  door ;  what  passed  there,  between 
the  dark-eyed  young  lady  and  the  young  poli- 
tician, while  Mr.  Halsey  Fishblatt  stood  in  the 
street  calling  to  him,  remains  a  profound  mys- 
tery. The  spectacle,  could  he  have  looked  up- 
on it  as  an  observer,  would  have  doubtless 
seemed  to  Puffer  infinitely  more  agreeable  than 
that  of  the  old  aunt  with  her  wrinkled  visage 
inside  of  the  dark-eyed  young  lady's  hood. 
Marching  arm-in-arm  with  Mr.  Fishblatt,  it  is 
well  known  that  Puffer  put  several  pointed  and 
searching  questions  to  that  gentleman,  the  an- 
swers to  which  were  to  the  effect  that  Mr.  Shm- 
my  Sammis  was  an  incessant  letter-writer  to 
all  parts  of  the  state ;  a  wire-puller  and  waker- 
up  of  counties  and  villages.  That  Miss  Fan- 
ny was  his  only  child ;  the  old  lady,  his  aunt, 
and  Fanny's  grandaunt — and  being  an  unin- 
cumbered woman,  with  a  round  sum  out  at  in- 
terest, Fanny  was  her  favorite.  After  procu- 
ring which  results.  Puffer  fell  silent ;  and  al- 
though Mr.  Fishblatt  addressed  him  in  several 
most  elaborate  and  animated  harangues,  he 
kept  on  musing,  till  they  parted  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XXXH. 

THE   DEATH    OF    FOB. 

It  was  all  a  cheat.     The  luslre  in  his  eyes 
was  false  and  treacherous  as  the  glittering 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


263 


whirlpool.  The  bloom  upon  his  cheek  was  of 
the  hue  of  the  rose  with  the  canker  at  its  heart. 
Fob  was  dying.  Martha  had  procured  a  little 
lodging  dijectly  opposite  his  chamber,  and  there 
she  stayed  when  driven  from  his  bedside  by  the 
considerate  poor  neighbors,  who  saw  how  her 
strength  was  wasted  in  eflbrts  to  preserve  his. 
Even  on  such  nights  as  she  was  not  allowed 
to  be  a  watcher  in  his  chamber,  she  would  ho- 
ver about  the  door  and  through  the  liall — a  gen- 
tle spirit — eager  to  catch  the  slightest  cry  of 
pain,  and  taking  keen  note  if  he  but  turned  in 
his  couch.  Spring  had  gone :  summer  had 
come,  and  was  ebbing  fast ;  and,  as  its  gentle 
breath  died  murmuring  by  the  window  of  the 
little  tailor,  his  pulses  faltered  more  and  more. 
At  first  he  had  been  able  to  rise  at  times,  and, 
going  to  his  dormer — that  precious  window  of 
all  the  Fork — had  cheered  himself  with  the  sight 
of  the  sun  at  its  rising — the  slow-lapsing  mo- 
tions of  the  vessels  as  they  glided  down  the 
river.  Now  that  he  was  stretched  all  day  long 
upon  his  couch,  he  made  Martha — a  service 
she  was  skilful  to  perform — stand  at  the  win- 
dow, and  report  to  him,  day  by  day,  all  that 
passed.  The  little  street-sights,  the  crowds 
that  gathered  about  the  blind  flute-player,  the 
color  of  the  horses  and  carriages  that  went  by, 
the  shape  of  the  country-wagons  that  clattered 
into  town,  with  guesses  whence  they  came. 
But,  most  of  all,  he  made  her  dwell  upon  the 
aspect  of  the  country  beyond  the  river.  From 
her  look-out  she  had  followed  the  farmers 
through  all  their  harvesting,  from  the  first 
glance  of  the  sickle  among  the  grain  to  the 
garnering  in  the  old  red-roofed  barns.  She 
had  told  him — no  more  faithful  chronicler  than 
Martha — the  color  the  fields  had  put  on  in  all 
their  changes,  from  green  to  brown,  and  back 
again  to  green ;  and  how  the  woods  grew 
bright,  and  ruffled  and  swelled  with  their  palmy 
leaves ;  and  then,  when  the  yellow  crept  among 
them — but  this  she  did  not  dwell  on  as  the  oth- 
er, for  Fob's  heart  fell  when  he  heard  that 
summer,  the  sweet,  calm,  gentle  summer,  was 
leaving  the  country.  She  had  watched  his  fan- 
cy, and  served  it  even  in  bringing  him  cider  to 
drink,  pressed  from  the  old  orchards  in  West- 
chester, where  his  youth,  and  hers  too,  for 
that,  had  climbed  and  frolicked.  One  day,  he 
called  to  her  to  bring  all  his  country  treasures, 
his  plants,  his  birds'-egg  chain,  his  asparagus, 
and  the  fair  addition  she  had  made  herself,  and 
lay  them  on  his  bed.  Martha  came  and  sat 
down  at  his  head.  As  his  look  passed  from 
one  to  the  other,  tears  gathered  in  his  eyes 
and  fell,  like  the  summer  rain,  upon  the  pil- 
low. His  heart  was  full,  and  he  began  to 
babble  of  old  times.  He  spoke  of  his  youth, 
and  asked  Martha  if  she  remembered  how  he 
used  to  come  riding  into  the  country,  seated 
gravely  on  the  coach-seat,  high  in  the  air,  ma- 
king a  show  of  helping  the  driver  with  his 
horses  ?  She  did,  of  course  she  did  ;  and  how 
she,  with  her  mother,  now  dead  and  gone,  used 
to  run  and  help  him  down.    Then,  there  was 


the  visit  to  the  garden,  to  see  her  robin  that 
she  had  been  feeding  sleek  and  plump  all  the 
latter  spring  and  early  summer,  against  his 
coming.  Then  the  blackberrying,  and  the 
grape-hunting,  and  the  bird-nesting. 

So  summer  after  summer  had  passed;  his 
father — the  cousin  of  Martha's  father — had,  to 
the  surprise  of  all  the  country  round,  come,  by 
the  will  of  their  whimsical  grandfather,  into 
ownership  of  the  homestead,  which  Martha's, 
as  the  expectant  and  favored  heir,  had  occu- 
pied before.  Then,  fortune  turning  once  again 
(a  little  law  and  a  little  doubtful  practice  help- 
ing her  to  turn),  Martha's  father  had  reinstated 
himself.  Fob — his  father  had  died  of  vexation 
and  a  broken  heart,  it  was  said — young  and 
penniless,  was  pushed  forth  upon  the  w^orld — 
was  driven  upon  the  un propitious  craft  he  had 
lately  followed.  Martha  begged  him,  when  he 
came  to  this,  to  pass  it  by — though  her  father 
had  been  her  cruel  jailer  for  years — to  pass  it 
by,  as  he  loved  her.  How  dark  and  imnatural 
the  little  tailor's  features  grew  as  he  came  up- 
on these  recollections.  He  felt  that  his  coun- 
tenance was  changed,  and  turned  to  the  wall 
that  Martha  might  not  learn  how  keen  was  his 
sense  of  the  wrong  her  father — her  unkind,  her 
unpaternal  father — had  done  him.  He  had 
done  her,  too,  a  cruel  wrong — but  she  showed, 
by  no  change  of  look  or  color,  any  remem- 
brance of  it  whatever.  When  this  cloud  had 
passed,  and  he  could  speak  again,  Fob  dwelt 
upon  the  old  haunts  he  had  visited  while  she 
was  in  her  dark  dungeon  at  home,  how  she 
had  been  with  him  in  all. 

"  In  the  lane,  the  meadow,  the  orchard," 
said  Fob,  "  I  lingered,  striving  to  tread  in  the 
very  tracks  we  had  made  together  when  the 
world  went  right  with  us.  But  it  was  all  by 
stealth — at  early  morning  or  by  the  dull  dusk ; 
and,  in  the  indistinct  light,  how  often,  Martha, 
did  you  seem  to  me  to  be  gliding  about,  pale 
and  breathless,  but  still  loving — paler  than 
even  now.  As  it  was — cautious  and  secret  as 
I  could  be  in  my  watch,  the  laborers  or  boys  of 
the  farm,  crossing  the  paths  on  their  way  home 
at  night  or  back  at  morning,  sometimes  came 
upon  me,  and  started  aside  as  though  I  had 
been  a  spirit  of  evil." 

"  I  knew  that  it  must  be  so,"  answerd  Mar- 
tha, "  for  these  were  days  (it  was  when  report 
of  yourself,  the  strange  wanderer,  had  reached 
my  father's  ear)  when  they  said  my  iUness  was 
deepening  upon  me — I  was  moved  to  an  inner 
chamber,  gloomier  than  the  other,  the  cur- 
tains drawn  close,  the  shutters  sealed,  and  se- 
cretly nailed,  too — for  I  heard  the  dull  sound 
of  the  hammer — and  light  was  shut  from  me  as 
if  it  had  been  a  wicked  thing." 

"  Was  that  the  result  ?"  cried  Fob,  with  a 
piteous  look.  «  What  a  fool  I  was,  to  bring 
such  a  hardship  upon  you."  4 

«  I  do  not  say  it  was  a  hardship  !"  said  Mar- 
tha, "  I  loved  the  darkness  they  thrust'  upon 
me,  deep  and  deadly  as  it  was  ;  it  was  full  ol 
voices  and  bright  eyes,  like  your  own,  telling 


264 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


me  of  your  love  and  faithful  constancy.  They 
said  the  darkness  made  me  more  cheerful — and 
they  were  right." 

"  And  what  followed  to  you,"  continued  Fob, 
"  when  they  seized  me  as  I  was  stealing  along 
under  the  garden- wall  ?" 

Fob  stopped  at  once ;  the  countenance  of 
Martha  was  whitening  with  a  look  of  sorrow- 
ful entreaty,  and  her  eyes  filling  with  tears. 
He  understood  it  at  a  glance — she  wished  to 
have  her  father  spared,  though  he  had  never 
thought  of  sparing  her — and  Fob  turned  at 
once  to  talk  of  other  things. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  old  orchard  buiying- 
ground,"  he  asked,  "  and  the  uses  to  which  we 
were  wont  to  put  it  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  do,"  answered  Martha,  re- 
covering her  composure.  "  The  old  burying- 
ground,  full  of  fruit-trees,  with  the  little  school- 
house  pushed  in  at  one  side,  as  if  it  meant  to 
be  a  good  neighbor.  Toddling  infants,  dear 
Fob,  we  strayed  there  to  gather  blossoms  and 
flowers,  brighter  than  we  could  find  anywhere 
else.  As  we  grew  older  and  more  learned, 
you  know,  we  loved  to  read  our  letters  there 
upon  the  tombstones ;  and,  older  still,  and 
wiser,  were  we  not  ? — we  began  to  pluck  the 
red  and  yellow  apples,  the  earliest  ripened  of 
the  neighborhood." 

"  And  then,"  said  Fob,  taking  up  the  theme 
as  Martha  paused,  "  when  our  hearts  ripened, 
and  our  cheeks  flushed  like  the  fruit  above  us, 
we  used  to  sit  in  the  summer  noon  under  the 
broad  shade,  leaning  upon  a  grave,  it  might 
be  ;  and  while  the  country  round,  for  a  wide 
circuit,  was  steeped  in  a  listening  stillness,  the 
little  burying-ground — swarming  with  bees  and 
crickets,  and  melodious  locusts — was  filled 
with  a  gentle  murmur,  which  seemed  like  the 
undersong  of  the  spirits  that  slept  beneath  its 
turf." 

Marthajaent  above  Fob,  as  he  spoke,  hang- 
ing on  his  words. 

"  And  when,"  said  Fob,  rising  in  his  couch 
in  enthusiasm,  "  the  little  brook  between  the 
schoolhouse  and  the  graves,  swelled  by  its  trib- 
utes from  the  woods,  babbled  above  them  all — 
the  gentle  hum  died  away  toward  nightfall, 
and  the  children  came  tumbling  out  of  school, 
you  know,  they  used  to  cross  it,  and  letting 
their  feet  rest  a  moment  on  the  graveyard's 
edge,  they  escaped  into  the  road  and  scampered 
to  their  homes,  leaving  a  sound  of  cheerful 
young  voices  far  behind.  There,  where  little 
feet  tread  every  day,  so  that  they  may  say 
<  Fob  lies  here !' — lay  me  there  !" 

He  had  spoken  beyond  his  strength ;  and 
these  words  were  no  sooner  uttered  than  he 
fell  back  upon  his  couch.  Martha  seized 
his  pale  hand  passionately — as  though  she 
could  so  hold  him  back  from  the  world  to  which 
he  was  hastening — and,  bending  above  him, 
begged  him  to  speak  again.  Presently  his  eyes 
opened,  and  he  dwelt  upon  her  face  with  a  be- 
wildered gaze.  Was  he  among  angels— this 
at  his  bedaide  the  first  he  was  to  know  ?  There 


was  not  a  word  spoken,  but  their  eyes  were 
busy  interchane:ing  their  lustrous  light,  a  calm, 
bright,  spell-bound  gaze — was  this  the  talk  of 
the  spiritual  world  ? 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened ;  a  young 
gentleman  of  an  ashen  aspect,  sandy  hair, 
and  a  look  of  strenuous  cunning  about  the 
eye,  came  in,  and  behind  him,  treading 
lightly,  and  with  a  mournful  look,  Puff"er  Hop- 
kins. 

The  young  gentleman  bore  under  his  arm  a 
great  bundle  of  papers,  tied  in  a  red  string, 
which  he  was  at  the  pains  to  carry  about,  to 
notify  the  public  that  he  was  a  lawyer  in  prac- 
tice— a  good,  brisk,  chopping  practice,  as  they 
might  infer  from  the  size  of  the  bundle.  While 
Puffer  looked  sorrowfully  upon  Martha  and 
Fob,  the  young  gentleman  busied  himself  in 
slashing  the  feathers  of  a  quill  which  he  had 
brought  with  him,  and  in  peering  about  the 
apartment  for  an  inkstand. 

"He's  going  fast,"  said  the  young  gentle- 
man, calling  in  his  glances  from  their  unpro- 
ductive search,  and  fixing  them  upon  the  quill 
which  he  was  trimming.  "  Didn't  he  gasp, 
then,  or  was  that  a  cat  sneezing  on  the  roof?" 

Puffer  avoided  his  question,  and  asked 
whether  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  disturb 
him  now ;  he  seemed  to  be  in  great  pain. 

"  To  be  sure  it  is,"  answered  the  young  gen- 
tleman, poising  his  papers  in  his  two  hands,  to 
show  their  weight.  "  You  couldn't  have  a  bet- 
ter. Testimony  in  extremis  is  the  finest  in  the 
world.  Mr.  Mouldy  says  he  must  have  it ; 
and  what  Mouldy  says  is  law !" 

"  Mr.  Mouldy  thinks  he  ought  to  be  identi- 
fied as  the  person  that  liad  the  deed  in  his  pos- 
session, and  who  destroyed  it.  I  so  understood 
him." 

"You  understood  him  right,  then,''  said  the 
young  gentleman,  turning  calmly  on  his  heel 
as  soon  as  he  had  made  this  answer,  and  break- 
ing into  a  subdued  whistling. 

"  You  attended  to  getting  the  old  man  here, 
I  believe  ?"  suggested  Puflfer. 

"  I  asked  Mr.  Mouldy  about  that  before  I 
left  the  office.  One  of  the  boys  has  gone  for 
him ;  he  will  be  here  in  a  minute."  With 
which  answer  the  young  gentleman  stepped 
across  the  floor,  and  unfastening  the  blackbird 
from  where  it  hung  upon  the  beam,  took  it  to 
the  window,  and  began  to  make  it  hop  about 
in  its  cage  by  pricking  it  under  the  feathers 
with  his  quill.  Puffer,  standing  aside,  dwelt 
upon  Fob  and  his  pale  companion,  holding  his 
breath  lest  he  should  disturb  them.  Quick  feet, 
clattering  up,  were  heard  upon  the  stairs,  and 
Hobbleshank  came  hurrying  in.  At  first  he 
started  in  surprise  when  he  saw  Martha,  but 
recovering  himself  speedily,  he  stepped  about 
the  chamber,  shaking  hands  with  the  young 
gentleman,  then  with  Puffer,  and,  last  of  all, 
accosting  Martha. 

"  This,  then,  is  your  friend,"  said  he,  smi- 
ling upon  her.  She  glanced  at  Fob,  with  a 
look  that  went  to  the  old  man's  heart,  and  he 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


269i 


■was  answered.  Fob  lifted  his  eyes,  and  regard- 
ed Hobbleshank  with  curious  interest.  Was 
Ihis  another  risen  from  the  dead  ?  Changed  as 
he  was  by  years,  the  furrows  on  his  counte- 
nance ploughed  in,  his  hair  grizzled  and  gray- 
sprinkled  by  time — he  could  not  mistake  him. 
It  was  the  old  wanderer  of  the  Scaresdale  road. 
The  melancholy  midnight — the  raging  sea— the 
rent  deed — all  came  up  before  him.  A  chair 
was  placed  for  Hobbleshank,  and  he  took  his 
station  by  the  bedside,  where  Fob  could  look 
upon  his  countenance  with  the  light  streaming 
upon  it.  The  young  gentleman  had  drawn  up 
the  curtain ;  led  Martha  and  Pufler  aside,  to 
get  rid  of  their  shadows  upon  the  bed  ;  and 
himself  retreated  behind  a  little  screen  at  the 
head  of  the  bed,  from  which  bower  there 
issued,  from  time  to  time,  a  scratching  sound. 
"  You  have  had  troubles,  sir,"  said  Fob, 
bearing  in  mind  what  he  had  seen  on  the  mem- 
orable night. 

"  A  few,"  answered  Hobbleshank,  rubbing 
his  hands.  «  A  few,  but  they  are  all  clearing 
away.    Have  you  liad  none  ?" 

"  Yours  are  older  than  mine,"  resumed  Fob. 
"  They  have  followed  you  to  an  old  age ;  but 
they  are  leaving  me  while  I  am  still  a  young 
man."  Martha  knew  what  he  meant,  and 
turned  and  wept.  "  You  have  been  eighteen 
years  a  sufferer,  at  least." 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Hobbleshank,  taking 
the  square  breastpin  from  his  bosom  and  refer- 
ring to  its  back,  which  was  graven  and  let- 
tered. "  Quite  as  long  as  that ;  but  I'll  soon 
be  young  again.  Fortune  is  my  friend,  and  all 
is  coming  right.  An  old  parchment  or  so — a 
clew  or  two  more — and  I  shall  find  my  child, 
and  have  a  home  to  bring  him  to.  In  a  day  or 
two  all  will  be  right." 

They  all  smiled,  the  clerk  even  laughed 
aloud  in  his  bower,  at  the  earnest  hopefulness 
of  the  old  man. 

"  How  a  deed,  all  torn  in  fragments  and  par- 
cels, can  come  back,"  said  Fob,  smiling  with 
the  others,  "  it  would  be  hard  to  guess.  Won't 
you  admit  that  ?" 

"  It  seems  so,  at  first,"  answered  Hobble- 
shank ;  "  but  a  good  Providence,  I  am  sure — 
I  feel  it  whispering  in  my  ear  this  very  min- 
ute— is  putting  it  together.  It  will  be  ready 
when  I  want  it." 

"And  that  is  now!"  said  Fob,  reaching 
backward  under  his  pillow.  "  And  here  it  is  !" 
Hobbleshank  held  in  his  hand  the  parchment 
he  had  scattered  on  the  seashore  a  lifetime 
ago.  He  would  not  believe  it,  but,  springing 
from  his  chair,  ran  to  the  window,  where  he 
would  have  read  it,  but  his  hands  trembled  and 
made  it  waver,  all  blurred  and  confused  before 
him.  He  called  Puffer  to  his  aid,  who,  going 
over  it  slowly,  line  by  line,  made  known  its 
contents.  When  Puffer  came  to  the  passage 
relating  to  his  child,  he  made  him  pause  and 
read  it  over  twice,  looking  up  into  the  reader's 
face  with  a  look  of  indescribable  satisfaction. 
iJLwas  his  old  deed,  and  no  other. 


"  Where  did  this  come  from — where  was  it 
found— by  whom  ?"  asked  Hobbleshank,  look- 
ing toward  the  little  tailor. 

"  Eighteen  years  ago,"  said  Fob,  as  soon  as 
Hobbleshank  could  be  brought  to  take  his  seat 
again  by  the  bedside,  "  there  was  an  old  sor- 
row-stricken man,  travelling  by  the  shore  of 
the  sound.  Eighteen  years  ago  this  deed  was 
rent  by  his  hands  in  a  hundred  fragments." 

"  Where — where  is  he  now?"  asked  Hob- 
bleshank, from  whose  mind  all  recollection  of 
the  occurrence — so  fast  had  troubled  thoughts 
and  times  huddled  upon  him — had  entirely 
faded.     "  Where  is  this  man  ?" 

"  You  are  the  man ;  older,  but  happier,  it 
would  seem— and  I  am  the  other,  your  fellow- 
wanderer  that  night.  Live  and  grow  in  hap- 
piness, while  I  pass  beyond  the  sphere  of  earth- 
ly pain  or  pleasure.     You  are  the  man  !" 

His  strength  was  utterly  gone,  and  ere  Mar- 
tha could  reach  his  side,  he  lay,  his  arms 
stretched  out,  his  head  fixed  and  rigid  on  the 
pillow.  They  all  thought  he  was  dead.  In  a 
little  while — Martha  ministering  what  she 
could  to  bring  him  back — a  faint  color  came 
into  his  cheek,  his  eyes  opened  again  upon  the 
light ;  but  now  their  expression  was  changed. 
They  wandered  from  face  to  face  with  a  hope- 
less and  bewildered  glance.  His  mind  was 
gone  astray.  He  babbled  incoherently  of  the 
green  fields — the  old  coach — the  homestead. 
Sometimes  he  repeated  the  name  of  Martha — 
then  he  had  another  upon  his  tongue,  but, 
shuddering,  it  died  away  before  it  was  uttered. 

Whenever  his  hands,  straying  about  the  cov- 
ering of  his  bed,  fell  upon  any  one  of  his  coun- 
try treasures,  he  came  back  and  talked  of  early 
times.  News  had  spread  throughout  the  Fork 
that  Fob  was  dying,  and  they  thronged  up,  and 
holding  the  little  children  in  their  hands — Fob 
had  always  been  a  friend  of  theirs — they  stood 
at  the  door,  looking  on  with  sorrowful  respect. 

At  this  moment  the  young  gentleman  came 
from  behind  the  screen,  pressed  his  quill  upoa 
his  coat-skirt,  and  thrust  the  new  paper  he  had 
been  framing  among  the  others  in  the  bundle. 
He  then  scrutinized  the  deed  curiously  for  a 
minute,  and  handing  it  to  Hobbleshank,  ad- 
vised him  to  roll  it  up  and  put  it  in  his  pocket ; 
and,  clapping  his  bundle  of  papers  under  his 
arm,  he  walked  ofi". 

As  the  sun  waned  away  in  the  sky,  the  bright- 
ness faded  from  Fob's  look,  and  he  spoke  only 
at  long  intervals ;  murmuring  what  he  would 
say,  so  that  no  one  but  Martha,  whose  face 
was  always  close  to  his,  could  gather  what  he 
uttered. 

A  little  while  after  sunset — the  room  was 
growing  dark  in  all  its  corners — he  began  to 
talk  aloud  again.  He  called,  over  and  over 
again,  for  an  old  serving-man  of  the  home- 
stead, whose  name  he  mentioned,  to  come  to 
his  side  ;  fixed  his  look  on  the  poor  blackbird, 
whose  cage  had  been  restored  to  its  place  up- 
on the  beam,  and  clasped,  tighter  and  tighter, 
Martha's  hand  in  his.   With  the  gentle  motion 


266 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


of  the  wind  upon  a  field  of  autumn  grain,  his 
spirit  stole  away ;  and  at  an  hour  past  sunset 
Fob  was  dead ! 


CHAPTEK  XXXIII. 

PUFFER  IS  NOMINATED  TO  THE  AMERICAN  CON- 
GRESS. 

IT  would  be  a  great  wrong  to  Puffer — 
colored  as  were  all  his  acts  by  some  hue  of 
his  trade — to  suppose  that  the  death  of  his 
poor  neighbor  had  not  touched  him  nearly. 
The  genial  spirit  of  the  Fork  was  gone ;  the 
kindly  sunshine  which  had  flowed  from  that 
little  dormer  through  all  its  chambers,  was 
darkened.  Puffer  felt  that  a  dear  friend  was 
dead.  He  would  have  helped,  with  other 
ready  hands,  to  lay  him  in  a  quiet  grave ;  but 
when  he  would  have  offered  aid,  the  body — 
which  Martha  had  watched  alone,  refusing, 
even  angril)',  all  aid  or  company — was  gone, 
no  one  could  tell  whither.  It  had  been  borne 
forth  secretly  at  dusk  ;  and  one  of  the  children 
who  had  been  out  at  play  upon  the  meadows, 
brought  news  that  he  had  seen  it  upon  the  shoul- 
ders of  two  men,  in  the  suburbs,  gliding  toward 
the  country,  with  Martha  watching  and  follow- 
ing it  alone. 

With  the  kindliest  remembrance  of  his  poor 
friend.  Puffer  was  not  permitted  long  to  rest ; 
the  pressure  from  without  forced  upon  him 
other  thoughts.  His  fortunes  were  on  the  ad- 
vance, and  he  would  set  apart  a  quiet  hour, 
at  some  better  day,  to  think  of  the  little  tailor 
and  his  virtues. 

An  unlucky  accident  at  the  Capitol  required 
that  an  election  should  be  held  for  a  single 
member  of  Congress.  The  late  city  represen- 
tative— the  lamented  Slocum,  he  was  entitled 
in  the  newspapers — had  lost  his  invaluable  life 
under  a  surfeit  of  Potomac  oysters  and  long 
speeches,  and  his  place  was  now  to  be  supplied. 
To  carry  on  the  contest  with  spirit,  and  any 
chance  of  success,  it  was  necessary  that  an  is- 
sue should  be  raised ;  it  didn't  matter  greatly 
what  or  which  side  either  espoused.  The  up- 
per Wabash  presented  itself  and  was  adopted. 
The  excitement  rose  to  an  unexampled  pitch. 
The  orators  of  Puff'er's  party,  the  Bottomites, 
having  mastered  their  cue,  went  all  lengths  in 
denouncing  it  as  an  infraction  of  the  rights 
of  citizens — an  invasion  of  the  constitution 
— an  act  of  the  most  high-handed  despotism ; 
and  foremost  and  conspicuous  among  these 
was  Puffer  himself.  He  was  the  very  imbod- 
iment  of  the  anti-upper-Wabash  feeling;  and 
he  was  nominated  to  the  vacancy.  Was  there 
ever  a  more  extraordinary  character  known 
— in  history,  ancient  or  modern,  sacred  or  pro- 
fane— than  Puffer  Hopkins,  now  that  he  was 
nominated  to  Congress  on  the  eve  of  a  decisive 
contest  ?  The  newspapers,  morning,  noon, 
and  night,  teemed  with  his  praises.     Little, 


obscure,  out-of-the-way  circumstances  in  his 
history,  were  dragged  forth  and  made  the  oc- 
casion of  the  most  flattering  comment  and  al- 
lusion. 

Some  one  or  other  had  discovered  his  habit  of 
visiting  the  city  cellars  in  quest  of  oysters ;  he 
was  immediately  styled  the  "  Patriot  of  the  Pie- 
houses."  He  had  caught,  one  afternoon,  in 
company  with  a  crew  of  political  cronies,  a 
small  earful  of  striped-bass  and  Lafayette  fish, 
in  the  East  river,  and  was  declared  the  "  Hero 
of  Kipp's  bay."  He  had  saved  an  omnibus- 
driver  from  being  beaten  to  death  by  a  crowd, 
for  riding  over  the  legs  of  a  boy — and  he  was 
the  "  Champion  of  Conveyance."  His  very 
head  was  taken  off  his  shoulders  and  put  in 
plaster ;  delegations  of  tradesmen  were  con- 
stantly waiting  upon  him,  or  writing  compli- 
mentary letters,  humbly  soliciting  the  honor 
of  crowning  him  with  a  new  hat,  or  arraying 
him  in  a  clean  dickey.  The  Bottomites — be- 
ing staunch  friends  of  free-trade — insisted  on 
clapping  him  in  a  coat  of  Thibet  wool,  fancy 
pants  of  French  jean,  boots  of  Poughkeepsie 
leather,  and  a  palm-leaf  hat,  so  that  he  should 
be  a  representative  of  the  unrestricted  fabrics 
of  the  four  quarters  of  the  earth. 

On  the  other  side,  the  illustrious  Insurance 
President,  Mr.  Blinker,  being  a  bitter  foe  to 
fire,  and  quite  as  close  a  friend  to  the  opposite 
element,  and  having  recovered-  his  popularity 
in  the  interval  since  his  defeat,  by  insuring  two 
poor  cartmen's  sheds  at  his  own  risk,  and 
adopting  the  son  of  a  disabled  sailor  as  one  of 
the  secretaries  of  the  company  (though  the 
young  gentleman  was  as  innocent  of  pot-hooks 
and  ledgers  as  a  Kamschatkan),  Mr.  Blinker 
was  nominated  by  the  advocates  of  the  Upper 
Wabash. 

To  carry  out  his  principles,  Mr.  Blinker — 
having  discovered  that  a  second-hand  senatorial 
coat  and  a  sable  and  satin  neckcloth  were  not 
always  triumphant — assumed  a  round-crowned 
hat,  and  a  homespun  coat  and  breeches  of  the 
plainest  texture ;  in  which  array  he  went  about 
diligently,  drinking  incessant  glasses  of  gratu- 
itous water  at  the  grocers',  in  furtherance  of 
his  Upper  Wabash  principles. 

He  also  proceeded  to  an  active  canvass  of 
the  churches,  by  attending  a  new  one  every 
Sunday,  and  rattling  in  a  donation  of  half  a 
dollar  at  least,  at  each. 

Puff'er,  not  to  be  outdone  by  Mr.  John  Blink- 
er, canvassed  the  markets  in  opposition  to  the 
churches ;  and  having  drilled  a  small  company 
of  young  vagabonds,  he  made  a  circuit  of  the 
market-places  on  Saturday  nights  with  these — 
their  rags  flying  to  the  wind,  and  an  expression 
of  doleful  gratitude  in  their  faces — running  at 
his  heels ;  JPuffer  keeping  in  the  advance,  and 
from  time  to  time  ordering  a  cutlet,  or  steak, 
or  tender-loin,  to  be  cast  in.  This  was  so  well 
enacted,  that  he  had  not  made  a  tour  of  the 
markets  more  than  twice  before  he  had  the 
butchers  in  tears,  and  swearing  by  liver-and- 
lights,  their  own  tender-loins,  and  all  that  they 


rUFFER  HOPKINS. 


267 


hold  holiest,  that  Puffer  was  an  angel,  with  a 
heart  as  big  as  an  ox. 

Everything  gave  token  of  a  close  and  furious 
contest.  Appeals,  fresh  and  frequent,  were 
made  to  every  possible  interest  and  every  pos- 
sible voter.  It  was  shown  conclusively,  in  more 
than  one  harangue,  and  a  hundred  leaders,  that 
every  trade  and  denomination  in  business — lai- 
ty, clergy,  law,  medicine,  merchandise — were 
particularly  and  vitally  aflected  in  the  questions 
presented  at  the  coming  election.  And,  as  the 
time  drew  nearer,  a  forcible  address  was  made 
to  that  one  voter  in  particular,  by  whose  de- 
portment, as  is  well  known,  the  fate  of  every 
contest  is  determined.  There  was  not  a  de- 
vice for  creating  or  securing  electors  that  was 
not  brought  to  bear  ;  and  the  one  party  or  the 
other  was  constantly  startled  into  unheard-of 
exertions,  by  learning  that  its  opposite  was 
strengthening  itself  with  fresh  recruits  from 
quarters  that  could  have  never  been  dreamed  of. 

There  was  one  that  toiled  in  Puffer's  behalf 
more  like  a  spirit  than  a  man ;  a  little  shrunken 
figure,  that  was  everywhere,  for  days  before 
the  canvass ;  a  universal  presence,  breathing 
in  every  ear  the  name  of  Puffer.  There  was 
not  a  tap-room  that  he  did  not  haunt ;  no  ob- 
scure alley  into  which  he  did  not  penetrate,  and 
make  its  reeking  atmosphere  vocal  with  his 
praises.  Wherever  a  group  of  talkers  or  citi- 
zens were  gathered,  the  little  old  man  glided  in 
and  dropped  a  word  that  migkt  bear  fruit  at 
the  ballot-box.  At  nightfall  he  would  mix  with 
crowds  of  shipwrights'  prentices  and  laborers, 
and  kindle  their  rugged  hearts  with  the  thought 
of  the  young  candidate. 

He  stopped  not  with  grown  men  and  voters, 
but  seizing  moments  when  he  could,  he  whis- 
pered the  name  in  children's  ears,  that,  being 
borne  to  parents  by  gentle  lips,  it  miglit  be 
mixed  with  kindly  recollections,  and  so  be  made 
triumphant. 

It  was  given  out  that  the  Blinkerites  had  es- 
tablished or  discovered,  in  some  under-ground 
tenements  that  never  saw  light  of  day,  a  great 
warren  of  voters.  When  the  toilsome  old  man 
learned  of  this  burrow  that  was  to  be  sprung 
against  his  favorite,  he  looked  about  for  an 
equal  mine,  whence  voters  might  be  dug  in 
scores,  at  a  moment's  notice,  should  occasion 
demand.  With  this  in  view,  one  afternoon,  he 
entered  Water  street,  at  Peck  slip,  like  a  skilful 
miner,  as  though  a  great  shafl  had  been  sunk 
just  there. 

And  a  strange  climate  it  was  that  he  was 
entering ;  one  where  the  reek  and  soil  are  so 
thick  and  fertile,  that  they  seem  to  breed  end- 
less flights  of  great  white  overcoats,  and  red- 
breasted  shirts,  and  flying  blue  trowsers,  that 
swarm  in  the  air,  and  fix,  like  so  many  bats, 
against  the  house-sides. 

Tropical,  too,  for  there's  not  a  gaudy  color, 
green,  or  red,  or  orange-yellow,  that  the  sun, 
shining  through  the  smoky  atmosphere,  does 
not  bring  out  upon  the  house-fronts ;  and  for 
inhabitants  of  the  region,  there  are  countless 


broad-backed  gentlemen,  who,  plucking  from 
some  one  of  the  neighboring  depositories  a  cloth 
roundabout,  a  black  tarpaulin,  and  white  slops, 
sit  in  the  doorways  launching  their  cigars  upon 
the  street,  or  gather  within. 

Hobbleshank,  a  resident  of  the  inland  quar- 
ter of  the  city,  certainly  came  upon  these,  with 
his  frock  and  eye-glass,  as  a  traveller  and 
landsman  from  far  in  the  interior ;  and  when 
he  first  made  his  appearance  in  their  thorough- 
fare, looking  hard  about  with  his  single  eye,  it 
could  not  be  cause  of  surprise  that  they  won- 
dered aloud  as  he  passed,  where  the  little  old 
lubber  had  come  from,  and  that  more  than  one 
of  them  invited  him  to  a  drink  of  sheep's  milk, 
or  a  coUop  of  a  young  zebra,  that  one  avowed 
they  were  chasing  in  the  back  yard  for  supper, 
at  that  moment. 

But  when,  as  he  got  accustomed  to  the  place, 
he  accosted  them  with  a  gentle  voice,  said  a 
complimentary  word  for  their  sign-board,  with 
its  full-length  sailor's  lass — Hope  upon  her  an- 
chor, or  sturdy  Strength,  standing  square  upon 
his  pins — they  began  at  once  to  have  a  fancy 
for  the  old  man. 

He  passed  from  house  to  house,  making 
friends  in  each.  Sometimes  he  made  his  way 
into  the  bar-room,  where,  seated  against  the 
wall,  on  benches  all  around  the  sanded  floor, 
with  dusty  bamboo  rods,  alligator  skins,  out- 
landish eggs,  and  sea-weeds  plucked  among  the 
Caribees  or  the  Pacific  islands,  or  some  far-off 
shore,  he  would  linger  by  the  hour,  listening 
with  all  the  wondering  patience  of  a  child,  to 
their  ocean-talk.  And  when  they  were  through, 
he  would  draw  a  homely  similitude  between 
their  story — the  perils  their  ship  had  crossed — 
with  the  good  sliip  of  state ;  and  then  tell  them 
of  a  young  friend  of  his,  who  was  on  trial  be- 
fore the  ship's  crew  for  a  master's  place.  Be- 
fore he  left,  in  nine  cases  of  ten,  they  gave 
their  hands  for  Puffer,  sometimes  even  rising 
and  confirming  it  with  a  cheer  that  shook  the 
house,  and  brought  their  messmates  thronging 
in  from  the  neighborhood,  when  the  story  would 
be  recited  to  them  by  a  dozen  voices,  and  new 
recruits  to  Puffer's  side  enrolled. 

Then,  again,  he  would  be  told  of  an  old  sick 
sailor  in  an  upper  chamber — tied  there  by  rack- 
ing pains  in  his  joints,  answering,  they  would 
say,  each  wrench  to  the  trials  his  old  ship's 
timbers  were  passing  through  on  the  voyage 
she  was  now  out  upon — and  mounting  up,  he 
would  find  him  busy  in  his  painful  leisure, 
building  a  seventy-six,  razeed  to  the  size  of  a 
cock-boat,  for  the  landlord's  mantle.  Gaining 
upon  him  by  degrees,  Hobbleshank  would  sit 
at  his  side ;  and  by-and-by,  when  he  saw  it 
would  be  kindly  taken,  gathering  up  a  thread 
of  twine  or  two,  and  helping  to  form  a  length 
of  cable  or  ringing.  By  the  time  a  dozen  ropes 
were  fashioned,  he  would  have  a  promise  from 
the  old  sea-dog  that  he  would  show  his  teeth 
at  the  polls  when  roll-call  came. 

There  were  some,  too,  engaged  in  boisterous 
mirth  and  jollity  in  back  parlors,  just  behind 


26a 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


the  bar ;  where  a  plump  little  fellow,  in  his 
blue  roundabout,  duck  trowsers  supported  by 
the  hips,  and  tarpaulin  hat,  with  a  flying  riband 
that  touched  the  floor  and  shortened  him  in 
appearance  by  a  foot,  broke  down  in  a  horn- 
pipe to  the  sound  of  an  ancient  fiddle,  that 
broke  down  quite  as  fast  as  he  did.  In  the  enthu- 
siasm that  held  him,  Hobbleshank  even  joined 
in,  and  with  some  comic  motions  and  strange 
contortions  of  the  visage,  carried  the  day  so 
well  that  he  won  the  back  parlor's  heart  at 
once;  and  they  promised  him  whatever  he 
asked. 

The  little  old  man — true  to  the  interest  he 
had  first  shown — bent  himself  with  such  hearty 
good  will  to  his  task,  that  when,  after  many 
days'  labor,  he  left  Water  street,  at  its  other 
extremity,  there  was  not  a  ripe  old  salt  that 
was  not  gathered,  nor  a  tall  young  sailor  that 
was  not  harvested,  for  the  cause.  And  so  he 
pursued  the  task  he  had  set  to  himself  without 
faltering,  without  a  moment's  pause.  For  days 
before  the  contest  came  on,  he  was  out  at  sun- 
rise, moving  about  wherever  a  vote  could  be 
found ;  nursing  and  maturing  it  for  the  polling 
day,  as  a  gardener  would  a  tender  plant; 
watching  and  tending  many  in  out-of-the-way 
places,  and  by  a  skilful  discourse,  a  chance 
word,  an  apt  story,  ripening  it  against  the  time 
when  it  was  to  be  gathered. 

Late  at  night,  when  others,  who  might  have 
been  expected  to  be  stirring  and  making  in- 
terest for  themselves,  slumbered,  Hobble- 
shank,  taking  his  rounds  through  the  city  with 
the  watchmen,  with  more  than  the  pains  of  an 
industrious  clear-starcher,  smoothed  the  pla- 
cards on  the  fences ;  jumping  up  where  they 
were  beyond  his  height,  as  was  often  the  case, 
and  brushing  them  down,  both  ways,  with  out- 
spread hands,  so  that  they  should  read  plain 
and  free  to  the  simplest  passer-by.  Was  there 
ever  one  that  toiled  so,  with  the  faith  and 
heart  of  an  angel,  in  the  dusty  road  that  time- 
servers  use  to  travel ! 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

HE  DINES   WITH   THE    MAGISTRATES. 

In  the  very  midst  of  these  silent  labors  of 
Hobbleshank,  Puffer  was  at  his  desk,  medita- 
ting a  letter  from  an  imaginary  constituent  to 
himself,  and  had  got  as  far  as,  "  To  the  Honor- 
able Puffer  Hopkins,  M.  C,"  when  there  filed 
into  his  chamber  three  gentlemen,  who,  look- 
ing about  for  a  moment  and  discovering  that 
there  were  not  chairs  enough  to  hold  them  all, 
drew  themselves  up  in  a  line  and  stood  before 
him.  Puffer,  quite  equal  to  the  emergency, 
rose  from  his  desk  and  faced  his  platoon  of  vis- 
iters. One  of  them,  the  head  of  the  line,  was 
a  tall  gentleman,  in  a  segar-ash  complexion 
and  a  rough  frock-coat,  in  the  pockets  of  which 
he  deposited  his  hands  j    the  centre,  a  stout, 


rosy  personage,  whose  head  was  propped  up  by 
a  shirt-collar,  of  alabaster  purity  and  stiffness, 
under  his  ears ;  and  the  other,  a  little  black- 
haired  man,  with  a  large  mouth,  and  arms  of 
an  extraordinary  length.  Mr.  Hopkins  in- 
quired, delicately,  into  the  object  of  their  mis- 
sion. 

"  We  have  come,  sir,"  said  the  long-armed 
gentleman,  reaching  forth  convulsively  to  the 
chair  from  which  Puffer  had  risen,  drawing  it 
before  him  and  fastening  both  hands  firmly  on 
its  top ;  "  we  have  come,  sir,  to  express  our  re- 
spect for  your  past  public  career — our  admira- 
tion of  the  unflinching  fortitude  with  which 
you  have  adhered  to  objects" — 

"  Yes,  sir — to  objects,"  interposed  the  stout 
gentleman,  cutting  in  as  if  he  thought  the 
long-armed  man  was  getting  more  than  his 
share  ;  "  yes,  sir,  to  objects  of  a  profoundly 
patriotic  character ;  and,  sir,  we  feel  the  hon- 
or of  being  delegated  to  wait  upon  you  for  the 
purpose  of  testifying  the  interest  with  which 
your  course  has  been  watched,  not  onlj',  sir," 
he  pursued,  thrusting  his  left  hand  into  his 
coat  and  spreading  it  upon  a  ruffled  bosom ; 
"  not  only,  sir,  by  the  friends  of  good  order 
and  correct  principles — of  advanced  age — but 
also"— 

"  By  the  rising  generation ;"  continued  the 
tall  gentleman,  groping  earnestly  in  the  bot- 
tom of  his  frock-coat  pockets,  and  drawing 
himself  up  to  his  full  height.  "  You  will  not 
be  surprised,  therefore,  sir,  to  learn  that  we 
are  authorized  to  ask  you,  in  the  name  of  the 
common  council  of  New  York,  to  partake  of  a  ^ 
dinner  with  the  magistrates  of  this  city" —  ^ 

"At  the  almshouse,"  said  the  long-armed 
gentleman,  "  this  afternoon" — 

"  At  five  o'clock,"  said  the  stout  speaker. 

The  three  orators  had  put  Puffer  in  posses- 
sion of  their  errand,  and  he  had  a  shrewd  guess 
— as  one  of  them  was  an  alderman,  and  the 
others  assistants — that  this  was  one  of  those 
cases  where  a  committee  had  been  unable  to 
agree  upon  a  mouthpiece,  and  had  compro- 
mised the  difficulty  by  distributing  the  speech, 
as  fairly  as  they  could,  in  three  parts. 

The  invitation  was  not  to  be  slighted ;  and, 
having  appointed  to  call  for  him  at  four,  they 
file(J^  out  of  the  apartment  in  the  same  order  in 
which  they  had  entered.  At  four  o'clock  they 
reappeared,  coming  up  in  a  body  to  wait  upon 
him  to  the  carriage,  as  if  determined  that  no 
one  should  enjoy  a  crumb  of  honor  more  than 
the  other.  The  vehicle  into  which  the  party 
mounted  was  an  old  corporation  hack,  and  the 
horses,  having  travelled  this  road  any  time  for 
ten  years  past,  jogged  along  at  an  easy  gait, 
knowing  well  enough  that  an  alderman  does 
not  like  to  be  disturbed  in  his  agreeable  reve- 
ries on  the  way  to  dinner.  Leaving  the  streets, 
in  less  than  half  an  hour  they  were  out  upon 
the  avenue,  where,  as  they  glided  comfortably 
along,  they  were  constantly  passed  by  gentle- 
men in  rough  coats,  just  like  the  tall  assist- 
ant's, who,  bending  over  in  light  wagons,  gave 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


269 


the  rein  to  long-legged,  dock-tailed  horses,  and 
emulated  the  speed  of  other  gentlemen  with 
long-legged  nags  and  rough  coats.  Sometimes 
one  passed,  perched  in  the  air  upon  an  invisible 
axle  resting  between  two  huge  wheels,  and 
who  held  himself  suspended,  it  seemed,  by  a 
constant  miracle.  Not  more  than  fifty  of  these 
gentry  had  whirled  by,  tearing  up  the  avenue, 
and  losing  themselves  in  clouds  of  dust  in 
the  distance,  when  the  three  aldermen,  looking 
unanimously  out  of  the  coach-window,  ex- 
claimed in  a  breath,  "  Here  we  are  !" 

Puffer  looked  out,  too.  A  great  gate  opened 
silently  from  within  ;  their  carriage  glided 
through ;  and,  rolling  gently  down  a  broad 
way,  they  found  themselves  at  the  East  river's 
brink,  shut  out  by  thick  walls  from  all  the  city 
world.  The  buildings  that  stood  behind  them, 
and  with  which  they  were  fellow-prisoners  in 
this  silent  realm,  were  dark  and  gray. 

The  air  and  place  were  tranquil  as  midnight, 
and  in  strange  contrast  with  the  incessant  mo- 
tions and  shoutings  of  the  busy  road  they  had 
left.  The  old  almshouse,  resting  on  the  very 
water's  edge,  sat  as  silent  as  a  stone ;  the  wa- 
ter, calm  and  smooth,  seemed  to  stretch  away 
before  its  dark  old  front,  to  furnish  a  glass  in 
which  it  might  view  itself  and  learn  how  it 
bore  its  age.  The  sun  poured  a  full  afternoon 
into  the  yard,  and,  sitting  in  its  very  centre, 
his  face  against  the  river,  in  the  porch  of  the 
building  as  they  entered,  was  an  old  beggar, 
who,  with  a  countenance  of  marble  firmness 
and  locks  white  as  the  unhetchled  flax,  seemed 
to  be  the  image  and  god  of  the  stillness  that 
reigned  about. 

The  moment  they  ascended  a  few  steps  and 
opened  a  door,  a  peal  of  laughter  burst,  like  a 
cloud  upon  the  silence,  in  their  very  faces,  and 
passing  through  the  hall,  they  were  in  a  room 
where  the  chief  guests  were  assembled.  In  the 
centre  of  the  group  stood  Mr.  Gallipot,  the 
mayor,  in  an  entire  new  outfit,  so  ill-adjusted, 
and  disproportioned  to  his  person,  that  there 
could  not  be  a  doubt  but  that  it  had  seen  Chat- 
ham street  in  its  infancy,  and  while  it  was 
growing  into  the  dress  of  an  adult  mayor. 

"  How  are  you,  Hopkins  ?"  cried  his  honor, 
from  the  midst  of  his  guests,  "  Let's  have  you 
this  way  !  Open  the  ring,  Jenkins — stand 
back  there,  Tom  Smith ;"  and,  falling  away  as 
they  were  bidden,  Mr.  Gallipot  came  forward, 
and  seized  Puffer  cordially  by  the  hand. 
Messrs.  Jenkins  and  Tom  Smith — two  noted 
bottle-holders  of  the  mayor's — offered  him  as 
hearty  a  welcome,  with  others,  the  chief  politi- 
cians of  the  city,  who  were  there ;  and  a  short 
fellow,  in  a  poorhouse  gray  roundabout  and 
poorhouse  cut  hair,  coming  in  and  giving  the 
summons,  they  marched  across  the  hall  to  din- 
ner. The  table  was  spread  in  a  large  square 
room,  with  delicious  windows  upon  the  river, 
and  under  the  auspices  of  a  stout  gentleman, 
who  hung  in  a  great  frame  upon  the  wall,  and 
gave  warrant — ^having  been  a  noted  haunter  of 


the  room  in  his  lifetime — of  the  good  cheer  that 
there  abounded. 

There  was  no  quarrel  for  precedence;  the 
mayor,  with  Puffer  at  his  right  hand,  seized  the 
head  of  the  table ;  the  others  fell  into  chairs, 
whose  locality  they  seemed  to  have  pitched  up- 
on long  before,  and,  seated  at  once,  they  filled 
them  so  happily,  one  might  have  sworn  they 
were  born,  each  man,  for  the  particular  Wind- 
sor or  rush-bottom  he  occupied.  The  three 
stickling  committee-men,  even,  had  adjusted 
matters,  the  stout  one  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the 
table,  in  its  centre,  and  each  of  the  other  two 
at  his  wings.  And  when,  speedily  and  in  sol- 
emn order,  the  dishes  began  to  appear,  as  one 
after  the  other  came  in  at  the  head  of  the  apart- 
ment, a  whole  galaxy  of  eyes  rolled  that  way, 
and  fixed  upon  them  with  a  lingering  fondness 
that  would  have  moved  the  soul  of  a  pagan. 

And  now  the  table  was  full,  PuflTer  was  not 
a  little  surprised — but  quite  as  well  pleased — 
to  see  his  old  friend  Hobbleshank,  handsomely 
laid  between  a  couple  of  aldermen,  with  whom 
he  seemed  to  have  a  good  understanding,  at 
the  other  end. 

Imperfect  and  obscure  is  the  experience  of 
any  one  who  has  not  eaten  a  poorhouse  dinner. 
The  highest  happiness  allotted  to  man — at 
least  in  his  imperfect  and  sinful  state  of  exist- 
ence as  a  New-Yorker — it  would  seem,  is  to 
dine  at  the  old  almshouse.  Jupiter  restored 
to  earth,  would  make  his  first  call  there  ;  and 
there  Bacchus,  if  allowed,  would  undoubtedly 
bespeak  lodgings  for  the  rest  of  his  immortality. 

For  two  weeks,  in  anticipation  of  the  pres- 
ent banquet,  the  garden  had  been  hoed,  and 
harrowed,  and  forced ;  the  neighboring  river 
had  been  anxiously  searched  for  certain  deli- 
cate fish  that  were  known  to  lurk  in  the  rocks, 
holding  themselves  in  reserve  for  an  alderman, 
for  an  equal  fortnight ;  and  two  sharp-eyed 
paupers  had  been  ofi'  on  an  excursion  up  the 
Sound,  in  watch  for  duck  and  pigeon.  Nothing 
could  be  more  perfect,  more  delicious,  and 
grateful,  than  the  dinner  spread  upon  the 
board ;  and  nothing  more  artful  and  ingenious 
than  the  arrangement  of  the  diners.  The 
cooks  and  servants  of  the  establishment  moved 
by  a  sure  instinct — most  of  the  guests  were 
habitual  frequenters  of  the  place — seasoned  each 
dish  to  a  turn,  and  each  gentleman  was  now 
found  seated  directly  opposite  whatever  a  well- 
practised  appetite  most  earnestly  coveted.  For 
better  than  an  hour,  a  silence  profound  as  death 
reigned  through  the  hall.  The  waiters,  in  their 
poor-house  livery,  and  licking  their  chaps, 
moved  about  on  tiptoe ;  it  would  have  cost 
them  their  standing  as  paupers  to  have  broken 
the  charm  by  a  word.  Dishes  were  brought  in 
and  removed,  in  a  mysterious  stealth,  which 
lent  a  piquancy  to  the  proceeding;  and  the 
very  feeders  themselves,  absorbed  in  the  sacred 
rites  of  the  place,  only  ventured  now  and  then 
to  look  ofi",  for  a  minute,  and  smile  to  each 
other,  and  then  started  afresh. 


270 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


This  at  an  end,  wine  was  brought  in,  a  basket 
at  a  time,  and  being  placed  near  his  honor  the 
mayor,  he  proceeded  to  uncork,  but  so  unskil- 
fully, it  seems,  that  the  corks  took  a  blank 
range  doAvn  the  table,  and,  what  was  singular, 
they  always  fell  into  a  line  that  caused  them  to 
strike,  dead-point,  the  sconce  of  a  little  quid- 
nunc, who  was  said  to  be  a  butt  of  the  may- 
or's. Then  the  bottles  were  distributed  down 
the  table,  one  to  each  man;  which,  being 
plaated  upon  the  board,  stood  there,  a  sort  of 
tipsy  niuepin,  to  be  bowled  down  by  the  even- 
ing's mirth.  When  it  was  known  that  every 
glass  was  loaded  to  the  brim,  Mr.  Gallipot 
sprang  to  his  feet ;  every  eye  was  fixed  upon 
him  with  intense  anxiety;  and  when  he 
announced,  "  Our  Country,"  they  started  in 
like  manner  to  their  feet,  and  fell  upon  their 
wine  with  such  patriotic  ardor,  that  no  one  could 
have  in  the  least  suspected  that  country  or  its 
institutions  of  being  in  any  way  the  bottom  and 
main  supply  of  the  present  festivities.  But 
when  Mr.  Gallipot  followed  this  with  "  The 
Public  Charities,"  a  faint  surmise  might  have 
dawned  on  the  beholder's  mind,  that  the  en- 
thusiasm was  real,  and  that  they  meant  all 
they  did  when  they  drank  a  bumper  to  these 
excellent  corporate  contrivances  for  such  as  are 
a  hungered  and  athirst.  And  when,  further 
on,  his  honor,  allowing  scarce  a  breath  be- 
tween, followed  this  up  with,  "  Our  distin- 
guished guest  and  next  member — Puffer  Hop- 
kins"— a  fearful  tempest  swept  the  table  from 
end  to  end ;  and  one  or  two  of  the  lighter  quid- 
nuncs were  even  lifted  from  their  feet,  and 
landing  upon  the  table,  shook  the  glasses  and 
bottles  till  they  danced  with  them  with  joy. 

They  felt  grateful  to  Puffer  for  furnishing 
them  so  plausible  an  opportunity  to  investigate 
the  economy  of  so  excellent  a  city  charity. 
Puffer  was  bound,  of  course,  to  respond  to 
these  admirable  sentiments. 

Really  (this  was  the  train  of  his  observa- 
tions) he  never  felt  so  oppressed  in  his  life,  in 
rising  to  speak.  He  was  surrounded  by  kind 
and  generous  friends.  He  was  their  creature 
— they  had  taken  him,  a  poor  friendless  youth, 
and  made  him  what  he  was.  Little  had  he 
dreamed,  when  making  his  first  humble  effort 
at  Fogfire  hall,  of  attaining  an  honor  like  this. 
If  any  one  had  told  him  the  time  would  arrive 
when  he  should  partake  of  canvass-back  and 
champagne  with  his  honor,  the  mayor,  and  the 
common  council  of  New  York,  at  the  almshouse, 
he  would  have  laughed  at  their  folly.  Canvass- 
back  and  champagne !— they  might  as  well 
have  talked  to  him  of  a  steam-carriage  to 
Chimborazo,  or  a  balloon-ride  to  the  first  fixed 
star! 

While  Puffer  was  speaking,  two  or  three  of 
the  inmates  of  the  place  were  drawn  to  the 
door,  and  as  he  advanced  in  his  speech,  and 
looked  off  in  that  direction,  by  way  of  illustra- 
tion or  gesture,  he  observed  that  two  of  them 
had  fixed  their  attention  keenly  upon  him  him- 
self.   One  of  them  was  a  woman,  of  a  stout 


person,  into  whose  face  some  color  was  creep- 
ing, through  easy  living  and  good  fare,  and  the 
other  a  man,  thin  and  sorrowful  of  look. 

By  the  time  he  was  done  speaking,  one  of 
the  poorhouse  attendants  had  touched  Hob- 
bleshank  upon  the  shoulder,  and  he  now 
helped  to  make  the  group  that  gathered  in  the 
doorway. 

When  Hobbleshank  and  the  woman  met,  it 
was,  as  their  looks  told,  as  those  who  have 
been  parted  for 'years — between  whom  some 
mighty  secret  is  kept,  and  who  have  some 
great  trouble  in'  common.  They  talked  ear- 
nestly together — the  woman  and  the  forlorn- 
looking  pauper  asserting  something  over  and 
over  again,  it  seemed,  to  which  the  old  man 
would  not  yield,  nor  would  he,  altogether, 
withhhold  belief. 

The  diners  were,  meanwhile,  fairly  embark- 
ed ;  the  stream  of  mirth  was  full ;  as  it  flowed 
up  and  down  the  board  it  sometimes  attained 
a  rapid  head,  carrying  all  before  it  in  a  gene- 
ral glee ;  or  paused  in  little  eddies  and  islets  of 
drinkers,  where  it  tarried  and  circled  round 
and  round  within  itself.  There  was  one,  a 
roaring  whirlpool  of  jockeys  from  the  avenue, 
who,  with  loud  jokes  and  broad  gusts  of  anec- 
dote, kept  up  a  constant  pother  where  they  sat. 
Then,  farther  on,  there  was  a  more  quiet  fry 
of  ex-sheriffs,  fine,  rosy  fellows — hanging  and 
jumping  of  the  rope  are  your  healthiest  exer- 
cises, it  would  seem ;  and  then,  in  a  stormier 
latitude,  a  shoal  of  aldermen,  who  kept  up  in 
their  drink  windy  discussions  without  end. 
Among  these.  Puffer,  as  the  jollity  grew  apace, 
was  called  down  from  his  station  near  Mr. 
Gallipot,  and  it  brought  him  within  earshot  of 
the  group  in  the  passage,  who  had  watched 
him  so  strangely  in  his  speech.  They  were 
still  there,  their  heads  close  together,  Hob- 
bleshank's  central,  and  busiest  of  all;  and 
they  still  turned,  from  time  to  time,  in  their 
talk,  and  regarded  Puffer  with  the  same  strange 
gaze.  Whatever  Puffer,  with  an  ear  sharpened 
by  a  curiosity  he  could  not  control,  caught,  was 
so  straggling  and  disjointed,  that  it  conveyed 
to  his  mind  no  distinct  impression  of  their  pur- 
pose. Their  conference  seemed,  at  length,  at 
an  end. 

"  I  think  as  you  do,"  he  heard  Hobbleshank 
whispering  to  the  others,  looking  from  the 
woman  to  the  stranger,  and  then  toward  him- 
self; "  I  thought  so  from  the  first ;  but  I  have 
been  too  often  mistaken,  I  could  not  bear  to  be 
wrong  again — it  would  kill  me,  Hetty ;  let  us 
be  cauiious." 

He  muttered  something  in  a  broken  and 
earnest  tone — Puffer  could  see  his  lips  grow 
pale  and  quiver  as  he  spoke — and,  leaving 
them,  he  hurried  up  the  room  and  took  the 
place  at  the  table  among  the  friends  he  had 
lef^. 

There  was  no  pause  in  the  mirth  of  the  ma- 
gistrates and  their  guests  ;  fresh  baskets  were 
broached  every  minute,  a  tipsy  song  roared 
out,  and  the  adults  there  present  attached 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


271 


themselves  to  the  long-necked  flasks  as  if  they 
had  been  brought  there  to  be  nursed  on  claret 
and  champagne  at  the  city  charge.  It  was  a 
relief  to  Puffer  to  hear  what  passed  among  the 
nurslings  in  their  probation.  Obliquely  from 
him  up  the  table,  an  arm's-length  or  two,  there 
were  a  couple  whose  nursing  seemed  to  try 
the  constitution  to  an  alarming  pitch ;  and  in- 
stead of  being  benefited,  in  any  degree,  by  the 
dark  spirit  with  whom  they  held  so  many  close 
and  earnest  conferences,  they  always  got  back 
from  the  interview  less  robust  in  person  and 
demeanor  than  ever. 

"  You  know  very  well.  Bill,  that  I  o'rt  to 
have  that — place  if  any — chap  has  it,"  said 
one  of  them,  a  fine,  large,  sturdy-looking  fellow, 
for  a  nursling,  speaking  slowly,  out  of  respect 
to  the  understanding  of  his  friend.  "  D — n  it, 
Bill,  dep'ty  street-inspector — it's  chalk  for 
cheese — for  one  what's  done — what — what — 
what" 

His  chin  knocked  upon  his  breast,  and  he 
kept  asking  himself,  for  five  minutes  or  more, 
what  it  was. 

'*  I'm  the  man  that'g  got  up  twelve  public 
meetings  in  the  course  of  an  humble  life,"  said 
the  other,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and,  looking 
around  to  call  the  attention  of  the  company ; 
"carried  banners  in  five  processions;  pall- 
bearer to  the  late  devoted  Alderman  Smith ; 
you  know  me,  Mr.  Gallipot  ?  Did  you  ever 
know  a  more  ardent  friend  of  his  country  than 
William  Scraggs  ? — Who'll  sign  this  'ere  roll, 
for  Billy  Scraggs?"  And  Mr.  Scraggs  pro- 
duced, from  his  breast-pocket,  a  soiled  scroll, 
which  he  unfurled  across  the  table,  and  hold- 
ing an  end  in  his  hand,  he  tumbled  into  the 
same  slumber  that  had  already  ingulfed  his 
rival. 

After  an  interval  of  half  an  hour  they  wa- 
kened, one  getting  the  advantage  of  the  other 
by  not  more  than  a  minute,  and  renewed  the 
dispute  for  the  inspectorship ;  and  after  a  brief 
and  slightly  confused  statement  of  their  claims, 
they  lapsed  back  again  into  their  dreams. 
There  was  no  abatement  in  the  spirit  of  the 
almshouse  dinner.  Even  till  midnight,  speech- 
es were  made  by  aldermen  and  laymen  and  ex- 
sheriffs.  Healths — sometimes  of  individuals, 
sometimes  a  broadside  of  the  table  against  broad- 
side— were  drained,  and  Puffer,  finding  that  a 
sadness  had  crept  upon  him,  out  of  all  harmo- 
ny with  their  mirth,  quietly  withdrew,  leaving 
his  three  committee-men  on  their  feet  together, 
and  at  an  advanced  stage  of  champagne,  de- 
livering speeches  against  each  other ;  and  his 
honor,  the  mayor,  with  his  bottle-holders, 
squeezing  lemons  vehemently,  at  each  side  of 
him,  brewing  a  drink  for  which  he  was  fa- 
mous. 

In  the  open  air,  he  found  the  doorway  and 
high  steps  thronged  with  paupers,  who  had 
kept  themselves  from  bed  that  they  might  lis- 
ten to  the  uproar  and  jollification  of  their  mas- 
ters. "  It  was  such  precious  fun,"  one  of  them 
said,  "  to  see  the  corporation  feeding  its  corpo- 


ration, and  getting  high  on  taxes  and  brown 
bread."  Puffer  thought  he  had  escaped  unob- 
served, but,  as  he  entered  the  carriage,  he 
found  Hobbleshank  at  his  side,  asking  to  bear 
him  company. 

"  To  be  sure,"  answered  Puffer,  "  I  would 
rather  ride  back  with  one  like  you  than  the 
three  I  came  up  with." 

The  old  man  smiled,  but  was  silent,  and  this 
silence  he  maintained  till  they  were  half  down 
the  city.  And  when  he  began  to  speak.  Puffer 
observed  that  his  discourse  was  not  of  that  in 
which  either  had  an  interest,  but  of  remote 
and  indifferent  things,  like  one  unwilling  to 
speak  of  that  which  is  nearest  his  heart,  and 
who  trifles  in  this  way  lest  he  betray  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE   TRIAL  OF  MR.  FYLER  CLOSE. 

Two  months  from  the  burning  of  Close's 
row,  a  large-nosed  man,  with  brandy-colored 
cheeks,  was  busy,  at  early  morning,  locking 
the  hall  gates,  when  a  small  old  man  shambled 
up,  and,  holding  on  the  outside,  accosted  him. 

"  Does  the  trial  come  on  to  day  ?"  he  asked. 

"  To  be  sure  it  does,'^  answered  the  other, 
looking  up,  "  didn't  you  know  that  ?  A  man 
with  a  augur-hole  for  an  eye  might  see  that. 
Look  at  them  wagons  over  there,"  pointing 
with  a  key  through  the  bars,  into  Chatham 
street.  "  When  you  see  'em  taking  in  pies  at 
that  rate  in  them  shops,  there's  a  capital  of- 
fence coming  on  up  stairs.  Them  shop-keep- 
ers is  growing  blessed  rich  on  murders  and 
hommycides — the  Oyer  and  Terminer  demand 
for  pies  sells  'em  out  twice  a  day  while  the 
court  sits." 

"  How  did  he  sleep  last  night  ?"  asked  the 
old  man.  He  did  not  mention  him  by  name, 
but  the  other  knew  that  he  meant  the  prisoner. 

"  Oh,  beautiful,  sir — very  beautiful,  sir !" 
answered  the  large-nosed  gate-fastener.  "  We 
ha'n't  had  a  lovelier  prisoner  sin'  Johnson's 
day." 

An  inexpressible  spasm  convulsed  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  questioner,  which,  being  busy 
at  the  lock,  the  officer  did  not  observe. 

"  No  dreams,"  resumed  the  old  man,  hold- 
ing hard  upon  the  bars.  '•'  Wasn't  he  troubled 
a  little  in  his  sleep,  sir  ?" 

He  watched  the  answer  with  a  breathless 
look. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it ;  not  as  much  as  'ud  stir  a 
eye-lash.  I  was  in  the  passage  by  his  cell  the 
better  part  of  the  night,  and  his  breath  comed 
and  went  like  a  infant's." 

The  old  man's  features  fell ;  he  had  evident- 
ly expected  a  different  report.  The  gates  were 
^y  this  time  all  fastened  close  and  sure— the 
gate-fastener  hurried  away,  clattering  his  keys 
— and,  going  round  where  an  opening  was  left 
for  passers  in  and  out,  the  old  man  went  in. 


f 


272 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


Climbing  the  winding  stairs,  he  proceeded 
along  the  Tipper  passage,  and  took  his  station 
by  the  court-room  door,  where  he  hoped  the 
prisoner  would  pass.  For  a  long  time  he  stood 
there  alone,  starting  at  every  sound  that  broke 
through  the  hall.  By-and-by  they  began  to 
,  come  in,  one  by  one,  and  cluster  about  the 
door ;  and  by  ten  o'clock  the  passages  were  all 
filled.  Presently,  black-topped  staves  were 
seen  bobbing  up  and  down  in  the  press,  and 
forcing  their  way,  with  much  jostling  and  an 
occasional  oath,  the  officers  reached  the  door, 
and  thrusting  the  crowd  back,  held  them  in 
check  till  the  door  was  unbarred  from  within. 

The  crowd  poured  in  in  a  flood-tide,  bearing 
the  officers  every  now  and  then  from  their  post 
at  the  door,  into  the  very  centre  of  the  court- 
room. Ill  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the 
room  was  overflowed,  crowded  in  every  corner, 
all  the  seats  back,  from  the  rail  to  the  ceiling, 
all  the  passages,  and  some  stood  perched  in  the 
window-seats  and  about  the  cornices,  holding 
on  by  what  they  could.  The  prisoner  was  al- 
ready at  the  table  inside  of  the  bar ;  he  had 
been  got  in  by  a  private  stairs  ;  and  when  the 
first  rush  of  the  crowd  broke  in,  he  started  in 
his  chair  and  looked  wildly  round,  supposing, 
for  the  moment,  they  had  been  let  in  to  tear 
him  in  pieces. 

He  soon  recovered  himself,  and  turning  his 
seat  about,  watched  them  as  they  came  in,  one 
by  one.  Among  the  first  to  enter  was  the 
small  old  man,  upon  whom,  from  the  first  mo- 
ment, Fyler  fixed  his  eye,  and  turning  from 
time  to  time,  watched  him  in  the  crowd.  Was 
that  man  abroad  yet  ?  his  look  seemed  to  say. 
Fyler  thought  he  had  driven  his  plans  so  keen- 
ly, that  he  must  have  been,  by  this  time,  clean 
out  of  his  wits,  and  pent  up  in  some  cell  of 
madmen  or  other. 

Presently  the  judge  entered — a  long,  with- 
ered man,  with  a  face  as  dry  and  yellow  as  a 
mummy,  and  a  shrub  of  dusty-looking  hair, 
standing  off  from  his  crown  in  every  direction. 
Fyler  looked  up  into  his  face  as  he  passed, 
and  smiled;  the  judge,  without  taking  the 
slightest  heed  of  the  prisoner,  proceeded  to  his 
place  upon  the  bench,  where  he  busied  himself 
with  a  newspaper.  In  a  couple  of  minutes 
more  he  was  followed  by  a  large,  red-cheeked 
man,  in  a  predominant  shirt-collar,  and  a  sup- 
ple, small  man,  who,  bestowing  themselves  up- 
on chairs  on  either  side  of  his  honor,  looked  as 
judicial  and  dignified  as  a  pair  of  weazel-eyes 
and  a  highly-starched  shirt-collar  would  allow 
them.  The  court  was  in  session ;  and,  order 
being  demanded  by  the  presiding  judge,  there 
was,  for  five  minutes,  an  incessant  running 
to  and  fro  of  officers  through  every  part  of 
the  court-room,  crying,  "  Hats  ofi" !"  and  wa- 
king up  every  echo  that  had  slept  over-nighl 
in  the  angles  and  cobwebs  of  the  chamber. 
One  rushed  into  the  outer  passage,  shouting, 
"  Silence  \"  with  such  vehemence,  that  me 
might  have  supposed  he  was  calling,  in  his 
distraction,  for  a  personal  friend  instead  of  a 


genius  or  spirit  with  which  he  was  on  such 
doubtful  terms  of  understanding.  The  court 
was  duly  opened  by  proclamation,  and  at  the 
judge's  bidding  a  crier  of  the  court,  a  white- 
haired  old  fellow,  began  turning  a  wheel,  and 
drawing  ballots  on  which  were  written  the 
names  of  the  persons  summoned  for  the  present 
triaL 

One  by  one,  as  they  were  summoned,  they 
emerged  from  the  crowd  and  were  sworn.  Some 
had  read  the  newspapers,  and  couldn't  sit  on 
the  jury  without  hanging  the  prisoner.  One 
had  a  theory  about  heads  which  would  compel 
him  to  acquit  the  prisoner ;  and  another  a  the- 
ory about  faces  which  would  oblige  him  to 
convict.  There  was  a  keeper  of  a  livery-sta- 
ble that  never  knew  a  man  nor  a  horse  with 
such  an  eye  as  the  prisoner's,  that  wasn't 
vicious.  More  than  a  hundred  were  dismissed 
in  this  way.  At  last,  by  dint  of  baffling  the 
point,  and  hunting  scruples  in  at  a  needle's 
point,  and  out  at  an  eyelet-hole,  they  succeed- 
ed in  obtaining  twelve  men,  who,  though  they 
read  the  newspapers,  didn't  believe  a  word  of 
them ;  who  knew  the  facts  of  the  case,  but 
hadn't  formed  an  opinion  ;  and  who,  though 
they  had  conscientious  doubts  about  hanging, 
in  any  case,  thought  they  could  string  a  man 
up  if  the  law  required  it. 

The  case  was  called — the  prisoner  was  ar- 
raigned— and  being  helped  to  his  feet  by  two 
officers  at  his  side,  was  asked  for  his  plea. 

"  I'm  a  ruined  man,  sir  !"  answered  Fyler, 
looking  wildly  around,  "  and  I'd  like  to  have 
a  pint  of  beer  !" 

Saying  which  he  knocked  his  head  through 
his  hat,  and,  winked  out  at  the  top,  at  the 
judge,  with  all  his  might. 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  the  judge,  coolly ; 
"  remove  his  hat,  officer — go  on,  Mr.  District 
Attorney." 

The  district  attorney,  who  was  for  all  the 
world  just  such  another  looking  person  as  the 
judge,  cut  down  two  sizes — that  is,  he  was  as 
dry,  as  hard-featured,  and  thin-haired,  but  not 
so  tall  by  a  head — pulled  down  his  waistcoat 
and  opened  the  case. 

The  crime  of  arson  was  a  dreadful  crime  ;  it 
had  prevailed  to  an  alarming  extent  in  this 
community,  and  he  called  upon  the  jury  in  that 
box  to  say  whether  a  stop  ahould  be  put  to  it 
or  not.  Was  there  a  more  dreadful  crime  con- 
ceivable, gentlemen  of  the  jury,  than  the  one 
with  which  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  was  charg-^ 
ed  ?  Who  was  safe  in  this  community  if  such 
things  were  allowed  ?  Fire,  that  terrible  ele- 
ment, whose  wing  scathed  wherever  it  swept 
(he  detected  in  the  jury-box  a  Presbyterian  v 
gentleman,  who  smiled  at  this  allusion,  and  he  ^^ 
worked  it  out  at  great  length).  Fire — the  ac- 
credited agent  of  Omnipotence  in  balancing  ac- 
counts with  the  world  ;  the  element  by  which 
temples,  and  palaces,  and  warehouses,  were  to 
be  all  wrapped  into  everlasting  nothingness.  He 
would  be  able  to  show  the  circumstances  under 
which  the  buildings   in  question   (he  meant 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


273 


Close's  row)  were  fired ;  that  it  was  an  act  of 
cool,  fiendish,  and  black-hearted  villany.  That 
it  had  been  premeditated  for  a  long  time,  and 
that  a  moment  had  been  chosen  to  put  it  in  ex- 
ecution when  a  terrible  loss  of  life  must  have 
ensued.  He  would  show  that  jury  that  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar  was  inspired  by  the  spirit 
of  a  fiend,  and  had  acted  true  to  the  spirit  by 
which  he  was  inspired.  It  was  to  be  seen 
whether  this  community  would  countenance 
such  a  spirit.  He  sat  down,  and  the  moment 
he  struck  the  seat  called  out  for  J.  Q.  R.  Sloat. 

Mr.  J.  Q.  R.  Sloat  thereupon  stepped  for- 
ward, and  proved  to  be  a  gentleman  with  sta- 
ring eyes,  a  pair  of  thickset  whiskers,  and  ex- 
traordinary coolness  of  deportment.  He  took 
the  witness's  stand,  and,  sucking  his  teeth  so- 
norously, was  sworn. 

"  You  are  an  officer  of  police,  Mr.  Sloat  ?" 
■^  ■      said  the  district  attorney. 

"  I  am,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Sloat. 

"  What  do  you  know  of  the  firing  of  the 
buildings  called  Close's  row,  on  the  19th  of 
June  last  ?" 

"  I  was  a-walking  about  that  time,  at  nine 
o'clock  in  the  evening,"  answered  Mr.  Sloat, 
coaxing  his  whiskers  with  his  hand,  and  ad- 
dressing himself  to  the  jury,  "  along  Madison 
(street,  in  company  with  officer  Smutch,  when 
we  brushed  by  a  man  in  a  gray  overcoat. 
<  Smutch,'  says  I,  when  we  had  passed  him  a 
step  or  two,  '  I  smell  brimstone  !'  '  So  do  I,' 
says  Smutch,  putting  his  fingers  to  his  nose  ; 
and  here  let  me  say,  gentlemen  of  the  jury, 
there  isn't  a  more  indefatigable  officer" — 

"  Never  mind  that,'  interrupted  the  attorney 
for  the  prisoner ;  "  you  needn't  puflT  the  police, 
we  all  know  what  they  are  !"  And  the  pris- 
oner's attorney  smiled  knowingly  upon  the 
jury. 

"As  I  was  saying  when  I  was  interfered 
with,"  resumed  Mr.  Sloat,  rather  impertinent- 
ly, "  '  It's  that  man  in  the  gray  overcoat,'  says 
I, « and  we'll  track  him.'  The  smell  was  strong 
upon  him,  and  as  Smutch  and  I's  both  quick  of 
scent,  it  wasn't  much  to  do  that.  The  gray 
overcoat  turned  a  corner,  and  went  into  an  al- 
ley in  Scammel  street.  Smutch  and  I  followed. 
There  the  gray  overcoat  got  down  into  an 
area,  crept  into  a  window,  which  was  too  small 
for  Smutch  and  I  to  go  in  at,  and  we  saw  nothing 
more  till  tliere  was  a  blaze  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  and  the  gray  overcoat  along-side  of  it, 
feeding  it  with  shavings  out  of  a  basket." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  judge,  hurrying  him 
along,  "  you  waited  till  the  person  came  out, 
and  then  seized  him  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  begging  your  honor's  pardon,  no 
such  thing,"  answered  the  heavy-whiskered 
witness,  bristling  up ;  "'  Smutch,'  says  I,  *  we'll 
walk  away  for  an  hour,  and  then  be  back  and 
see  what  comes  of  this.'  Smutch  said  '  By  all 
means  ;'  and  we  went  off  to  a  porter-house  and 
played  a  couple  of  games  of  dominoes,  and  then 
walked  back  quietly,  so  as  to  come  upon  the 
prisoner  unawares."^ 
S 


"  Did  you  now  arrest  the  prisoner  ?"  asked 
the  judge,  sharply. 

"  We  did  not,  sir,"  answered  the  officer;  "  but 
as  luck  v/ould  have  it,  when  we  got  back  there 
was  a  grand  blaze  of  light ;  the  buildings  was 
all  in  flames.  '  The  best  thing  that  could  have 
happened,'  said  Smutch  to  me,  *  for  now  v/e'll 
be  able  to  catch  the  prisoner  when  we  see 
him.'  '  You're  right,'  says  I,  *  and  there  he 
goes  !'  A  man  at  that  minute  went  by  the  al- 
ley, and  run  down  Scammel  street  at  the  top 
of  his  speed.  '  Now  for  it !'  I  cries  to  Smutch, 
and  we  started  off.  We  run  him  pretty  keen 
around  four  blocks,  and  got  him  at  last  into  an 
engine-house." 

"  Well,  sir,  you  took  him  prisoner  ?"  said 
the  judge,  again. 

'•  No,  sir,  it  was  a  watchman,  running  to 
give  the  alarm,"  rejoined  the  witness.  "  But 
we  chased  two  or  three  other  men,  in  the 
course  of  the  night,  on  suspicion  ;  when  luck 
would  have  it,  we  thought  of  going  back  to  the 
fire." 

"  Where  you  took  the  prisoner,  I  believe  1" 
said  the  district  attorney. 

"  Not  quite  yet,  sir ;  there  we  saw  the  pris- 
oner, and  there  we  watched  him  on  suspicion ; 
and  seeing  what  I  did,  I  felt  justified,  at  last, 
in  taking  him  into  custody.  He  tried  gammon, 
some,  but  Smutch  and  I  was  too  much  for  him. 
I  takes  no  credit  to  myself,"  concluded  the 
witness,  turning  to  the  judge,  "please  your 
honor ;  it  was  Smutch  that  planned  the  whole 
thing.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  indefatigable 
man" — But  he  was  cut  short  again. 

The  attorney  for  Fyler  was  a  square-built 
man,  with  iron-gray  locks,  a  determined  eye 
and  look,  and  sat  confronting  the  witness 
through  his  evidence,  with  his  coat-cuflfs  rolled 
back. 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  he,  leaving  his  seat  and 
taking  a  place  where  he  could  put  his  face 
close  to  the  witness,  "  do  you  mean  to  say  that 
a  police  officer  has  suflScient  knowledge  of  law 
to  know  how  to  arrest  a  criminal  in  a  case  of 
arson  ?    Answer,  on  your  oath  !" 

"  Police  ofiicers  know  some  things,  as  well 
as  other  folks,"  he  replied,  looking  about  the 
court  to  the  constables  on  duty,  for  approval.  • 

"  Now,  tell  me,  sir — didn't  the  prisoner  tell 
you,  at  the  time  of  his  arrest,  that  he  was  Ba- 
rabbas.  King  of  the  Jews  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Yes,  sir— and  didn't  he  tell  you  that  his         # 
mother  was  Mary  Scott,  the  clear-starcher,  in 
Republican  aUey  ?" 

"  He  did." 

«  And  you  knew  his  name  was  Close.  One 
more  question;  didn't  he,  when  you  seized 
him,  order  your  arm  to  wither  ?" 

«  Yes,  sir,  he  did,  but  I  thought"— 

"  Never  mind  what  you  thought— you  forgot 
to  mention  these  rather  material  circumstances 
—that'll  do." 

Mr.  Smutch  being  next  called  upon  the  stand, 
corroborated  Mr.  Sloat  with  a  single  excep- 


274 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


tion ;  he  said  it  was  owing  to  Mr.  Sloat's  un- 
paralleled exertions  and  ingenuity  that  the  pris- 
oner was  arrested,  and  not  to  himself. 

During  the  testimony  of  these  witnesses,  Fy- 
ler  was  restless  and  uneasy,  constantly  mur- 
muring to  himself,  putting  on  and  taking  off 
his  dilapidated  hat,  and  dancing  his  feet  upon 
the  floor.  Having  at  length  drawn  the  atten- 
tion of  the  court  upon  him,  the  judge  asked 
whether  there  was  not  some  way  to  restrain 
the  prisoner.  Fyler's  counsel  answered  that 
he  believed  there  was  a  young  man  in  court 
who  was  familiar  with  his  ways,  and  who 
might  perhaps  be  able  to  pacify  him.  Where- 
upon Ishmael  Small  being  summoned,  came 
forward  from  behind  a  pillar,  whence  he  had 
watched  the  proceedings  of  Fyler  with  un- 
bounded delight. 

*'  Do  you  know  this  man  V  said  the  judge. 

"  A  little,  sir,"  answered  Ishmael,  scraping 
the  floor  with  his  foot,  and  waving  his  crape- 
bound  hat.  Ishmael  always  wore  a  weed  in 
public;  it  was  more  respectable,  and  made  the 
public  sympathize  with  him  as  a  bereaved 
young  gentleman. 

"Can  you  mention  anything  to  make  him 
quiet  ?" 

"  Nothin'll  make  him  comfortable,"  answer- 
ed Mr.  Small,  with  the  air  of  an  oracle,  for  the 
eyes  of  the  whole  court  room  were  upon  him — 
"  but  givin'  him  a  small  bag  of  gold  to  look 
at,  containin'  about  five  hundred  dollars." 

A  small  bag  of  gold  was  accordingly  sent 
for  at  a  neighboring  broker's,  in  the  name  of 
the  Oyer  and  Terminer ;  and  being  brought  in 
was  set  down  in  front  of  Fyler. 

"  You'll  have  to  shake  it,  sir,"  added  Ish- 
mael, appealing  to  the  court,  "  to  satisfy  him 
it's  the  full  sum." 

An  officer  was  directed  to  put  him  at  rest  on 
that  point.  As  soon  as  he  was  assured  it  con- 
tained honest  metal  to  the  proper  amount,  he 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  black  brand  on  the  out- 
side of  the  bag,  and  was  quiet. 

The  cobbler,  one  of  the  tenants  of  the  row, 
was  called  to  the  stand.  He  set  out  in  his 
testimony  with  a  protest  against  the  organ- 
ization of  the  court ;  avowed  a  hostility  to  all 
courts  and  forms  of  law — against  all  proceed- 
ings, officers,  sheriffs,  and  appurtenances  of 
law ;  and  was  at  last  brought  to  admit,  which 
was  the  gist  of  his  evidence,  that  with  his  wife 
he  was  in  Close's  row  on  the  evening  it  was 
•fired. 

The  lightning-maker  proved  a  much  more 
exuberant  and  productive  witness.  He  expa- 
tiated upon  the  domestic  comforts  he  had  en- 
joyed ;  shed  tears  when  he  spoke  of  his  two 
•children  and  his  lame  wife ;  and  concluded  by 
saying  he  never  was  more  taken  aback  in  his 
life,  except  once,  and  that  was  when  Commo- 
-dore  Decatur  was  struck  in  the  pit  of  his  stom- 
ach with  a  couple  of  quarts  of  lightning,  oflf 
Algiers.  When  called  upon,  in  his  cross-ex- 
amination, to  explain  this  incident  in  Decatur's 
•career,  he  stated  that  it  occurred  at  the  thea- 


tre, by  mistake,  when  Mr.  Smirk,  an  intem- 
perate gentleman,  performed  the  part  of  th« 
commodore. 

Two  or  three  other  tenants  of  the  row  were 
brought  forward,  who  showed  that  they  were 
at  home  in  the  row  when  the  fire  occurred ; 
and  the  district  attorney,  raising  his  voice, 
said,  «  We  rest !" 

Springing  from  his  chair  at  this  summons, 
Counsellor  Blast  unslipped  the  knot  of  his  tape- 
tied  bundle  of  papers,  and  dashed  them  side- 
wise  with  his  hand  so  that  they  spread  out  over 
the  table.  Confirming  the  backward  roll  of  his 
coat-cuffs,  and  dotting  the  floor  with  a  discharge 
of  tobacco  pellets,  he  addressed  the  jury,  in  a 
manner  peculiar  to  himself — sometimes  starting 
forward  with  double  fists,  as  if  it  were  his  pur- 
pose to  challenge  the  twelve  respectable  gen- 
tlemen before  him  to  a  personal  encounter,  and 
sometimes  ranging  up  and  down  their  front, 
discharging  a  broadside  of  invective  into  the 
jury-box  as  he  passed. 

He  had  never  risen,  he  said,  under  so  great 
a  sense  of  embarrassment  in  his  life,  as  in  the 
present  case.  His  client,  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar — a  poor,  friendless  old  man — looked  to  him 
as  his  last  hope,  the  final  wall  and  barrier  be- 
tween himself  and  ihe  grave  that  yawned  for 
him.  It  had  never  been  his  fortune  to  present 
to  a  court  and  jury  a  case  like  this  one,  so  full 
of  all  that  appealed  to  the  noblest  sympathies 
of  our  nature.  They  beheld  before  them,  in 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  a  melancholy  case — one 
of  the  most  melancholy  he  had  ever  known — 
of  mania  in  a  subdued  form.  The  unfortunate 
prisoner  was  non  compos  mentis,  as  he  meant  to 
show,  at  the  time  of  the  alleged  crime ;  and 
they  now  saw  in  him  a  wreck  of  what  he  had 
been. 

Fyler  Close,  gentlemen,  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar,  was  once  blessed  with  peace,  and  health, ' 
and  competence,  like  you ;   but  now  what  is 
he  ?     Behold  for  yourselves  !     (Fyler  was  busy 
eating  the  end  of  a  pipe-stem  which  had  been 
handed  to  him  by  his  counsel  before  he  rose  to 
open  the  case.)     His  faculties  are  all  in  disor- 
der;   his  eye  has  lost  its  lustre;   in  a  word, 
reason  has  left  its  throne.     By  a  series  of  mis- 
fortunes, gentlemen,  which  it  is  out  of  the  pow- 
er of  the  best  of  us  to  foresee  and  guard  against, 
this  unfortunate  prisoner  has  been  deprived  of 
all  he  possessed — and  at  one  time  it  was  con- 
siderable.    It  was  not  necessary  to  go  into  the 
particulars  of  this  loss ;  it  was  enough  to  say  - 
he  stood  before  them  that  day  pleading  in  be- 
half of  a  starving,  a  penniless,  and  a  houseless 
lunatic.     And  how  was  this  lunacy  brought 
on  ?     Why,  gentlemen,  as  you  have  doubtless   * 
anticipated  me,  by  the  peculiar  state  of  his  pe-*      I 
cuniary  affairs.     It  was  four  weeks  and  four  .  " 
days,  as  they  would  show  by  competent  testi-  ^ 
mony,  from  the  commission  of  the  alleged  act  y^t 
of  firing,  since  the  belief  first  entered  the  mind  ^  , 
of  the  prisoner  that  he,  the  prisoner,  was  an  >Vii 
angel  of  light.     We  will  show  you,  gentlemen, 
that  he  acted  up  to  the  belief;  and  we  will 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


175 


show  you  further,  that  he,  the  prisoner,  was  of 
the  opinion  that  when  he  had  served  out  a 
brief  apprenticeship  of  four  weeks  and  four 
days  as  a  rag-picker — being  all  this  time  an 
angel  of  light — he  would  become  a  regularly 
licensed  angel  of  Fire,  empowered  and  author- 
ized to  burn  buildings  and  kindle  conflagrations 
wherever  he  chose,  throughout  the  city  of  New 
York.  It  does  not  appear  that  his  patent  ex- 
tended beyond  that.  And  now,  gentlemen, 
continued  the  learned  counsel,  raising  his  voice, 
after  a  visit  to  his  papers  at  the  table ;  and 
now,  gentlemen,  how  is  this  borne  out  ?  Why, 
gentlemen,  by  the  most  incontrovertible  proofs 
that  all  his  habits  were  regulated  on  this  be- 
lief ^  that  he  conformed,  as  far  as  it  is  in  sinful 
man  to  conform  (this  was  for  the  Presbyterian 
juror,  in  ofi'set  to  the  prosecuting  attorney's 
appeal),  to  his  angelic  calling.  He  had  from 
that  time  forward  led  the  life  of  a  pure  spirit 
in  all  his  private  acts,  serving  out  only  his  pro- 
bation as  a  rag-picker.  If  he  succeeded  in 
showing  this — if  he  succeeded,  as  he  believed 
he  would,  in  proving  that  the  insane  belief  had 
taken  entire  possession  of  the  prisoner's  mind 
— how  much  soever  it  might  conflict  with  tlie 
policy  and  interests  of  insurers,  increasing  the 
risk,  as  it  did,  of  fires — how  much  soever  it  put 
to  the  blush  the  religious  portion  of  the  com- 
munity, who  had  had  in  this  poor,  aged  rag- 
picker, an  example  of  true  and  beautiful  hu- 
mility— he  was  sure  of  their  verdict. 

Mr.  Clerk,  call  Ishmael  Small. 

Counsellor  Blast  retreated  to  his  chair,  and 
Ishmael,  emerging  from  a  knot  of  officers  with 
whom  he  had  been  conferring,  passed  Fyler, 
casting  a  mournful  look  upon  him  as  he  went 
by,  and  appeared  in  the  witness's  stand,  with 
his  crape-wreathed  hat  upon  his  head. 

The  clerk  presented  the  Bible,  and  hinted  a 
removal  of  the  hat. 

"  Conscientious  scruples,  your  honor,"  said 
Ishmael,  looking  toward  the  judge,  and  laying 
his  right  hand  upon  his  breast.  "  The  'poc- 
ryphal — give  me  the  'pocryphal." 

It  being  found,  on  investigation,  that  the 
Apocryphal  books  were  not  included  in  the 
court  version,  Mr.  Small  consented  to  compro- 
mise matters  by  spreading  his  palm  upon  the 
blank  pages  between  the  Testaments,  and  was 
sworn. 

"Be  good  enough  to  tell  the  court  and  jury, 
Mr.  Small,"  said  Fyler's  counsel,  "  what  you 
know  of  the  belief  that  has  got  possession  of 
this  unfortunate  prisoner's  mind.  When  did 
you  first  begin  to  observe  svmptoms  of  his  mal- 
ady ?" 

"  I'm  inclined  to  think,"  answered  Ishmael, 
"  it's  a  long  time  since  he  thought  he  was  a 
angel  of  light ;  but  it's  only  lately — about  four 
weeks  and  four  days  before  the  fire,  as  you 
mentioned  in  that  eloquent  openin'  of  yours — 
since  he  took  up  the  business  regularly." 

"  He  seemed  to  consider  himself  a  sort  of  an- 
gel a  long  time  ago,  did  he  ?" 

"  He  did,  sir,  judgin'  by  his  conduct,"  con- 


tinued Mr.  Small.  "  He  seemed  to  despise  all 
sorts  of  plain  food ;  and  as  for  roast  beef  and 
baked  'taters,  the  very  smell  of  the  family 
dishes  from  the  baker's  down  stairs,  almost 
drove  him  mad." 

"  How  was  it  about  fire  and  clothing  ?" 

"  Worse  and  worse.  To  see  how  he  'ud  sit 
in  that  room  o'  his  in  the  sharp,  blowy  nights, 
countin'  the  bare  bricks  in  the  fire-place,  one 
would  ha'  thought  there  never  was  such  a  an 
gel  for  standing  low  temp-ratures  ;  and  as  for 
clothing,  he  thought  flannels  was  invented  by 
a  man  out  o'  work.  He  was  a  great  advocate, 
when  he  was  himself,  for  cut-down  shoes  and 
round-jackets.  That  was  Mr.  Close's  model 
for  a  well-dressed  angel." 

"  Did  Mr.  Close  ever  assume  such  a  dress 
himself  ?" 

"  He  did,  sir,  when  he  began  to  turn  out  as  a 
rag-picker.  He  was  to  be  a  rag-picker  four 
weeks  and  four  days,  and  then  he  was  to  be  a 
angel  of  fire." 

«  That  will  do,  Mr.  Small,"  said  Counsellor 
Blast ;  "  you  may  go  down." 

"Stop  a  minute,"  cried  the  prosecutor,  as 
Ishmael  was  stepping  from  the  stand.  "Do 
you  say,  sir — recollect  you  are  in  a  court  of 
justice" — 

"  I  do,  sir,"  interrupted  Ishmael,  "  and  I  feel 
a  veneration  for  that  plaster-head  over  there 
that  I  can't  express." 

The  audience  turned  in  a  body  toward  the 
nondescript  bust  fixed  in  a  niche  of  the  oppo- 
site wall,  and  laughed.  The  court  ordered  si- 
lence ;  the  officers  shouted  silence ;  and  an 
echo,  to  the  same  eflfect,  came  from  the  niche 
where  the  cast  in  plaster  stood ;  and  the  district 
attorney  put  his  question  directly — 

"Do  you  say  that  this  prisoner's  conduct  has 
been,  since  the  time  you  speak  of,  that  of  an 
angel  ?" 

"  Not  havin'  the  pleasure  of  a  personal  ac- 
quaintance in  that  sphere  of  life,"  answered 
Ishmael,  "  I  wouldn't  say." 

"  I  will  ask  you,"  continued  the  district  at- 
torney, "  if  you  don't  know  that  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  taking  heavy  usury  on  money  which 
he  loaned  ?" 

"  If  he  did  take  twenty  or  thirty  per  cent. 
from  a  seedy  feller,  now  and  then,  he  learned 
it  from  a  church-member  that  he  knew — and 
he  was  the  most  angel-like  gentleman  that  ever 
come  to  see  him.  The  church-member  used  to 
tell  Fyler  he  felt  the  cherrybim's  wings  a-fan- 
ning  him." 

"  Then  you  consider  the  prisoner  an  angel, 
do  you  ?" 

"  All  things  considered,"  answered  Ishmael, 
pondering  and  turning  his  hat  in  his  hands,  "  I 
do.  If  there  ever  was  a  angel  on  earth,  he 
was  one." 

"  It's  a  lie ;  he  was  a  thumping  villain !" 
cried  a  voice  in  the  crowd. 

The  court  started  to  their  feet ;  the  lawyers 
sprang  up  and  turned  around ;  the  officers  ran 
to  and  fro,  shaking  their  staves,  and  on  lh< 


276 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


lookout  for  the  offender  j  there  was  a  universal 
commotion. 

"Bring  that  man  up!"  shouted  the  chief 
judge.  The  officers  echoed  the  order  from  one 
to  the  other ;  every  eye  was  hunting  for  the 
culprit — yet  he  was  not  found. 

The  prisoner  knew  the  voice  well,  and  would 
have  named  the  peace-breaker  if  he  had  dared. 
It  was  the  little  old  man  who  had  been  the 
first  at  the  hall  gates  in  the  morning.  After  a 
while  tlie  excitement  subsided,  and  they  re- 
sumed business. 

"  I'd  like  to  have  that  gentleman  as  a  wit- 
ness," said  the  state's  attorney  to  a  brother 
counsellor,  in  a  whisper ;  and  then  to  Ishmael, 
who  was  withdrawing  from  the  stand — "  Are 
you  related,  in  any  way,  to  the  prisoner,  Mr. 
Small  ?" 

"  I  call  him  uncle,  sir,  sometimes,"  answered 
Ishmael,  falling  stupid,  suddenly,  at  the  ques- 
tion ;  "  I'd  call  you  uncle,  sir,  if  you'd  let 
me." 

"Has  it  ever  been  suggested  to  you  that 
there's  a  family  likeness  between  you  and  the 
prisoner  ?" 

**A  family  likeness,"  exclaimed  Ishmael, 
*'  between  me,  a  sinful  eater  of  cutlets,  and 
that  pure-minded  old  gentleman  that  lives  on 
fresh  air  and  sea-biscuit !  Don't  mention  sich 
a  thing  again,  sir ;  you  hurt  my  feelings !" 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  the  district  attorney ; 
«  you  may  go  down,  sir." 

Ishmael  touched  his  hat  to  the  judge,  and 
making  a  graceful  bow  to  the  court-room  gen- 
erally, descended  to  common  life,  and  resumed 
his  post  as  an  observer,  as  before. 

The  next  that  appeared  in  behalf  of  the  de- 
fence, was  a  sharp-eyed  little  man  (the  dealer 
in  crockery,  whom  Fyler  had  foreseen  as  a  wit- 
ness), who  hopped  upon  the  stand,  and  was 
very  uneasy  till  he  was  sworn  ;  a  rite  which 
he  seemed  to  enjoy. 

"You  know  the  prisoner,  I  believe,"  sug- 
gested Fyler's  counsel. 

"  I  do,  sir,"  answered  the  crockery-dealer, 
fastening  upon  the  rail  before  him  with  both 
hands,  and  jerking  his  body  back  and  forth  as 
he  delivered  his  testimony.  "  His  name  is  Fy- 
ler Close ;  he  lives  in  Pell  street,  up  one  pair 
of  stairs  ;  there's  a  bakery  underneath,  with  a 
back  yard ;  there's  a  cistern  in  the  yard,  but 
the  water  isn't  good — that's  owing  to  pigeon- 
houses  in  the  next  street ;  there  isn't  a  finer 
collection  of  pigeons  in  the  city,  however — the 
owner's  a  potter  baker  in  Doyer  street — a  large 
man,  with  a  wen  on  his  nose" — 

«  Stop,  stop !"  cried  Mr.  District  Attorney 
Pndlin,  as  he  would  have  done  to  a  runaway 
horse;  "you  must  come  a  little  nearer  the 
case ;  we  don't  want  Longworth's  Directory." 

"  Be  good  enough  to  tell  the  court,"  resumed 
Counsellor  Blast,  "  what  you  know  of  an  aber- 
ration of  mind  on  the  part  of  the  prisoner.  An- 
swer directly,  if  you  please." 

"  I  will  answer  directly,"  said  the  crockery- 
dealer  ;  "  and  I  know  this  much :  I  was  stand- 


ing in  my  shop-door — if  the  court  please — in 
the  month  of  June  last,  looking  about  me,  as 
is  my  custom,  when  about  two  blocks  off  I 
saw" — 

"  Two  blocks  ?"  interrupted  the  district  at- 
torney. 

"  Yes,  sir,  two  blocks  !"  retorted  the  crock- 
ery-dealer,- rather  angrily  ;  "  I  saw  a  man  en- 
gaged— he  was  about  five  feet  high,  a  little 
under,  perhaps — the  sun  was  setting  up  the 
street — and  I  saw  his  face  was  as  pale  as  a 
white  china  dinner-set ;  he  had  on  a  blue  round- 
about, a  broad  straw  hat,  and  he  was  running 
backward  and  forward  in  the  gutters  at  a  ter- 
rible rate,  stooping  down  and  raising  up  like 
whalebone.  *  I  see  how  it  is,'  said  I  to  myself; 
'judging  by  the  rate  at  which  he's  at  work, 
that's  an  insane  rag-picker.'  Presently  he 
works  his  way  down  directly  opposite  my  shop 
— I  keep  in  Division  street,  gentlemen  of  the 
jury.  No.  19^,  chinaware,  earthernware,  and 
everything,  of  the  first  quality — and  by  that 
time  his  basket  was  brim-full  and  running  over 
the  top  of  the  handle;  and  I  saw  it  was  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar." 

"  Well,  sir,  was  there  anything  peculiar  in 
his  look  at  that  time  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

"  There  was,  sir ;  he  looked  sidewise  out  of 
both  eyes  at  once.  I  saw  the  mania  was  com- 
ing on  him  strong,  for  he  began  to  fumble  with 
his  jacket  buttons,  and  whistled  for  an  invisi- 
ble dog." 

"What  was  the  dog's  name,  sir;  perhaps 
you'll  be  good  enough  to  give  us  that,"  said 
the  prosecuting  attorney,  looking  at  the  jury 
and  then  at  the  witness. 

"  He  didn't  whistle  it  quite  slow  enough  to 
make  it  out,"  answered  the  omniscient  dealer 
in  crockery ;  "  but  as  soon  as  he  whistled,  and 
the  dog  didn't  come,  I  know  he  dashed  his 
basket  upon  the  ground,  and  running  backward 
first,  came  back  to  the  basket  again  with  such 
a  supernatural  leap  as  I  shall  never  see  again 
while  I  live ;  and  this  he  kept  doing  till  it  was 
broad  dark,  and  when  I  went  in  to  strengthen 
myself  with  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  piece  of  toast 
(I  like  my  toast  done  brown,  please  your  honor), 
against  the  shock  of  such  a  pitiful  sight,  leav- 
ing my  shop-boy  to  keep  an  eye  on  it.  When 
I  got  back,  the  basket  was  gone,  the  prisoner 
at  the  bar  was  gone ;  and  when  I  came  to  ques- 
tion the  boy,  I  found  out" — 

"  That  will  do,  sir,"  interrupted  the  district 
attorney,  bringing  him  to  a  dead  pause ;  "  we 
don't  want  to  know  what  your  boy  said,  or 
what  your  boy  saw.  Now,  sir,  if  your  friends 
can  spare  you,  I'll  put  a  question  or  two  to  you." 

"  He's  your  witness,  sir,"  said  Counsellor 
Blast,  waiving  his  hand  over  the  table. 

"Now,  sir,  you  say  you  judged  the  prisoner 
to  be  insane  from  the  rate  at  which  he  was 
picking  rags  into  his  basket  when  you  first  saw 
him.     How  fast  would  that  be,  sir  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,"  rejoined  the  witness,  not  taken 
by  surprise  in  the  least,  "  a  sane  man  might 
pick  a  ton  a  day." 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


m 


«  Then  an  insane  one  would  pick  a  ton  and 
a  quarter,  perhaps  ?" 

**  No,  I  don't  think  that  would  be  conclusive 
of  his  insanity — a  ton  and  a  half  might." 

"Will  you  be  good  enough  to  account  for 
the  remarkable  observation  you  have  made; 
how  do  you  explain  it  ?"  smiling  to  the  jury. 

"  Why,  sir,  if  the  court  will  pardon  me,  I 
should  say  it  was  owing  to  an  increased  ner- 
vous vitality  in  the  fingers" — 

"  You  needn't  go  any  farther,"  interrupted 
Counsellor  Blast ;  "  We  are  done  with  you, 
and  much  obliged.  We  have  a  medical  gen- 
tleman here,  Mr.  District  Attorney,  who  will 
perhaps  be  able  to  put  your  mind  at  ease  on 
that  point.  Will  Dr.  Mash  be  good  enough  to 
take  the  stand  ?" 

At  this  request  a  stout  gentleman  in  a  red 
face,  a  red  camlet  wrapper,  as  much  overrun 
with  frogs  as  the  land  of  Egypt  itself,  and  bear- 
ing in  his  hand  a  burly  cane  with  an  ivory 
head,  came  forward,  and  climbing  into  the  wit- 
ness-station, propped  himself  with  both  hands 
upon  the  cane,  and  looked  steadily  at  Fyler's 
counsel,  in  waiting  for  a  question.  He  was 
evidently  loaded  to  the  very  mouth. 

"  Dr.  Mash  is  so  well  known  that  I  will  not 
put  the  usual  questions  as  to  how  long  he  has 
practised,  &c.,"  said  Fyler's  counsel ;  "  will 
you  be  good  enough  to  oblige  the  court.  Dr. 
Mash,  with  a  definition  of  insanity  ?" 

"  Insanity,  I  would  say,  sir,"  answered  the 
doctor,  swelling  till  he  strained  his  very  red 
camlet  coat- fastenings,  with  professional  pride ; 
"  insanity,  I  would  say,  sir,  is  a  general  loose- 
ness or  incoherence  of  ideas,  brought  on  by 
the  overaction  of  the  brain.     For  instance" — 

*'  Ah,"  interposed  Fyler's  counsel  with  def- 
erence, "  you  will  favor  the  court  by  giving 
an  example." 

"  I  will,  sir,"  rejoined  the  doctor ;  «  for  in- 
stance, if  the  district  attorney,  there,  should 
become  so  engrossed  in  his  duties  as  a  public 
officer,  as  to  put  the  fines  he  collects  into  his 
own  pocket,  instead  of  carrying  them  to  the 
city  treasury;  that  would  be  a  case  of  limit- 
ed mania,  or  partial  insanity." 

There  was  a  general  laugh  at  this  view  of 
the  case. 

"  That  would  be  an  example  of  looseness  of 
ideas  brought  on  by  overaction  of  the  brain, 
would  it  ?"  asked  Counsellor  Blast,  grinning. 
«  How  would  that  apply  to  the  case  of  the  pris- 
oner V" 

"  Very  clearly,  sir,"  answered  the  doctor ; 
« the  sudden  loss  of  fortune,  fixing  the  mind 
upon  one  point  constantly — that  of  the  loss  in 
question — would  exhaust  the  recuperative  pow- 
ers of  the  other  faculties;  and  the  conse- 
quence would  be,  that,  in  a  very  short  time, 
the  brain  would  go  by  the  board." 

"  Have  you  had  opportunities  of  observing 
the  deportment  of  the  prisoner  before  to-day?" 

« I  have,  sir ;  and  I  am  decidedly  of  opin- 
ion, as  I  was  then,  that  he  is  disordered  in  rea- 
18 


son.  I  have  seen  him  in  the  public  streets, 
and  such  were  my  convictions  as  a  profession- 
al man,  that  I  thought  the  public  safety  re- 
quired that  he  should  be  lodged  in  an  asylum.'* 

«  That's  all.  Dr.  Mash." 

"  Stop  a  minute,  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Attorney 
Pudlin ;  "  perhaps  you  will  be  good  enough  to 
tell  us  who  first  called  your  attention  to  the 
lunacy  of  the  prisoner  ?" 

"  I  think  it  was  the  young  gentleman  on  the 
stand  this  morning,"  answered  the  doctor. 

"  You  think  ? — you  know  it  was.  Dr.  Mash," 
pursued  the  district  attorney ;  "  and  now,  tell 
me,  sir,  hadn't  you  a  suspicion  all  along  that 
this  was  a  got-up  thing  between  the  prisoner 
and  that  young  gentleman  ?" 

"  Not  the  slightest,"  said  the  learned  doctor. 
"He  seemed  to  be  a  benevolent  young  person, 
who  meant  well  by  the  community — and  I  gave 
him  a  certificate  of  prisoner's  lunacy." 

At  this  there  was  another  general  laugh 
through  the  court-room  ;  everybody  that  had 
seen  Ishmael  seeming  to  be  pretty  thoroughly 
satisfied  that  he  was  badly  treated  when  he  was 
called  a  philanthropist. 

"  You  did,  eh  ?"  said  the  district  attorney ; 
"  then  the  sheep  was  wronged  that  was  killed 
to  furnish  your  diploma  :  we  are  done  with 
you — you  are  not  wanted  any  more." 

Dr.  Mash  went  down,  clinging  to  his  cane 
in  his  vexation  till  the  sweat  poured  from  his 
brow. 

"  As  it  may  be  as  well  to  set  the  jury  right 
on  this  question  of  insanity,  I'd  like  to  put  a 
question  or  two  to  Dr.  Parsley,  if  he  is  ia 
court,"  said  Mr.  Attorney  Pudlin. 

Dr.  Parsley,  being  called,  came  forward 
briskly.  He  was  a  little  bald-headed  man, 
with  glasses,  and  a  nose  as  red  and  shining  as 
a  cherry.  He  hopped  into  the  witness-stand 
smartly — and  having  his  coat  buttoned,  and  a 
slight  shrub  of  hair  brushed  away  from  either 
side  of  his  head,  to  give  him  a  more  formida- 
ble appearance — he  stood  ready  for  question- 
ing. 

"  Dr.  Parsley,  will  you  be  good  enough  to 
give  the  court  your  definition  of  insanity?" 
asked  the  district  attorney. 

"  With  pleasure,"  answered  the  bald-headed 
doctor,  speaking  up ;  "  insanity,  according  to 
my  notion,  is  a  general  concentration,  not  a 
looseness,  of  ideas,  superinduced  by  the  apathy 
or  imperfect  action  of  the  rest  of  the  brain." 

"Do  you  think  the  prisoner  insane,  from 
what  you  have  heard  ?" 

« I  do  not,  sir." 

"WiU  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  the  court 
and  jury.  Dr.  Parsley,  why  you  think  the  pris- 
oner not  insane  ?" 

"  I  will,  sir,  with  great  pleasure,"  answered 
the  doctor.  « It  appears,  from  a  part  of  the  tes- 
timony, that  the  prisoner,  in  his  supposed  at- 
tacks of  the  disease,  jumped  backward  and  for- 
ward over  a  basket.  It  does  not  appear  that 
he  ever  jumped  into  the  basket.    Now,  insane 


2718 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


men — as  far  as  my  observation  extends,  and  it 
has  been  by  no  means  limited — always  jump 
into  a  basket,  when  they  get  a  chance." 

"  He  is  your  witness,"  said  the  district  at- 
torney. 

"One  question,  only,  doctor.  How  does 
that  agree  with  your  definition  ?"  asked  Coun- 
sellor Blast. 

"Well  enough — in  this  way,  sir.  If  his 
mind  had  been  concentrated,  or  overtasked  to 
an  insane  degree,  he  must  have  jumped  into 
the  basket." 

The  case  was  now  mainly  closed,  and  a  clerk 
of  the  Phoenix  company  being  called  only  to 
show  that  the  buildings  in  question  belonged 
to  Fyler  Close,  and  had  been  insured  for  a 
handsome  sum  in  that  company,  rather  more, 
in  fact,  than  their  real  value ;  the  court  sug- 
gested that  it  was  ready  to  hear  the  summing- 
up  of  the  prisoner's  counsel.  The  plea  for 
Fyler  was  brief: — he  was  an  old  man;  he 
had  lost  his  all ;  he  was  before  them  a  melan- 
choly spectacle  of  dethroned  reason ;  a  ver- 
dict of  guilty  would  be  a  judicial  murder ;  and 
he  appealed  to  them  as  humane  men — men 
having  grandfathers  and  old  uncles,  to  deal  to 
the  prisoner  justice  tempered  with  mercy. 

The  district  attorney — hoisting  and  lower- 
ing his  waistcoat  incessantly,  in  the  intensity 
of  his  eloquence — followed  at  greater  length. 

He  had  proved  the  arson  beyond  all  ques- 
tion; the  prisoner's  counsel  had  yielded  that 
point ;  and  now,  as  for  1  he  insanity,  he  regard- 
ed it  as  a  fetch  from  beginning  to  end — there 
were  certain  eccentricities  in  the  prisoner,  to 
be  sure,  but  not  more  than  an  old  apple-wo- 
man exhibited  every  day  in  the  year.  There 
was  cunning,  he  was  inclined  to  think,  mixed 
with  the  prisoner's  madness.  Did  you  observe, 
gentlemen,  in  opening  this  case,  how  silent 
the  prisoner  was  when  his  own  counsel  was 
before  you  ?  and  yet,  when  I  addressed  you, 
you  recollect  he  was  as  busy  as  he  could  well 
be,  crushing  his  teeth  and  kicking  the  table  in 
the  legs.  You  can  draw  your  own  inference 
from  that,  gentlemen.  I  had  expected  to  prove 
that  the  young  gentleman  who  appeared  on  the 
stand,  was  more  nearly  connected  with  the 
prisoner  by  ties  of  blood  than  he  was  willing 
to  admit ;  that  a  corrupt  understanding  existed 
between  them  in  relation  to  the  circumstances 
of  the  present  case,  there  could  be  no  reasona- 
ble doubt.  I  have  now  done  my  duty,  gentle- 
men of  the  jury,  as  prosecuting  officer,  and  it  on- 
ly remains  for  you,  as  good  citizens,  to  do  yours. 

Calling  an  officer  to  him,  and  whispering 
him  to  bring  a  tumbler  of  brown-stout,  by  the 
private  stairs,  and  place  it  in  the  folds  of  the 
ermine— the  red  curtain  behind  him— to  be 
ready  when  he  was  through,  the  long  judge 
rose  from  his  chair,  drawing  himself  out,  joint 
by  joint,  and  proceeded  to  charge  the  jury.  As 
the  sole  object  of  the  long  judge  seemed  io  be 
to  wrap  the  case  up  in  a  swathing  of  words 
and  generalities,  to  prevent  its  taking  cold,  it 
would  be  impossible  to  do  him  anything  like 


justice  in  a  report.  The  result  was,  that  af- 
ter he  had  been  on  his  legs  better  than  two 
hours,  when  the  clock  numbered  toward  mid- 
night, the  jury — all  abroad  as  to  the  facts,  the 
law,  and  the  equity — were  put  in  charge  of  an 
officer  and  led  ofl'  through  a  door  into  a  small, 
dusty,  cobwebbed,  candle-lighted  room,  where 
they  were  locked  in,  in  company  with  a  small 
square  table,  to  meditate  upon  the  case. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


THE   JURY-ROOM. 


For  the  first  few  minutes  after  they  entered 
the  jury-room,  not  a  word  was  spoken ;  they 
sat  around  the  square  table,  which  just  held 
twelve,  with  their  heads  toward  the  centre, 
watching  each  other's  faces  sharply  for  the 
first  glimpses  of  a  verdict. 

A  spider's  thread  fell  from  the  ceiling  and 
hung  dangling  above  the  table,  bearing  a  fly 
struggling  at  its  end. 

"  Guilty,  or  not  guilty,  gentlemen  ?"  said 
the  foreman,  a  close-shaven,  blue-faced  man, 
with  glittering  eyes,  glancing  round  the  board 
as  he  put  the  question  by  way  of  breaking 
ground. 

*'  Guilty,  for  one !"  answered  a  fat  citizen 
on  his  right  hand,  sweeping  the  struggling  fly 
into  his  hat,  which  he  produced  suddenly  from 
behind  his  chair.  "  We  must  have  an  exam- 
ple, gentlemen.  The  last  three  capital  indict- 
ments got  ofl",  and  now  it's  the  sheriflf's  turn 
for  a  pull.     We  must  have  an  example." 

"  Three  for  breeders  and  the  fourth  to  the 
bull-ring,"  spoke  up  a  gentleman  with  a  deep 
chest  and  brawny  arms.  "  That's  the  rule  at 
the  slaughterhouse ;  we  always  follow  it — and 
so  I  say  guilty,  if  the  rest's  agreeable." 

But  the  rest  were  not  agreeable ;  and  they 
launched  into  an  elaborate  and  comprehensive 
discussion  of  the  case,  led  on  by  a  high-cheeked 
gentleman  in  a  white  neckcloth,  who  begged 
to  ask  whether  any  one  there  was  prepared  to 
say  whether  angels  could,  under  any  circum- 
stances, become  rag-pickers.  That  was  the 
gist  of  the  case.  There  might  be  angels  of 
fire — he  had  heard  an  excellent  discourse  on 
that  subject  in  the  Brick  church — and  that 
would  account  for  the  prisoner's  burning  the 
buildings.  He  had  been  rather  pleased  with 
the  district  attorney's  calling  Fyler  Close  the 
demon  of  that  element ;  but  then,  would  it  be 
in  character  for  a  demon  to  go  about  with  a 
basket  and  a  hooked  stick  ?  He  couldn't  see 
into  it  just  yet — he  would  like  to  hear  the  opin- 
ion of  the  other  gentlemen  of  the  jury  on  that 
point. 

"  It  isn't  always  easy  to  tell  them  insane 
chaps  at  first  sight,"  pursued  another,  a  short 
juror,  who,  resting  his  elbows  upon  the  table, 
looked  out  from  between  them  with  flat  face 
and  saucer  eyes,  fading  far  away  in  his  head, 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


279 


like  the  hero  of  a  country  signboard.  «  There 
was  one  of  'em  got  into  our  house  in  Orchard 
street  one  day,  and  when  he  was  caught  he 
was  at  work  on  a  stun'  lemon  with  his  teeth 
like  vengeance.  Now,  that  was  insanity  at 
first  view,  but  when  we  come  to  find  his  pock- 
ets full  of  silver  spoons  and  table-knives,  that 
was  compos  mentis  and  the  light  of  reason." 

"  How  many  stun'  lemons  would  you  have  a 
feller  eat,  I'd  like  to  know,"  retorted  the 
deep-chested  member,  "  to  make  it  out  a  reg'- 
lar  case  ?" 

"  One  full-grown'd  satisfy  me,"  answered 
the  signboard,  "  other  gentlemen  might  require 
more." 

The  board  was  unanimous  on  this  point,  one 
would  be  enough. 

"  I'd  have  you  take  notice  of  one  thing,  gen- 
tlemen," said  a  thin  little  man,  starting  in  at 
this  moment  from  a  corner  of  the  table,  with 
a  nose  like  a  tack,  and  eyes  like  a  couple  of 
small  gimlet-holes.  "There  was  a  point  in 
the  testimony  of  that  Sloat — the  police  officer 
— that's  very  important,  and  what's  better,  it 
escaped  the  district  attorney,  and  the  prison- 
er's counsel,  and  the  very  judge  on  the  bench. 
Now,  I  want  your  attention,  gentlemen.  You 
will  recollect  that  Sloat  testifies  to  a  man  in  a 
gray  overcoat  going  into  an  alley  in  Scammel 
street  and  getting  into  the  basement  of  Close's 
row.  That  was  the  incendiary,  no  one  doubts 
that.  "Very  good.  And  then  Sloat  goes  a  lit- 
tle further,  and  says  he  is  gone  long  enough  to 
play  a  couple  of  games  of  dominoes ;  and  when 
he  gets  back,  he  says  a  man  went  by  the  alley 
— mark  that — went  by  the  alley  and  down 
Scammel  street.  That  wasn't  the  incendiary, 
was  it  ?  By  no  means,  gentlemen.  Where 
was  he  then  all  this  time  ?  I'll  tell  you."  He 
drew  his  breath  hard,  and  turned  quite  pale  as 
he  looked  around.  "  It's  my  opinion,  gentle- 
men, the  incendiary  was  roasted  alive  in  the 
basement  of  them  buildings." 

There  was  a  shudder  through  the  jury-room ; 
the  jurors  turned  about  to  each  other  and 
said,  "Who  would  have  thought  of  that?" 
and  it  was  admitted  on  all  hands  to  be  a  very 
plausible  and  acute  conjecture  and  well- worthy 
of  the  gentleman  in  the  eyelets  and  tack-shaped 
nose. 

"  It  can't  be,"  said  the  fat  citizen,  balancing 
liis  hat  in  his  two  hands,  and  looking  sternly 
at  the  fly  in  the  bottom  of  the  crown.  "  If  you 
could  only  make  that  out,  we  might  let  this 
prisoner  at  the  bar  off.  I  can't  believe  he  was 
so  nicely  caught.  No,  no,  if  that  had  been 
the  case,  somebody  would  have  found  the 
bones  done  brown  and  a  pair  of  shoe-buckles. 
cDon't  give  way,  I  beg  you,  gentlemen,  to  the 
pleasing  illusion." 

And  so  saying,  he  knocked  his  hat  upon  his 
head  and  smothered  the  fly. 

« I  have  great  faith  in  that  china-ware  wit- 
ness," said  the  gentleman  in  the  signboard 
face.  "  He  was  right  in  that  observation  of 
his  ;  a  man  out  of  his  wits  always  talks  to  peo- 


I  pie  a  couple  o'  hundred  miles  oflf,  and  whis- 
I  ties  for  a  invisible  dog.  I  had  a  cousin,  gen- 
tlemen of  the  jury,  that  went  mad  as  he  waa 
coming  through  this  'ere  Park  one  day ;  he 
was  a  boat-captain,  and  was  a  comin'  from  his 
sloop,  and  he  asked  the  liberty-goddess  a-top 
of  the  hall  to  take  snufl'  with  him.  On  recon- 
siderin',  I  think  Fyler  Close's  is  a  case  of  lu- 
nat-ics." 

Two  or  three  other  jurors  thought  as  much. 

"  That  mug  of  beer  satisfied  me,"  said  one. 

"  Would  he  ha'  sp'ilt  a  new  hat  that  his 
counsel  had  bought  to  give  him  a  respectable 
first  appearance  in  court  with,  do  you  think. 
Bill,"  said  another,  appealing  to  the  last 
speaker,  "  if  his  head  hadn't  a  been  turned 
clean  round  ?  It's  a  gone  ninepin,  that  head  o* 
his." 

"  Now,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  you  must  ex- 
cuse me  a  few  minutes,  if  you  please,"  said  a 
stout,  rugged,  hard-headed  gentleman,  with 
heavy  eyebrows,  rising  at  one  end  of  the  table, 
and  thrusting  back  his  skirts  with  both  hands. 
"  This  is  a  great  moral  question,  whether  the 
prisoner  shall  be  hung  or  not.  Am  I  right  ?" 
"  You  are  !"  "  you  are !"  from  several  voices 
at  the  upper  end  of  the  table.  "  A  great  moral 
question,  I  say ;  and  it's  owing  to  a  great  moral 
accident  that  I  am  with  you  this  day,  for  if  I 
hadn't  eaten  too  many  tomcods  for  my  supper 
last  night,  I  should  have  been  oflf  in  the  seven 
o'clock  boat  this  morning,  to  the  anniversary 
of  the  Moral  Reform  at  Philadelphia.  Now  the 
community  looks  to  us  for  action  in  this  case. 
If  this  man  escapes,  who  can  be  hung  ?  Where's 
the  safety  for  life  and  property  if  we  can't  hang 
a  man  now  and  then  ?  Hanging's  the  moral 
lever  of  the  world,  and  when  the  world's  grown 
rotten  by  laying  too  much  on  one  side,  why,  we 
hang  a  man  and  all  comes  right  again.  If  we 
don't  hang  Fyler  Close,  he'll  hang  us — moral- 
ly, I  mean." 

This  was  a  director  in  a  fire  company,  who 
had  smuggled  himself  upon  the  jury  by  giving 
out  that  he  was  a  gentleman,  and  blinded  Fy- 
ler's  counsel  by  hinting  that  he  was  doubtful 
of  the  policy  of  hanging ;  what  he  said  pro- 
duced a  sensation  in  the  jury-room.  The 
twelve  judges  began  to  put  it  to  themselves, 
some  of  them,  whether  premiums  wouldn't  go 
up  if  this  house-burner  escaped ;  others,  that 
New  York  might  be  burned  to  a  cinder  if  this 
wasn't  put  a  stop  too,  somehow  or  other  (there 
had  been  a  brilliant  and  well-sustained  series 
of  fires  for  better  than  a  twelvemonth)  ;  and 
others,  that  as  he  had  failed  to  turn  his  insan- 
ity to  the  best  account  by  hanging  himself,  they 
would  take  it  ofl'  his  hands  and  attend  to  it — 
as  he  was  a  decrepit  old  gentleman — for  him. 

"Pardon  me,  gentlemen,"  said  the  foreman, 
at  this  stage  of  feeling ;  "  I  think  this  is  a  clear 
case  for  the  sheriflf.  The  prisoner  is  an  old 
man ;  he  has  no  friends — not  a  relation  in  the 
world,  one  of  the  witnesses  said ;  he's  lost  his 
property— and  as  for  his  wits,  you  see  what 
they're  worth.    Now,  the  next  candidate  that 


280 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


comes  along  may  be  a  fine  black-haired,  rosy 
young  fellow,  who  may  have  tickled  a  man 
with  a  sword-cane,  or  something  of  that  sort, 
with  a  number  of  interesting  sisters,  an  aged 
mother,  and  a  crowd  of  afflicted  connexions. 
You  see  what  a  plight  we  would  be  in  if  we 
should  happen  to  be  drawn  on  that  jury.  Are 
you  agreed,  gentlemen  V 

There  was  not  a  little  laying  of  heads  to- 
gether; discussion  in  couplets,  triplets,  and 
quadruplets ;  and  in  the  course  of  two  hours 
more  they  agreed,  and  rose  to  call  the  officer 
to  marshal  them  into  court. 

"  Stop  a  minute,  gentlemen,  if  you  please," 
said  the  fat  citizen;  "this  is  a  capital  case, 
you  will  recollect,  and  it  wouldn't  be  decent  to 
go  in  under  five  hours." 

"  He's  right,"  said  the  foreman,  and  "  you 
may  do  what  you  choose  for  an  hour." 

Two  of  the  jury  withdrew  to  a  bench  at  the 
side  of  the  room,  where,  standing  close  to  the 
wall,  one  of  them  planting  his  foot  upon  the 
bench  and  bending  forward,  entered  upon  a 
whispered  interview.  Two  more  remained  at 
the  table;  while  the  others  grouped  them- 
selves in  a  window  looking  forth  upon  the 
Park,  in  the  rear  of  the  hall,  and  amused  them- 
selves by  watching  a  crowd  that  had  gathered 
there,  under  a  lamp,  and  who  began  making 
signs  and  motions  to  them  as  soon  as  they 
showed  themselves.  The  most  constant  occu- 
pation of  the  crowd  seemed  to  be  passing  a  fin- 
ger about  the  neck,  and  then  jerking  it  up,  as 
though  pulling  at  a  string,  with  a  clicking  sound, 
which — when  once  or  twice  they  lifted  the 
window,  and  as  it  seemed  to  be  the  most  pop- 
ular and  prevailing  sound — could  be  distintly 
heard. 

"  This  is  the  luckiest  thing  that  could  have 
happened  in  the  world,"  said  one  of  the  two 
jurors  that  had  taken  to  the  wall — the  gentle- 
man in  the  sharp  nose  and  weazel  eyes — ad- 
dressing himself  to  the  deep-chested  juror  with 
brawny  arms,  who  was  the  other ;  « I  wanted  to 
speak  to  you  about  that  black-spotted  heifer, 
and  this  is  just  the  chance." 

"  You  couldn't  speak  on  a  more  agreeable 
subject,"  retorted  the  deep-chested  gentleman ; 
"  but  you  mustn't  expect  me  to  take  ofl'  the 
filing  of  a  copper  from  the  price ;  what  I  asks 
at  Bull's  Head  this  morning,  I  asks  now." 

"  I  know  your  way,"  rejoined  the  other ; 
"  you  never  come  down  even  the  value  of  a  glass 
of  beer  to  bind  the  bargain ;  but  it  wasn't  that 
— what  grass  was  she  fatted  on  ?" 

« Short  blue,"  answered  the  deep-chested 
gentlemen,  firmly. 

«  Any  salt  meadow  near  ?"  asked  the  other. 

"  Not  more  than  twenty  acres,"  responded 
the  deep-chested  juror,  with  the  air  oi'  a  gen- 
tleman carrying  all  before  him ;  «  and  swim- 
min'  a  healthy  run  o'  water,  a  rod  wide,  give 
the  critter  a  bellyful  any  time." 

"  Two  years  old  the  next  full  moon,  and  a 
cross  of  the  Durham  in  her,  I  think  ?" 


"  Not  a  cross  of  the  Durham,  I  tell  you," 
answered  the  deep-chested  gentleman,  raising 
his  voice  a  little,  "but  the  Westchester  bot- 
tom, and  hasn't  known  a  dry  day  nor  a  parched 
blade  since  she  was  calved." 

"  No  Durham  blood  ?  I'm  sorry  for  that," 
said  the  sharp-nosed  gentleman.  "  If  you  could 
throw  me  in  that  lamb  I  took  a  fancy  to,  we 
would  close." 

"  Throw  you  in  the  lamb  ?  that's  a  good 
one  !"  cried  the  deep-chested  gentlemen,  burst- 
ing into  a  laugh  of  scorn.  "  Why,  I  wouldn't 
throw  you  in  the  singeing  of  that  lamb's  wool. 
Only  five-and-twenty  for  the  prettiest  heifer 
that  ever  hoofed  it  down  the  Third  avenue — 
and  throw  you  in  a  lamb !  That  is  a  good  one  !" 
And  he  burst  into  another  scornful  laugh. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  sharp-nosed  gentle- 
man, soothing  him  with  a  prompt  compliance. 
"  Drive  her  down  to  my  stable  as  soon  as  the 
verdict's  in." 

Meanwhile,  the  two  that  remained  at  the  ta- 
ble were  employed. 

"  Have  you  got  that  'ere  box  in  your  pocket. 
Bill  ?"  said  one  of  them,  a  personage  with  a 
smooth,  clean  face,  from  which  all  the  blood 
would  seem  to  have  been  dried  by  the  blazing 
gaslights  under  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
spend  his  time. 

"  To  be  sure  I  have,"  answered  the  other,  a 
gentleman  of  a  similar  cast  of  countenance, 
but  a  trifle  stouter.  "Did  you  ever  catch 
Slicksey  Bill  a  travelling  without  his  tools  ?" 
He  produced  a  well-worn  dicebox  from  his 
coat,  and  began  rattling.  "  What  shall  it  be  ?" 

"  The  highest  cast, '  guilty '  "  said  the  other, 
"  and  three  blanks  shall  let  him  go  clear. 
That'll  do,  won't  it  ?" 

"  Jist  as  good  as  the  best.  It's  your  first 
throw." 

The  other  took  the  box  in  hand,  gave  it  a 
hoarse,  rumbling  shake — three  fours.  The 
other  shook  it  sharply — two  blanks. 

"  Guilty,  by ,"  they  both  said  together. 

They  then  indulged  themselves  with  a  vari- 
ety of  fancy  throws,  as  to  the  state  of  the 
weather — the  winning  horse  at  the  next  Bea- 
con course — whether  the  recorder  (a  gentle- 
man in  whom  they  felt  a  special  interest),  would 
die  first,  or  be  turned  oft'  the  bench  by  the 
legislature.  Every  now  and  then  they  came 
back  to  the  case  of  the  prisoner,  and — what 
was  singular — the  result  was  always  the  same. 

The  hall  clock  struck  three — the  legitimate 
five  hours  were  up — and  the  jurors  gathered 
again  around  the  table. 

"  Gentlemen,  are  we  agreed  ?"  asked  the 
foreman. 

"  We  are  !"  answered  the  jury. 

"  Yes,  and  what's  queer,  we've  been  trymg 
it  with  dice,  and  every  time  it's  turned  out 
three  twelves  agin  the  prisoner ;  so  the  result's 
right,  any  way  you  can  fix  it — isn't  it  so.  Bill  ?" 

"  Exactly !"  answered  the  gentleman  ap- 
pealed to.    The  officer  was  summoned,  and, 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


281 


putting  himself  at  their  head,  they  marched 
into  the  court-room  with  the  air  of  men  who 
deserved  well  of  the  newspapers  for  their  moral 
firmness ;  and  who,  at  the  sacrifice  of  their 
own  feelings,  were  rendering  a  great  service  to 
the  community. 

The  court-room  was  nearly  a  blank.  The 
judge  and  the  two  aldermen  had  waited  with  ex- 
emplary patience  the  deliberations  of  the  jury, 
and  were  now  in  their  places  to  hear  the  result. 
Tyler's  counsel,  with  a  clerk,  was  there  also ; 
and  the  district  attorney,  and  the  clerk  of  the 
court,  and  two  or  three  officers  and  under- 
lings, loitering  about.  The  prisoner  himself 
sat  at  his  table,  a  little  pale,  it  seemed  in  the 
uncertain  light,  but  unmoved. 

The  crowd  of  spectators  had  dwindled  as 
the  clock  struck  ten — eleven — twelve.  Mr. 
Ishmael  Small,  after  tarrying  an  hour  or  two, 
had  gone  out  with  the  others,  and  disposed  of 
his  leisure  in  playing  a  new  game  of  ball,  of 
his  own  devising,  in  the  west  side  of  the  Park, 
with  a  crew  of  printers'  boys  from  the  neigh- 
boring offices. 

In  the  whole  outer  court-room  there  was 
but  a  single  spectator,  the  little  old  man  that 
had  been  the  first  at  the  hall  gates  in  the  morn- 
ing, who  looked  on,  leaning  against  a  remote 
column,  at  the  judges,  who,  from  that  distance, 
seemed,  in  the  dusky  shade  of  the  unsnufied 
candles  standing  about  them,  like  spectres  grad- 
ually fading  into  the  red  curtain  that  hung  at 
their  back.  ~ 

"  Mr.  Clerk,  call  the  jury  !"  said  the  chief 
judge,  in  a  voice  which  great  usage  on  the  trial 
and  the  incidents  of  the  place  made  to  sound 
sepulchral. 

The  jury  was  called,  man  by  man. 

"  Arraign  the  prisoner  \"  in  the  same  un- 
earthly and  startling  voice. 

The  prisoner  was  arraigned. 

"  What  say  you — gentlemen  of  the  jury — 
guilty,  or  not  guilty  ?" 

«  Guilty !" 

Fyler  started  for  a  moment,  but  instantly  re- 
covering himself,  smiled  vacantly  upon  the 
judge  and  jury,  and  began  whistling  as  de- 
scribed by  the  crockery -dealer.  The  little  old 
man  clasped  his  hands  firmly  together,  and 
breathed  an  earnest  thanksgiving  from  the 
dusky  corner  where  he  stood  alone.  In  a  few 
minutes  it  got  abroad  that  the  prisoner  was 
convicted — a  shout  shook  the  air  without, 
and,  presently,  a  crowd  rushed  in  that  filled 
the  hall  afresh.  The  prisoner  was  to  be  ta- 
ken out  by  the  private  way,  but  the  little  old 
man  was  not  to  be  cheated  this  time.  He  had 
urged  himself  through  the  press,  and  stood 
against  the  lintel  of  the  door  through  which 
he  must  pass.  In  a  few  minutes  he  came 
along.  When  Fyler  saw  who  it  was  that 
watched  his  steps,  he  glared  upon  him.  Hob- 
bleshank  gazed  after  him,  as  he  passed  away 
to  his  doom,  with  a  look  of  unrevengeful  tri- 
umph. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

MR.    close's   last   SPECULATION. 

In  the  Tombs'  prison,  where  he  lay  under 
sentence  of  death,  Fyler  Close  maintained,  as 
far  as  the  limits  of  his  cell  allowed,  the  same 
sports  and  humors  he  had  practised  in  the  open 
air.  The  turnkey,  who  had  charge  of  this 
range  of  cells,  whenever  he  looked  in  or 
brought  his  food,  never  failed  to  come  upon 
him  in  the  very  ecstacy  of  a  new  device  or 
gambol.  This  was  in  the  day,  when  Fyler 
would  place  himself  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
and  sit,  huddling  his  limbs  together,  gathering 
the  sun  that  streamed  in  at  the  window  of  the 
cell  at  certain  hours,  in  his  outspread  hands 
like  so  much  fire.  But  with  the  night  he  crept 
into  a  corner,  and  stood  shivering  and  driving 
ofl^  with  the  self-same  hands,  shapes  that 
swarmed  thicker  than  the  sun-beams  by  day. 
He  cursed  the  darkness ;  it  was  no  friend  of 
his.  The  very  first  night  he  had  lain  there 
after  the  trial,  he  got  into  the  corner  furthest 
from  the  door,  and  while  he  crouched  there,  the 
jurors  glided  across  the  floor,  one  by  one,  and 
whispered  in  his  ears,  "Guilty,"  then  after 
them  the  judge,  with  the  same  word  in  his 
mouth,  then  the  haberdasher,  the  poor  black- 
smith, Hobbleshank,  and  whoever  else  he  had 
dealt  with,  and  muttering  the  word  so  that  it 
hissed  in  his  ear,  passed  away. 

One  night  the  two  lamps  that  light  the 
prison-yard  at  the  rear,  and  lend  a  ray  or  two 
to  the  condemned  cells,  went  out ;  and  Fyler, 
vexed  beyond  measure,  dashed  his  hands 
against  the  door,  and  shouted  for  light — light ! 
They  left  him  alone,  supposing  it  was  some 
new  freak,  until  he  fell  down  in  his  agony,  and 
was  found  in  the  morning  pale  and  trembling, 
his  eyes  starting  from  his  head,  and  his  hair 
bristling  up.  The  keepers  wondered  what  he 
had  seen  to  stamp  such  a  horror  in  his  look. 
With  the  day  he  recovered  his  strength,  and 
tried  his  gambols  afresh.  It  was  the  second 
morning  after  this  that  the  turnkey  entered  his 
cell  and  placed  his  food  before  him,  standing 
aside  while  he  despatched  it  if  he  chose. 
This  officer  was  square  and  heavy  in  his  frame  ; 
but  with  one  of  his  lower  limbs  so  far  beyond 
the  other  in  length  that  he  had  the  appearance, 
as  he  came  along  the  gallery,  swinging  his 
long  arms  and  stretching  it  out  before  him,  of 
working  a  great  wheel  the  revolutions  of  which 
drove  him  on.  He  stood  against  the  door,  his 
long  limb  planted  before  him  like  a  table,  and 
on  this  he  rested  his  elbow,  and  regarded  Fyler, 
who  made  it  a  part  of  his  scheme  to  devour 
such  food  as  was  set  before  him  with  the  raven- 
ing eagerness  of  a  wolf. 

"  I  suppose  you're  aware  the  hanging  comes 
oflt  next  Friday  ?"  said  the  turnkey,  by  way  of 
sharpening  his  appetite. 

"That's  a  capital  idea!"  answered  Fyler 
Close,  looking  up  from  his  meal,  "  I  hope  I'll 


282 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


have  flitters  and   fresh  biscuit  for  breakfast 
that  morning  :  whose  to  be  hung,  eh  ?" — 

"  You  are  the  queerest  chap  !"  pursued  the 
turnkey,  slapping  his  long  leg  with  his  knuckles. 
"  Why,  next  Friday's  your  day — you  own  it 
and  can  do  just  what  you  please  with  it  till 
twelve  o'clock.  It's  only  a  half  apple,  after 
all.  Next  Friday's  got  no  afternoon  to  you, 
old  chap.  Now,  between  ourselves,  ain't  you 
afeard  to  die  ?" 

This  interrogatory  moved  Mr.  Close's  mirth- 
ful feelings  greatly ;  he  rose  from  his  bench, 
tossed  his  knife  and  fork  high  in  the  air,  and 
marching  to  the  basket  that  had  brought  his 
food,  and  which  was  at  the  turnkey's  side,  he 
cast  in  the  great  blue  plate  from  which  he  had 
eaten,  as  if  it  had  been  a  huge  coin,  and  said  : 
"There,  sir,  there's  two  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars  for  the  bread  and  steak.'^  He 
broke  into  a  dance  which  extended  through  the 
cell,  and  occasionally  included  his  bed,  upon 
which  he  mounted,  by  way  of  interlude. 

The  turnkey  was  answered ;  he  gathered  the 
basket  under  his  arm,  turned  for  a  look  at  Fy- 
ler,  shaking  his  head,  and  locking  the  door,  set 
his  wheel  in  motion  and  moved  away. 

A  week  only.  Fyler  began,  in  his  mind,  to 
see  the  gallows-tree  rising  in  the  yard.  Instead 
of  sleeping  now,  as  he  had  done  all  along, 
with  some  comfort,  he  spent  the  better  part  of 
the  night,  standing  upon  his  bed,  which  he  had 
drawn  there,  stretching  himself  up  his  whole 
length,  and  gazing  through  the  narrow  window 
of  his  cell,  to  catch  a  sight  of  men  moving  in 
the  yard  below,  or  the  stars,  or  the  line  of 
dusky  light  that  rose  beyond  the  prison-wall, 
where  men  were  free  and  walked  the  streets 
unchained.  A  week  only.  The  chance  of  a 
commission  to  inquire  into  his  madness,  with  a 
hope  of  which  he  had  toiled  so  hard  and  long 
in  his  freaks,  seemed  fading  fast  and  leaving 
him  manacled  more  than  ever.  One  trial  more 
and  he  would  fix  his  mind.  The  next  day 
when  the  turnkey  came  in  he  took  him  apart, 
as  though  there  had  been  a  great  crowd  listen- 
ing to  catch  every  word  that  dropped,  and  in  a 
mysterious  whisper  made  known  that  he  had 
great  news  for  the  keeper,  and  begged  him  to 
be  brought  at  once.  The  turnkey  turned  about 
and  stared  at  Fyler,  but  not  knowing  what 
there  might  be  in  his  wish,  went  away  and 
presently  came  back  announcing  that  the  keep- 
er was  at  hand.  This  was  no  sooner  made 
known  than  Fyler,  standing  out  upon  the  floor 
and  fixing  his  hand,  bent  up  after  the  fashion 
of  a  horn,  began  blowing  furious  blasts.  The 
keeper  was  a  stout  personage  with  an  inquir- 
ing nose  and  dark  brows;  he  stood  in  the 
door,  filling  it  to  a  hair,  and  looking  doubtfully 
at  Fyler,  asked  what  this  meant  ? 

"  Thai's  what  he  calls  his  final  trump,"  an- 
swered the  turnkey ;  «  he  was  blowing  trum- 
pets all  last  night." 

When  he  had  blown  not  less  than  forty 
peals,  Fyler  came  down  his  cell,  and  taking  the 
keeper  by  the  collar,  led  him  into  the  middle 


and  turned  him  about  so  that  he  faced  a  blan- 
ket pinned  against  the  wall.  Having  provided 
him  with  this  eligible  point  of  view,  he  pulled 
down  the  blanket  and  disclosed  a  great  number 
of  rude  figures,  sketched  upon  the  stone  in 
chalk. 

"  What's  all  this  ?"  asked  the  keeper,  again. 

"  You  know  he's  a  angel  of  fire,  sir,  as  was 
shown  at  the  Oyer,"  answered  the  turnkey ; 
"  and  these  is  his  victims  !" 

On  a  closer  inspection  one  of  them  was 
found  to  resemble  not  a  little  the  long  judge; 
there  was  another,  a  little  shambling  figure 
with  one  eye  out,  and  another,  heavy-browed, 
and  solid  of  port  as  he  could  be  made  to  ap- 
pear in  rude  chalk.  This  the  turnkey  thought 
was  a  juror  who  had  pressed  matters  against 
Fyler  at  the  trial.  They  were  all  scarcely 
more  than  scrambling  lines  upon  the  wall; 
about  them  was  a  great  pother  of  shrubby 
marks  and  scratches — this  was  the  fire. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  keeper  to  Fyler,  when 
he  had  studied  the  lines  a  while  ;  "  what  are 
you  going  to  do  with  these  gentlemen — with 
this  one  for  instance  ?"  pointing  to  the  long 
judge. 

"  He's  in  for  a  couple  of  hundred  years, 
only,"  answered  Fyler ;  "  but  it's  a  slow  fire, 
and  it'll  roast  him  tender  before  his  time's 
out." 

"  You  don't  give  a  juryman  as  much  as  a 
judge  ?"  asked  the  keeper. 

Fyler  feigned  to  be  all  abroad  for  an  answer 
till  the  question  was  renewed  by  the  turnkey, 
when  it  appeared  that  he  had  allotted  to  the 
juror  for  special  reasons,  a  fire  that  was  to  last 
three  hundred  and  twenty-five  years  and  a  day. 

But  the  fire  seemed  by  all  odds  to  rage  hot- 
test in  the  neighborhood  of  the  little  figure 
with  the  single  eye  ;  he  seemed  to  have  never 
tired  of  piling  on  the  fuel,  and  as  far  as  chalk 
could  represent,  it  was  all  a  live  coal.  At  first 
Fyler  said  that  was  to  burn  a  week,  then 
he  added  a  year,  then  a  hundred  years,  and  so 
kept  on  extending  his  term,  till  the  keeper,  out 
of  all  patience,  broke  away. 

"  A  clear  lunacy  case  as  ever  was !"  said 
the  turnkey,  appealing  to  the  keeper  with  def- 
erence. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !"  rejoined  the  keeper ; 
"there  will  be  no  more  lunacy  cases.  The 
governor  was  gammoned  in  the  last  case. 
Wearing  spectacles  without  glasses  and  eating 
sticks  for  beef-steaks  wont  go  any  longer. 
Lock  the  door  and  come  along  !" 

Fyler  pondered  on  what  fell  from  the  keep- 
er. Another  rivet  held  his  prison  door — how 
should  that  and  all  others  be  drawn  at  once  ? 
That  same  afternoon  he  read  in  his  cell,  by 
close  stealth,  although  no  soul  was  present,  a 
paper  which  had  got  there,  Heaven  knows  \ 
how.  Late  the  night  before  a  mysterious  , 
figure,  more  like  a  goblin  with  interminable 
legs  than  any  thing  else  (it  might  have  been 
Ishmael  Small),  had  stalked  in  the  street  at  the 
back  of  the  prison  ;  some  said  afterward  it  had 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


climbed  the  wall.  As  the  paper  fell  through 
his  window,  dropped  from  above,  this  might  be 
so.  Whatever  it  was,  and  whoever  might  be 
its  sender,  it  quickened  his  thoughts  not  a 
little.  It  was  clearly  expedient  for  him  to  get 
back  into  his  wits  at  once.  Accordingly  when 
the  turnkey  brought  his  supper  that  night,  he 
found  Fyler  quietly  seated  and  looking  about 
him  with  the  air  of  one  just  wakened  from  a 
dream. 

« Where  am  I  ?  who  am  I  ?"  said  Fyler. 
"  How  long  have  I  been  in  this  place  ?" 

"  Why,  old  fellow,  you're  in  the  Tombs, 
Centre-street,"  answered  the  turnkey,  "  where 
you've  been  these  four  weeks  and  better ;  and 
as  to  who  you  are,  you're  Fyler  Close  as  you 
was  yesterday,  and  the  day  afore,  and  the  day 
afore  that.     That's  who  you  are." 

"  You  must  be  wrong,"  rejoined  Fyler,  quite 
calmly.  "I  have  been  asleep  twenty-five 
years  or  so,  I  think.  What  a  dream  I've  had ! 
Angels  about  me  in  swarms,  dressed  in  hand- 
some red  dresses,  and  beautiful  cherubs  carry- 
ing sticks  with  gilt  tops." 

"  Oh,  ho !"  cried  the  turnkey,  slapping  his 
long  knee  like  one  that  makes  a  great  dis- 
covery — "I  see  how  it  is;  them  red  angels 
that  was  about  you  so  thick  was  volunteer  fire- 
men ;  and  as  for  the  cherubs  they're  nothing 
else  but  the  indefatigables  that  you  see  in  court 
on  your  trial,  with  their  staves.  Oh,  ho,  that's 
a  very  good  one,  Mr.  Prisoner.  I  see  you're  a 
coming-to." 

«  So  I  think,  too,"  continued  Fyler,  placidly. 
"  And  now  that  I  have  got  back  to  this  sinful 
world,  I'd  like  a  slice  or  two  of  the  bread  o' 
life,  just  to  cheer  me  up  and  keep  me  from 
fainting." 

"  Something  in  the  way  of  a  parson,  eh  ?" 
asked  the  turnkey,  looking  curiously  at  him. 
Fyler  gave  him  to  understand  it  was;  "If 
that's  it,  you  can  have  a  whole  loaf;  we  have 
a  wonderful  run  of  blackcoats  to  this  prison. 
They  come  here  to  get  moral  texts  for  their 
sermons ;  you'll  be  a  capital  one — and  when 
its  known,  won't  there  be  a  competition !  I 
guess  not !"  The  turnkey  laughed  disdainfully 
at  himself;  and  F3'ler  hoped  he  might  be  made 
a  good  text,  and  be  a  comfort  to  some  poor 
creatures  in  that  way.  The  turnkey  took  his 
basket  and  keys  and  went  away ;  but  presently 
returned  and,  putting  his  head  in  at  the  door, 
asked  Fyler,  "  What  he'd  begin  with  ?" 

"  You  may  send  me  a  presbyterian  gentle- 
man, if  you  please,"  said  Fyler. 

«  You  shall  have  one  fresh  and  first-rate," 
answered  the  turnkey.  <'  I'm  glad  you're  come- 
to,  old  feller,  you'll  hang  so  much  cheerfuUer. 
Good  night !"  He  locked  the  cell  and  propel- 
led himself  at  an  increased  speed  along  the 
gallery,  making  known  to  the  other  keepers, 
as  he  passed,  that  the  old  prisoner  was  in  his 
.^its  again. 

The  presbyterian  came.  Fyler  eyed  him 
sharply ;  he  was  tall  and  narrow-faced.  After 
a  very  brief  interview  he  left,  finding  the! 


prisoner  not  open  to  his  counsels.  Fyler  con- 
fessed he  didn't  like  his  views  of  predestination 
at  all,  and  called  for  another  parson.  The 
next  was  large  and  stout;  and  Fyler  dis- 
covered an  irreconcilable  difference  in  their 
notions  of  total  depravity.  Then  there  came 
another,  a  short  square  man,  who  broach- 
ed such  doctrine  on  the  subject  of  infant  bap- 
tism that  Fyler  almost  drove  him  from  his  cell. 
What  a  delicate  conscience  this  prisoner  had, 
and  how  hard  to  please  !  He  had  but  three 
days  more  to  live,  and  they  would  give  him 
such  comfort  as  they  could.  At  Jast  there 
came  along,  after  so  many  trials,  a  snug  little 
man,  about  Fyler' s  size,  who  wore  a  wig,  and 
whose  religious  views  harmonized  so  entirely 
with  Fyler's  that  the  broker  took  a  fancy  to 
him  at  once,  and  made  him  spend  hours  with 
him  in  his  cell.  Fyler  spared  no  pains  to  cul- 
tivate an  intimacy,  and  was  not  backward  ia 
showing  his  affectionate  regard  for  the  little 
parson.  One  night,  after  a  long  and  delightful 
interview,  in  which  the  little  parson  had  incul- 
cated a  great  number  of  excellent  principles, 
Fyler  said  to  him,  "  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you 
how  much  we  resemble  each  other  in  look  ?'* 
The  little  parson  confessed  it  had  not. 

"  NoAV  I'll  show  that  it  is  so,"  said  Fyler ; 
"  let  me  take  your  wig  a  minute." 

He  accordingly  removed  it  from  the  parson's 
head  and  placed  it  on  his  own. 

"  It  would  be  so  odd,"  said  Fyler  laughing, 
"  if  any  one  should  come  in  now — I  guess  I'll 
fasten  the  door." 

He  drew  a  string,  which  was  somehow  o 
other  hanging  there,  and  the  door  was  hel 
close.  I 

"  Now  let  me  have  your  coat,"  said  Fyler. 
The  little  parson  yielded  it  with  some  show  of 
reluctance.  Then  he  took  his  vest,  his  panta- 
loon, his  shoes  ;  then  he  put  on  his  neck-stock 
and  his  plain  black  hat. 

"  Isn't  the  resemblance  wonderful  ?"  asked 
Fyler,  giving  the  parson,  who  stood  shivering 
by,  a  look  that  made  him  shake  a  little  more. 
Fyler  then  invited  him  to  another  quarter  of 
the  cell,  where  he  insisted  it  would  be  to  his 
advantage  to  have  a  bandage  put  about  his 
arms  and  waist,  to  keep  him  from  catching 
cold.  The  little  parson  might  have  made  some 
trifling  objection,  but  he  saw  that  in  Fyler's 
look  which  silenced  him. 

"  It  must  be  death  to  one  of  your  tender 
constitution,"  said  Fyler,  "  if  you  should  get 
into  the  galler}'  in  your  present  state."  He  bound 
him  to  a  ring  in  the  floor,  and  fastened  an  end 
of  the  cord  to  the  water-fascet,  so  that  the 
least  motion  on  the  part  of  the  parson  would 
flood  the  cell.  He  then  placed  in  his  hands 
the  pocket-bible  he  brought  in  with  him,  and 
opening  it  at  the  book  of  Job,  and  commending 
patience  to  him,  as  the  best  virtue  under  pres- 
ent circumstances,  he  left  him — shivering  and 
bald-headed— upon  the  floor,  and  stepped  light- 
ly forth. 
Moving  smoothly  along  in  his  parson's  dress, 


m 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


and  catching  as  much  of  the  parson's  gait  as 
he  could,  he  reached  the  prison-yard.  When 
his  feet  struck  the  ground  he  felt  free — but 
looking  up,  with  the  high  prison-walls  about 
him,  he  breathed  hard  again,  like  one  at  the 
bottom  of  a  well.  The  sky  was  strangely  over- 
cast, and  a  chill  crept  through  his  frame.  The 
officers  of  the  lower  door  were  away,  and  he 
v.ras  obliged  to  pass  through  the  Sessions  court- 
*  oom.  He  stole  up  the  steps,  and  looked 
through  the  glass  door  leading  from  the  prison- 
yard  into  the  court.  A  trial  was  going  for- 
ward, and  the  court-room  was  thick  with 
people.  He  looked  on  for  a  moment  with  a 
curious  eye,  remembering  his  own ;  and  then 
shrunk  back,  shuddering  at  the  prospect  of 
passing  through.  With  a  keen  sense  in  him- 
self of  what  his  parson's  dress  concealed,  he 
feared  they  might  seize  him  and  hurl  him  back 
to  the  cell  he  had  left.  He  opened  the  door — 
the  officers  glanced  at  his  black  coat,  and 
tapped  the  nearest  of  the  crowd  to  give  him 
way.  With  a  respect  for  the  errand  of  charity 
on  which  they  supposed  he  had  been  bound, 
they  fell  back,  leaving  a  wide  space  through 
which  he  must  pass  to  the  outer  door.  He 
would  rather  they  had  stood  close  packed,  and 
treated  him  in  that  regard  like  the  meanest  of 
themselves.  At  length,  with  a  heart  fifty 
times  at  his  throat,  he  was  upon  the  outer 
stairs ;  creeping  stealthily  down  from  column 
to  column,  he  reached  the  street.  He  started 
forward  at  a  swift  pace,  but  becoming  presently 
confused,  he  halted  and  looked  about.  There 
was  a  trouble  in  the  sky — a  darkness,  not  of 
tempest  or  customary  clouds ;  an  eclipse  was 
brooding  above  him.  A  cold  shadow  filled  the 
air,  and  Fyler  was  bewildered  and  alarmed. 
At  first  he  went  to  the  right,  and  coming  upon 
an  object  that  told  him  he  was  wrong,  he  re- 
turned upon  his  track  and  went  as  far  astray 
on  the  other  hand.  He  had  lost  his  way,  and 
seemed  to  have  forgotten,  all  at  once,  the  bear- 
ings of  the  streets.  While  he  wandered  in 
this  uncertain  mood,  the  cold  drops  starting  to 
his  brow,  there  came  upon  the  wind  a  loud 
clamor  of  drums  and  trumpets  and  marching 
feet.  Torches  flashed  upon  the  darkness — as 
a  long  procession  turned  a  corner — and  Fyler, 
aided  by  their  light,  crept  along  a  coal-yard 
wall. 

Ii>  a  minute  more  he  was  at  an  opening  of 
the  great  sewer,  which  was  undergoing  repair; 
falling  flat  upon  his  face  that  no  eye  might 
watch  him,  he  crept  down  its  mouth,  holding 
on  to  the  broken  stones  and  fastenings  of  iron 
with  his  hands,  till  he  reached  the  bottom. 
He  heard  the  tread  of  feet  above  him — a  gleam 
of  light — and  all  was  silence  and  darkness. 
How  far  within  he  ever  groped  his  way  was 
never  known,  nor  what  scheme  he  had  in  view, 
unless  it  might  have  been — wild  and  bold 
enough — to  escape  in  this  way  to  the  river, 
where  Ishmacl  Small,  it  was  said,  had  been  seen 
for  many  hours  hovering  in  a  boat  about  that 
mouth  of  the  sewer. 


Nor  was  Ishmael  himself,  who  had  the  morn- 
ing after  the  arrest  borne  away  an  old  trunk 
or  two  from  the  den  in  Pell  street,  seen  after 
that  night.  The  last  act  that  could  tell  where 
the  broker  stopped,  was,  that  passers-by  had 
heard  at  a  certain  place,  as  they  crossed  the 
street,  a  sharp  and  dreadful  cry  for  help,  riving 
the  very  earth  beneath  their  feet.  The  bro- 
ker's body,  perishing  thus  amid  all  the  foul- 
ness and  infamy  of  the  city's  drain,  was  never 
found. 


CHAPTER  XXXVHI. 

THE   NIGHT   I>R0  CESSION. 

The  unparalleled  outrage  of  clearing  the  up- 
per Wabash,  being  sufficiently  insisted  upon, 
answered  the  purpose  as  well  as  any  device 
they  could  have  contrived.  The  triumph  of 
Puffer  was  complete.  He  had  carried  his  elec- 
tion by  a  handsome  majority — bowling  down 
Mr.  John  Blinker,  majestically  as  he  carried 
himself,  as  easily  as  a  ninepin  with  a  rolling 
bottom — Hobbleshank's  strong  recruits  (of 
which  Puffer  had  just  now  heard)  coming  in  to 
give  the  decisive  blow.  The  popular  mind,  still 
heaving  and  surging,  searched  for  a  channel 
through  which  to  vent  the  enthusiasm  (in  such 
cases  there's  always  a  little  over)  which  had 
not  been  exhausted  in  the  contest  itself.  The 
Bottomites  resolved  to  make  a  public  demon- 
stration of  their  victory — one  to  allure  new 
friends  and  terrify  old  enemies — and  a  street- 
parade,  a  grand  procession  by  torchlight,  was 
fixed  upon  as  most  imposing.  The  newspapers 
began  immediately  to  trumpet  the  show ;  the 
wire-pullers  and  busybodies  in  every  direction 
were  on  the  alert,  dusting  their  banners  and 
waking  up  their  retainers.  In  a  week  from 
the  election  the  preparations  were  concluded, 
and  at  sundown  of  the  day  appointed,  the  forces 
of  the  procession  began  to  assemble  in  the 
Houston  street  square.  East  river.  Two  men 
were  seen  with  highly  flushed  faces,  the  dawn  of 
the  procession,  to  roll  off  a  couple  of  barrels 
around  a  corner  from  a  neighboring  pump,  and 
hoist  them  upon  a  truck  behind  a  canvass  ban- 
ner, which  denoted  that  these  were  two  gen- 
uine and  unadulterated  barrels  of  the  water  of 
the  upper  Wabash,  in  its  aboriginal  condition 
before  the  clearing  under  the  new  bill.  A 
few  minutes  after,  two  other  flush-faced  gen- 
tlemen came  around  another  neighboring  cor- 
ner with  a  couple  of  rolling  barrels,  which 
were  duly  planted  on  a  second  truck,  and  which 
were,  in  like  manner,  given  out  as  so  much 
pure  fluid  drawn  from  the  mighty  Hudson  by 
an  aged  sailor,  who  would  ride  in  one  of  the 
barouches.  Presently,  a  body  of  horsemen, 
with  new  beaver  hats  and  blue  ribands  at  their 
buttonholes,  came  scampering  distractedly  in- 
to the  square,  and  rode  about  issuing  enthusi- 
astic orders,  an>d  inspecting  with  military  ac- 


s 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


285 


tivity  the  condition  of  the  square,  from  one 
end  to  the  other.  These  were  the  marshals 
of  the  procession ;  and  in  less  than  a  couple  of 
minutes  they  were  followed  by  numerous  de- 
tachments of  one  kind  and  another,  dropping 
in  at  different  points.  In  an  hour  the  square 
was  full  of  horsemen,  pedestrians,  barouches, 
carts,  banners — and,  for  a  time,  there  was  an 
unbroken  hubbub  of  shouting  voices,  and  an 
inextricable  confusion  and  entanglement  of  all 
classes  and  orders  of  society. 

By  dint  of  driving  up  and  down  at  the  top  of 
their  speed — riding  every  now  and  then  over 
a  child  or  an  old  woman,  assailing  a  detach- 
ment of  clamoring  clerks  in  a  high  voice  of 
command,  or  imploring,  with  bended  knees  in 
their  saddles,  a  squad  of  mounted  cartmen — 
they  succeeded  in  forming  the  line.  A  gentle- 
man in  a  dirty  round  jacket,  filled  his  trumpet 
till  it  overflowed ;  a  short-legged  drummer 
dashed  his  sticks  against  the  parchment ;  the 
crowd  gave  three  cheers,  as  they  do  when  a 
ship  breaks  from  her  stays,  and  the  great  Bot- 
tomite  procession  was  launched  upon  the  streets. 
There  was  a  barouche,  containing  a  standard- 
bearer,  with  two  committee-men  to  fill  up,  that 
led  the  van ;  then  a  barouche  bearing  two  an- 
cient residents  on  the  Wabash  (brought  on  ex- 
pressly for  this  occasion),  extremely  pale  and 
sickly — as  might  have  been  expected — and 
obliged  to  be  fed  out  of  a  bottle,  by  a  boy  in 
the  carriage  with  them,  to  keep  the  breath  in 
their  body.  This  device  the  crowd  approved 
of,  and  gave  three  cheers  more  as  they  trotted 
in  the  wake  of  the  procession.  Then  there 
was  a  barouche  with  two  fishermen — great, 
sturdy,  grampus-like  fellows — educated,  of 
course,  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  and  chew- 
ing pigtail  in  evidence  of  the  holiness  and  ma- 
jesty of  the  anti- Wabash  cause. 

But  when,  behind  these,  the  crowd  caught 
sight  of  another  barouche — wrapped  round  and 
round  with  banners — the  very  horses  trotting 
forward  in  trowsers  made  of  striped  bunting, 
there  was  no  limit  to  the  popular  enthusiasm. 
In  this,  the  Hero  of  Kipp's  bay — the  redoubta- 
ble Champion  of  New  York — the  illustrious 
Hopkins  himself,  stood  up,  and  removing  his 
hat,  waved  it  pleasantly  to  the  crowd,  at  full 
arm's-length,  as  though  he  was  bailing  up  their 
cheers,  and  pouring  them  out  of  the  hat  into 
the  barouche.  High  above  his  head  danced  the 
banner  wrought  by  the  dark-eyed  young  lady — 
the  blank  filled  as  she  had  wished — "  Uncom- 
promising hostility  to  the  clearing  of  the  Wa- 
bash.— For  Congress,  Pufler  Hopkins,  the  He- 
ro of  New  York  !" 

In  the  carriage  with  Puffer  rode  Mr.  Halsey 
Fishblatt,  who  had  assumed  a  clean  ruffle,  of  ex- 
traordinary dimensions,  and  whose  very  waist- 
coat seemed  swelling  and  ready  to  burst  with  a 
speech,  with  which  he  was  no  doubt  prepared 
to  explode  the  moment  he  should  be  touched. 
Then  there  were  the  fire  companies — the  ear- 
nest and  ardent  friends  of  the  successful  can- 
didate-'all  in  their  red  shirts  and  leather  caps, 


dragging  their  engines  by  the  rope,  and  joining 
in  the  cheerings  of  the  crowds  with  lusty  voice. 
A  throng  of  sailors,  surging  and  swaying  along, 
twelve  abreast  and  arm-in-arm,  in  duck  trow- 
sers, blue  shirts,  and  hats  of  tarpaulin  ;  and 
then,  in  an  uninterrupted  line,  in  seventeen 
carriages,  the  seventeen  wards  of  the  city,  rep- 
resented by  as  many  emblematical  gentlemen; 
the  first  second  and  third  being  solid,  substan- 
tial old  fellows,  with  well-fed  persons,  and  a 
cross  of  the  Dutchman  in  their  look ;  the  sixth, 
a  strapping,  raw-boned  genius,  with  a  cane  in 
his  hand  quite  large  enough  for  a  club  or  shil- 
lelah ;  the  seventh,  a  plain  citizen,  evidently, 
by  his  dress  and  aspect,  rising  rapidly  in  the 
world ;  the  fifteenth,  a  dainty  gentleman,  with 
a  well-plaited  ruffled  shirt,  and  copious  rings 
upon  his  fingers ;  and  so  throughout  the  seven- 
teen. In  strong  contrast  came  a  shoal  of  wo- 
begone,  unhappy-looking  gentlemen,  who  called 
themselves,  in  a  portentous  banner  which  they 
bore  above  their  heads,  the  "  Proscribed  watch- 
men" (they  complained  that  the  public  offices, 
to  which  they  had  acquired  a  legal  right,  by- 
ten  years'  uninterrupted  possession,  had  been 
taken  from  them),  and  they  wore  their  caps 
hind-foremost  to  denote  the  depth  and  agony 
of  their  bereavement.  With  these — a  fellow- 
sufferer  in  a  common  cause,  there  rode,  in  a 
single  gig,  a  lady  of  a  venerable  aspect,  who 
had  for  fifteen  years  dispensed  at  one  of  the 
public  watchhouses,  pigs'-feet  and  coffee  to  the 
watchmen,  as  ihey  came  in  from  their  rounds. 
She  was  the  mother  of  five  children — her  hus- 
band, now  dead,  had  lost  an  arm  jn  an  election 
riot — and  she,  a  widow,  had  been  ruthlessly 
thrust  from  the  watchhouse.  All  this  was  ex- 
pressed in  the  banner  which  her  eldest  boy  car- 
ried above  her,  on  which  were  painted  the  god- 
dess of  liberty,  with  a  crape  around  her  liberty- 
cap  (to  denote  the  lady's  widowhood)  ;  a  one- 
armed  ghost,  appearing  from  a  neighboring 
tomb  (her  late  husband) ;  and  a  table  spread 
in  a  corner  of  the  standard,  at  which  five  small 
skeletons  were  represented  as  feeding  on  pea- 
soup  out  of  a  large  blue  bowl. 

This  division  of  the  show  was  received  by 
the  crowd  with  an  outbreak  (as  ii  was  described 
in  the  newspapers)  an  outbreak  of  irrepressible 
indignation.  Public  opinion  is  always  out- 
raged in  such  cases,  and  follows  the  perpetra- 
tors, they  said,  as  surely  as  the  shadow  the 
sun;  and  here  came  public  opinion  itself. 
Through  all  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
United  States  there  is,  at  all  times,  supposed  to 
be  rolling  a  great  sphere  or  ball — pausing  some- 
times at  villages  which  it  takes  in  its  way,  then 
at  cities  or  hamlets — but  ever  rolling  on,  on, 
along  the  seaboard,  up  mountain-sides — bound- 
ing and  rushing  through  valleys — growing  stead- 
ily larger,  larger,  and  keeping  up  a  horrible 
rumbling  and  tumult  wherever  it  moves.  The 
knocking  to  and  fro  of  this  mighty  ball  is  a  fa- 
vorite sport  of  congress-men,  editors,  and  otb-  '^ 
ers,  who  find  a  great  diversion,  in  their  seden- 
tary and  arduous  labors,  in  racketing  it  about. 


286 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


It  was  this  mighty  ball  that  was  set  in  mo- 
tion in  behalf  of  the  lady  in  the  single  gig ; 
and  typifying  this — public  opinion,  which  rolls 
and  gathers  like  an  avalanche — a  great  can- 
vas wheel  was  now  pressed  forward  at  the  rear 
of  the  single  gigy  by  an  axle,  at  either  end  of 
which  toiled  a  dozen  or  two  sallow  gentlemen 
with  rickety  legs,  who,  in  the  present  case, 
stood  for  Congress  and  the  public  press.  Di- 
rectly behind  public  opinion,  and  taking  such 
advantage  of  its  motions  as  he  could,  in  a  spe- 
cial hackney-coach,  to  preserve  his  invaluable 
health  from  the  assaults  of  the  night-air,  came 
Colonel  Clingstone,  a  venerable  revolutionary 
veteran,  whose  patriotic  ardor  had  been  incon- 
testably  established  by  his  eating  an  entire  Brit- 
ish ox  (the  property  of  a  cowboy)  during  the 
first  week  of  the  war,  which  proved  to  be  so 
substantial  diet  that  he  was  able  to  live  on  the 
very  name  or  shadow  of  it  ever  after — seasoned 
with  a  rumor  of  some  gunshot  wound  or  other. 
In  the  rear  of  the  venerable  colonel — who  did 
not  faQ  from  time  to  time  to  show  his  frosty 
head  at  one  window  or  the  other,  just  to  see 
how  public  opinion  got  along — there  swarmed 
a  lean,  cadaverous,  deadly-looking  troop,  in 
soiled  garments  and  battered  hats,  and  headed 
by  our  electioneering  agent,  Mr.  Nicholas 
Finch,  with  a  banner  representing  a  group  of 
citizens  greatly  cast  down  and  with  pocket- 
handkerchiefs  at  their  eyes,  weeping  profusely 
at  the  tomb  of  Washington.  It  was  observed 
of  these  gentlemen,  who  had  chalked  their  faces 
to  an  interesting  paleness  to  create  public  sym- 
pathy, that  whenever  the  revolutionary  veteran 
thrust  his  portly  person  into  view,  one  or  other 
of  them  would  mutter  between  his  teeth, "  Cu's' 
that  old  chap !  he's  had  fat  pickings  forty  years 
from  a  pin-prick  !"  The  sympathies  of  the  crowd 
were  evidently  with  the  cadaverous  followers 
of  Mr.  Finch. 

"  I  know  them  fellers,"  said  a  squint-eyed 
bar-tender,  who  was  on  the  look-out ;  "  them's 
Finch's  hunters ;  they're  wonderfully  ill-used 
gem'men — they  wants  berths  in  the  custom- 
house, for  the  sake  of  their  country,  and  their 
country  wont  let  'em  take  the  berths !  Ain't  that 
a  hard  case,  Joe  ?" 

"  Crueller  nor  the  anaconder !"  answered 
Joe,  a  dependant  of  a  neighboring  bakery ; 
**  I  say  let  every  man  bake  his  bread  in  the 
gov'ment  oven,  if  he  likes  to.  Don't  we  own 
the  gov'ment — and  what's  gov'ments  good 
for  if  they  can't  do  a  man's  private  washing, 
and  ironing,  and  bread-baking?  That's  my 
views  V 

The  lean  gentlemen,  in  a  word,  were  office- 
seekers,  ambitious  to  serve  the  public  on  any 
terms  ;  belonged  to  either  side,  or  both  sides, 
as  occasion  required.  It  was  a  great  wrong 
to  keep  them  out  of  place,  for  if  they  expended 
half  the  ardor  in  serving  the  public  which  they 
did  to  serve  themselves,  public  affairs  must  have 
H  been  managed  with  extraordinary  prudence  and 
despatch.  Poor  fellows !  they  were  in  a  sad 
plight ;  no  bread  nor  beef  at  home,  and  their 


ungrateful  country  refusing  to  cash  their  bills. 
It  was  as  much  as  Mr.  Finch  could  do,  moving 
about  and  whispering  cheerful  promises  in  their 
ears,  to  keep  them  in  spirits  to  go  through  their 
parts  in  the  procession. 

Behind  these,  comfortably  quartered  in  a  se- 
ries of  light  wagons,  followed  a  body  of  gentle- 
men in  high  glee,  rosy-gilled,  laughing  and 
making  merry  of  every  object  on  the  road. 
They  seemed  entirely  at  their  ease,  and  to  have 
nothing  to  do  in  this  world  but  to  carry  certain 
torches  which  they  waved  and  flaunted  about 
their  heads  as  in  pastime,  and  merely  to  show 
the  world  how  comfortable  they  were.  It  is 
hardly  necessary  to  add,  that  the  gentlemen  in 
the  light  wagons  were  office-holders  ;  and  that 
in  evidence  of  their  grateful  remembrance  of 
the  man  who  founded  such  a  government,  they 
carried  a  full  length  of  the  Father  of  his  coun- 
try. On  a  closer  inspection,  certain  members 
of  the  Bottom  Club  might  have  been  discovered 
settled  in  the  light  wagons ;  they  had  doubtless 
left  off  ameliorating  the  condition  of  society  in 
order  to  devote  their  undivided  attention  to 
their  own  comfort  and  the  public  service,  on 
which  their  outcry  had  quartered  them.  Be- 
hind these,  singling  himself  out  from  the  com- 
mon herd,  a  little  man  marched  about  a  plat- 
form, which  he  had  caused  to  be  built  at  his 
own  private  expense,  and  borne  up  on  the 
shoulders  of  four  sturdy  partisans,  blowing  a 
small  brass  trumpet,  of  great  depth  of  wind, 
from  time  to  time,  and  waving  a  small  white 
flag  with  great  earnestness  about  his  his  head. 
This  gentlemen,  too,  was  ambitious  of  office, 
and  by  no  means  inclined  to  have  the  magnifi- 
cence of  his  claims  confounded  with  the  de- 
merits of  the  gentry  who  plodded  on  foot. 

And  then  came  scampering  forward,  Mr. 
Sammis  at  the  head  of  a  hundred  and  fifty 
mounted  cartmen ;  and  as  they  rode  in  their 
frocks,  tottering  and  tumbling  in  their  saddles, 
they  resembled  not  a  little  a  hundred  and  fifty 
clowns  in  an  equestrian  pantomime,  slightly  be- 
side themselves  with  strong  drink. 

There  was  a  part  of  the  line  obscured  by  a 
cloud  of  hangers-on,  from  which  a  report  of 
lusty  voices  constantly  broke  in  cries  of  "  Here's 
the  extra  infantry  !"  "  Terrible  murder,  sir, 
don't  tread  on  my  toes  !"  "  Only  three  cents, 
and  full  of  pipin'-hot  soocides  and  seductions  !" 
When,  in  turning  a  corner,  the  cloud  broke, 
it  disclosed,  in  their  usual  undress  uniforms  of^ 
baggy  caps,  half  coats,  and  inadequate  breech- 
es, a  detachment  of  newsboys,  bearing  aloft, 
with  an  air  of  haughty  defiance,  numerous  pa- 
per ensigns,  on  which  were  inscribed  "  Free- 
dom of  speech  and  plenty  o'  pies  !"  "  Long- 
nines  and  liberty  !"  and  other  decisive  axioms 
of  the  newsboy  creed. 

At  the  heels  of  the  news-boys,  there  fell  in 
great  swarms  of  citizens,  in  long  coats,  short 
coats,  hats,  caps,  badges,  and  locked  arms ;  and, 
when  every  joint  was  set,  it  began,  at  first  slow- 
ly, but  afterward  with  increased  motions,  to  creep 
like  a  three-mile  snake,  along  the  streets.    As 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


287 


far  as  the  eye  could  reach  either  way,  there 
was  a  tumultuous  flow  of  faces — lighted  up 
by  torches,  borne  on  high  shadowed  by  banners 
and  emblems,  seeming  to  fill  the  city,  and  hold 
possession  of  the  night  at  every  point. 

The  drum  beat,  the  trumpet  sounded,  the 
marshals  in  an  ecstacy  of  excitement,  hurried 
up  and  down  the  line — there  was  one  in  buck- 
skin breeches  and  military  top-boots,  who  did 
immense  execution  in  clearing  the  line  of  the 
kerbstone  by  riding  over  loafers  and  women 
who  stood  in  the  gutters — the  procession  moved 
on.  With  flaring  torches  they  filed  through 
the  streets,  turned  the  distant  corners — and 
swept  in  in  their  course  whole  armies  of  recruits. 
About  the  chief  divisions  of  the  line  the  popu- 
lace clustered  in  swarms,  and  the  rear-ward 
was  swelled  with  a  great  crowd  of  laggards, 
who  in  tattered  garments,  many  of  them  shoe- 
less and  hatless,  shambled  after.  Wherever 
they  passed  there  were  innumerable  faces  at 
the  windows,  peering  out ;  and  the  sidewalks 
were  thick  with  gazers.  Like  a  turbid  stream 
it  rolled  on,  street  after  street,  staying  itself 
only  for  an  instant,  at  different  houses,  to  heave 
a  great  cheer  in  compliment  to  some  friend  of 
the  party  who  dwelt  within,  or  a  portentous 
groan  in  condemnation  of  an  enemy.  When 
they  arrived  at  a  narrow  street  that  crossed 
their  way,  they  came  to  a  dead  halt.  A  stump- 
ing noise,  in  the  deadly  silence,  was  heard  upon 
the  steps  of  an  oyster-vault — a  jolly  face  pre- 
sented itself — the  crowd  burst  into  a  cheer  of 
recognition — Mr.  Jarve  Barrell  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  breast,  waved  his  hat — and  the  crowd 
passed  on. 

At  length,  in  an  overwhelming  flood  of  a 
thousand  tributaries,  they  poured  down  upon  the 
great  square  in  front  of  Fogfire  hall.  At  a 
given  signal,  and  as  one  man,  the  vast  gather- 
ing bellowed  forth  cheer  after  cheer — the  very 
air  rocked.  The  torches  were  gathered  in  a 
rinff,  shedding  a  gloomy  light  upon  the  Park, 
and  on  the  tall  gaunt  buildings  hard-by;  a 
gallows-tree  was  brought  from  a  neighboring 
deposite.  As  soon  as  it  was  planted  in  the 
centre  of  the  square,  the  red-shirted  firemen 
swarmed  in  from  every  direction  at  its  foot — a 
chain  dropped  from  its  summit^-a  blazing  fire 
kindled  beneath,  and  a  hoarse  voice  shouted 
through  a  trumpet,  "  bring  him  forth  !"  The 
crowd  shuddered  involuntarily — but  when  they 
saw  what  it  was  that  hung  dangling  from  the 
chain,  they  burst  into  a  huge  laugh.  All  the 
uplands  and  winding  ways  of  the  city,  where- 
ever  the  eye  could  reach,  were  set  thick  with 
faces,  fixed  upon  the  gallows  with  its  iron 
fingers  ready  to  pounce  upon  the  victim.  It 
was  a  portly  little  figure  with  a  white  head 
and  green  coat — a  pair  of  supercilious  eyes, 
(these  they  couldn't  see),  altogether  not  more 
than  eighteen  inches  high.  Such  as  were  near 
enough  said  it  was  the  great  insurance  presi- 
dent— Mr.  Blinker,  the  late  opposition  candi- 
date, reduced  half  a  dozen  sizes  or  so,  and  it 
was  given  out  that  he  was  brought  to  his 

f 


prsent  ignominy  by  the  firemen,  who  may  be 
supposed  to  have  harbored  a  special  ill-will 
against  one  who,  by  his  constant  presence  at 
burnings  and  conflagrations,  caused  their  sport 
to  be  stayed  half  way.  However  this  was,  he 
had  been  brought  thither  in  an  engine  cham- 
ber, and  was  now  swinging  above  the  flames 
which  crackled  up  and  lovingly  licked  his  feet, 
while  the  engine  men  stood  grinning  about. 
For  a  long  time  he  hung,  swaying  to  and 
fro,  toying  as  it  were  with  the  fire,  to  the  in- 
finite delight  of  the  crowd,  who  gathered  in 
masses  upon  the  wagons,  barouches,  trucks, 
even  upon  each  other's  shoulders,  watching  the 
progress  of  the  immolation.  At  length  fire 
took  upon  his  person.  "  It's  caught  his  right 
boot !"  cried  one.  There  was  an  uproarious 
shout.  "It's  caught  his  left!"  There  was 
another  still  louder.  But  when  the  flame  be- 
gan to  invade  the  vital  parts,  there  were  no 
limits  to  their  satisfaction,  which  they  express- 
ed by  ironical  calls  to  the  firemen  to  put  him 
out. 

•'  Why  dont  you  play  upon  his  second  story 
and  upper-works,  you  fellers  !  Give  him  a  jet 
in  th'  abdomen !  Why  will  you  let  the  cruel 
flame  take  the  venerable  man  by  the  nose  in 
that  way  !"  It  was  to  no  purpose  ;  and  though, 
as  the  blaze  twinkled  in  his  eyes — looking 
mischievously  into  their  very  sockets — he 
seemed  to  frown  scornfully  upon  them,  in  the 
course  of  half  an  hour,  during  which  the 
volunteers  had  given  the  fire  many  an  ugly 
stir,  the  great  insurance  president,  with  all  his 
dignity  of  person  and  majesty  of  look,  was  a 
cinder,  picked  up  by  a  quidnunc,  and  in  less 
than  an  hour  deposited  in  the  neighboring 
museum,  among  the  bears  and  alligators,  and 
potted  beetles  there  preserved.  Some  say  that 
this  was  Crump,  the  secretary  of  the  Phoenix 
company,  who  had  made  himself  active  in  feed- 
ing the  flame  by  which  the  president  had  been 
burned. 

This  business  over — Mr.  Blinker  done  to  a 
turn — to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  everybody 
present,  there  was  a  loud  call  upon  Puffer 
Hopkins  for  a  speech ;  which  call  his  associate, 
Mr.  Halsey  Fishblatt,  was  quite  anxious  to 
respond  to. 

"  Let  me  answer  it !"  said  Mr.  Fishblatt ; 
"  I'll  tell  them  a  thing  or  two  about  the  old  vil- 
lain we've  just  burnt.  I  know  him  from  his  cra- 
dle. They  expect  something  about  him."  And 
while  Puffer  kept  his  seat,  Mr.  Fishblatt 
mounted  to  his  legs  in  answer  to  the  summons. 
A  broad,  universal  sibilation  or  hissing,  ad- 
monished Mr.  Fishblatt  that  his  orations  were 
not,  just  then,  in  request,  and  he  dropped  back 
into  his  seat  like  one  stricken  with  a  ball. 

There  was  the  broad  sky  above  them — the 
surging  sea  of  heads — the  goddess  of  justice, 
in  snow-white  wood,  at  his  back — the  stream- 
ing banner  and  refulgent  transparency  of  Fog- 
fire  hall  in  front,  and,  by  no  means  least  of  all, 
the  two  pure  barrels  of  Hudson,  and  two  of 
reeking  upper  Wabash,  under  his  very  eye. 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


upon  the  trucks ;  could  Puffer  fail  out  of  all 
these  to  frame  a  triumphant  speech  ?  He 
could  not,  and,  as  he  concluded,  three  peals, 
four  times  renewed,  rent  the  circuit,  and  made 
the  very  pennons  rustle  in  the  air. 

Re-forming  as  soon  as  they  could  recover 
from  the  bewilderment  of  the  harangue,  and  in 
much  less  order  than  they  had  set  out,  the  pro- 
cession returned  up  the  city  in  the  direction  of 
the  Tombs.  Though  the  music  still  sounded, 
and  the  torches  still  flared  against  the  sky,  a 
sudden  depression  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon 
the  crowd.  Many  of  the  standard  bearers 
dropped  their  standards,  and  allowed  them  to 
trail  in  the  dust;  great  numbers  left  their 
places  in  the  ranks  and  skulked  away.  A 
change  had  come  over  the  very  heaven  itself; 
the  face  of  the  sky  was  dark — not  with  accus- 
tomed clouds  or  shadows — the  great  shadow  of 
the  earth  itself  was  spreading  over  the  firma- 
ment; an  eclipse  was  at  hand.  At  this  mo- 
ment, and  while  yet  there  was  some  show  of 
triumph  and  rejoicing  in  the  crowd.  Puffer's 
attention  was  withdrawn  to  a  dark  figure, 
which,  scudding  away  from  the  glare  of  the 
procession,  coasted  along  the  walls,  turned 
a  corner  and  disappeared,  as  though  it  had 
dived  into  the  earth.  The  contrast  of  this 
single  silent  figure,  and  the  great  tumultuous 
crowd,  was  so  marked,  that  Puffer's  mind  was 
strongly  fixed  upon  it. 

The  darkness  deepened,  and  multitudes  kept 
falling  off ;  among  others,  Puffer  descried  Mr. 
Sammis,  as  he  left  his  place  and  passed  by, 
looking  up  and  smiling  as  he  passed. 

Then  Mr.  Fishblatt  ordered  a  sudden  halt, 
and  without  a  word  of  exjdanation  disappeared 
from  his  side.  What  could  this  mean  ?  Were 
all  things  coming  to  an  end  ?  He  was  medita- 
ting upon  the  incident,  when  a  small,  spare 
figure — which  he  had  noticed  throughout  the 
night  hovering  about  the  carriage,  and  keeping 
its  face  turned  constantly  toward  his  own,  on 
whichever  side  he  looked,  but  which,  in  the 
uncertain  light  he  could  not  more  closely  dis- 
cern— leaped  upon  the  whoel  and  twitched  him 
by  the  sleeve.  How  like  it  was  to  a  similar 
summons  at  the  very  outset  of  his  career  !  A 
voice  was  at  his  ear  entreating  him  to  leave 
the  carriage. 

"  You  know  you  are  mine,  now  !"  said  the 
voice. 

It  sounded  other  than  it  ever  had  before. 

"  To  see  your  friends  at  the  farm-house,  I 
know,"  answered  Puffer,  bending  toward  the 
questioner ;  "  but  why  not  come  into  the  car- 
riage with  me;  and  ride  out  together  1" 

«  No,  no,  you  could  not  get  out  of  the  line," 
answered  the  other  quickly.  "  You  will  not 
deny  me  this  wish  ?  Come  quickly — it  darkens 
apace." 

Puffer  did  not  hesitate — the  pageant  was  fast 
growing  to  an  end — but  seizing  a  favorable 
pause,  escaped  to  the  ground  and  followed  the 
other  cautiously  through  the  crowd. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

HOBBLESHANK    AND    PUFFER   HOPKINS  VISIT 
THE   FARM-HOUSE. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  beyond  its  skirts, 
and  moving  at  a  good  pace  toward  the  suburbs. 
Hobbleshank  led  the  way  at  such  eager  speed, 
looking  forward  to  his  path  and  back  to  Puffer, 
constantly,  that  it  was  some  time  before  the 
young  steps  that  followed  reached  him,  and 
when  they  did,  Pufler  found  him  so  pale  and 
shaken  by  fatigue,  it  seemed,  he  begged  him  to 
borrow  his  support. 

Hobbleshank  accepted  it  at  once,  and,  with 
a  smile  of  hope  and  trust  in  his  look  as  he 
turned  to  answer,  leaned  upon  Puffer,  and  they 
pursued  their  way.  The  old  man's  guidance 
and  the  young  man's  strength  bore  them  swift- 
ly on.  When  they  looked  back,  from  an  emi- 
nence they  had  reached  in  travelling  up  the 
city,  the  procession,  they  saw  by  the  flaring 
torchlight,  was  crumbling  in  pieces ;  detach- 
ment after  detachment  falling  off  in  flakes,  and 
with  drooping  banners,  melting  in  the  neigh- 
boring streets. 

As  the  old  man  and  his  companion  moved 
along,  there  crept  out  upon  the  air  a  thick  dark- 
ness— the  earth's  shadow  lay,  every  minute, 
closer  and  closer  to  the  pale  moon  above.  The 
houses  seemed,  in  the  ghastly  light,  like  ghosts 
or  spectres  of  their  former  selves  ;  the  church- 
steeples,  quenched  in  the  dim  atmosphere, 
were  broken  off  at  the  top. 

The  passengers  they  met  as  they  advanced 
came  toward  them,  wrapped  in  the  strange 
darkness,  like  travellers  from  another  world. 
The  great  heart  of  the  city  itself  seemed  to 
grow  still  and  be  subdued  to  a  more  quiet  beat- 
ing under  the  heavy  air  that  oppressed  its 
church-towers  and  its  thoroughfares.  Hobble- 
shank and  Puffer  drew  closer  to  each  other's 
side  at  every  step. 

"  You  had  not  forgotten  that  you  were  mine 
to-night  ?"  asked  Hobbleshank. 

"  Not  at  all ! — how  could  I  ?"  answered 
Puffer.     "  I  am  yours  now  and  at  all  times." 

"  You  are  ?"  interrupted  Hobbleshank,  quick- 
ly ;  "  thank  Heaven  for  that !" 

"  To  be  sure  I  am,"  continued  Puffer.  "  You 
have  made  me  what  I  am  (I  know  this  in  more 
ways  than  one),  and  I  am  your  creature  as 
much  as  the  pitcher  is  the  potter's  to  carry  me 
where  you  will,  and  to  put  me  to  what  uses  you 
choose.  I  am  not  sorry  that  the  farm-house, 
now  your  own  again,  is  the  first  to  visit." 

"  Never  mind  that,"  returned  the  old  man. 
"  But  now  that  you  have  grown  to  be  a  great 
man,  no  matter  how,  won't  the  world  be  ask- 
ing questions  of  your  early  life  and  history  ? 
What  can  you  tell  them,  eh  ?" 

Although  this  was  spoken  in  a  cheerful  tone, 
he  drew  a  hard  breath  as  it  escaped  him. 

"  Not  much,"  answered  Puffer ;  "  I  don't 
know  that  I  would  tell  the  world  anything,  let 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


289 


them  ask  as  much  as  they  choose ;  but  to  you, 
my  good  old  friend,  always  true,  I  may  say  that 
I  had  no  early  life." 

"  You  don^t  mean,"  interrupted  Hobble- 
shank,  quickly,  « that  you  ever  suffered  from 
want  of  food,  or  lodging,  or  warmth  ?  In  God's 
name,  you  don't  say  that !" 

Puffer  was  startled  by  the  old  man's  eager- 
ness, and  seeing  with  how  anxious  a  look  he 
hung  upon  him,  he  answered  at  once  : 

"  Oh,  no — never  that — I  meant  merely  that 
my  childhood  had  neither  father's  nor  mother's 
care  ;  and  can  there  be  life  without  them  ?  But 
I  ought  not  to  repine — I  had  kindness  and  some 
friends.  As  I  meant  to  tell  you,  my  first  seven 
years  were  passed  with  a  boatman,  who  lived 
on  the  edge  of  the  North  river,  near  Blooming- 
dale  ;  where  I  came  from  at  first,  I  dont  know 
— although  he  used  to  tell  me  I  was  found  by 
him  in  the  woods  when  an  infant." 

"  In  the  woods  ?"  said  Hobbleshank,  cheer- 
fully, "  Go  on,  go  on,  you  couldn't  have  been 
found  in  a  better  place." 

"  The  boatman's  wife  or  some  one  that  was 
near  to  him  died,"  continued  Puffer,  wonder- 
ing at  the  old  man's  enthusiasm.  "  His  heart 
»  broke,  his  affairs  went  into  decay,  and  I  into 
the  Banks  street  asylum,  as  an  orphan.  When 
I  had  been  there  some  six  or  seven  years,  one 
day  tliere  came  into  the  room  where  we  were 
all  seated,  our  faces  just  shining  from  the  tow- 
el, a  stout,  white-headed,  rosy  gentleman,  of  a 
middle  age ;  and  pitching  his  eye  upon  me,  af- 
ter ranging  up  and  down  the  bench,  said, 
"  This  is  the  boy  I  spoke  of  ?"  The  matron 
answered  it  was. 

"Very  good,"  said  the  rosy  gentleman, 
"  His  name  is  Puffer  Hopkins ;  and  when  he's 
of  age  let  him  draw  this  check."  He  handed 
a  paper  to  the  matron,  and,  smiling  upon  me 
once  more,  went  away. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?"  asked  Hobble- 
shank,  anxiously.  "  He  was  no  relation  of 
yours." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  was,"  answered  Puffer, 
laughing.      "Although  I  learned  on  inquiry 
m  the  neighborhood,  years  after,  when  I  had 
drawn  the  money  he  had  left  me,  that  he  had 
been  a  bachelor  who  had  married  late  in  life, 
and  been  much  mocked  and  joked  at  for  hav- 
ing no  children.     He  had  given  out  that  they 
might  be  mistaken,  and,  by  frequent  visits  to 
I         the  asylum  and  this  goodness  toward  me,  suc- 
|,         ceeded  in  getting  his  gossips  and  aspersers  off 
•  the  scent.     He   was   dead,  and  his   wife  too, 

when  I  inquired,  and  that  was  all  I  ever  knew 
of  him." 

"  It  was  a  joke,  then ;  a  mere  joke  ?"  said 
Hobbleshank. 

"  I  suppose  it  was,"  answered  Puffer.  This 
answer  seemed  to  be  a  great  comfort  to  the  old 
man,  for  he  breathed  more  freely,  and  they 
hurried  on  at  a  quicker  pace. 

The  mighty  shadow  of  the  eclipse  deepened 
and  grew  heavier  upon  the  earth.  Foot- 
passengers    paused    and    stood    still    in    the 

f 


road.  The  trees  in  the  fields  looked  like  solid 
shadows ;  the  sound  of  wheels  died  away  in 
every  thoroughfare.  All  life  and  motion  were 
arrested  for  the  time ;  everything  was  at  a 
pause  but  Puffer  and  Hobbleshank ;  they  were 
moved  by  impulses,  it  would  seem,  not  to  be 
stayed  or  dampened  even  by  a  disastrous  dark- 
ness, or  the  obscuration  of  the  sky.  The  blue 
heavens,  they  knew,  lay  beyond  the  apparent 
shadow,  and  they  pressed  on.  They  came  to 
a  steep  road,  and  as  they  climbed  this,  Hobble- 
shank clung  closer  than  ever  to  Pufler.  At  its 
top  was  an  old  country  house,  from  the  win- 
dows of  which  cheerful  lights  gleamed  upon 
the  darkness.  The  moment  they  came  in  sight 
of  this  the  old  man  trembled  as  with  an  ague, 
and  fell  upon  Puffer's  arm  for  support. 

They  were  almost  at  its  tlireshold,  when, 
Hobbleshank  arresting  Puffer,  they  paused, 
and  the  old  man  turned  so  as  to  look  him  full 
in  the  face.  It  was  evident  there  was  some- 
thing on  the  old  man's  mind  he  had  reserved 
to  this  moment. 

"  Was  there  nothing,"  he  said  at  length,  like 
one  who  lingers  to  gather  resolution,  "was 
there  nothing  the  boatman  gave  you  as  evi- 
dence of  the  place  you  were  found  in  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  there  was  I"  How  the  old 
man's  look  was  renewed  to  youth,  by  these 
few  words,  and  shined  in  Puffer's.  "  To  be 
sure  there  was — I  forgot  to  mention  it,  but  not 
to  wear  it  with  me  always  in  my  breast,  with 
a  hope."  His  hand  was  in  his  breast,  but  Hob- 
bleshank stayed  him,  and  told  him  "  not  yet — 
not  yet — it  will  be  time  presently."  He  would 
not  trust  himself  to  look  at  it. 

Puffer  knew  something  of  the  old  man's 
mood,  and  followed  him  silently  as  he  led  the 
way.  There  had  been  cheerful  voices  from 
within  the  house,  but  when  it  was  known  that 
Hobbleshank  and  Puffer  were  at  hand,  a  dead 
stillness  fell  upon  the  place ;  it  was  as  if  the 
old  house  itself  listened,  in  expectation  of  what 
was  to  be  told. 

They  were  no  sooner  within  the  hall  than 
Hobbleshank,  pointing  to  a  door  at  the  left 
hand,  said,  "In  there — go  in  quickly — God 
grant  that  all  may  be  right !" 

While  Hobbleshank  walked  the  old  hall,  the 
dim  figures  on  its  walls,  watching  him,  as  he 
might  regard  them  as  so  many  good  spirits,  or 
evil  spectres.  Puffer  found  himself  in  a  small 
room,  an  antechamber,  with  two  persons,  one 
a  woman,  stout,  hale,  and  of  middle  age ;  the 
other,  a  man,  spare  of  person,  and  of  a  sorrow- 
ful and  forlorn  look.  They  both  stood  before 
him  as  he  entered,  with  looks  riveted  upoa 
the  door  with  a  steady  gaze.  The  moment  he 
crossed  its  threshold,  a  swift  change  crossed 
their  features — their  whole  expression  was 
shifted,  like  a  scene,  from  that  of  dreadful 
doubt  to  one  of  certainty  and  confirmation. 

"It's  Paul— little  blackberry  Paul— although 
the  berry's  worn  out  in  course  of  time,"  said 
the  woman,  speaking  first  and  closely  perusing 
Puffer's  features  j   "  do  you  know  us  ?" 


290 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


Puffer's  mind  was  soreJy  vexed  and  troubled; 
he  tnew  Ihem,  and  yet  it  seemed  he  knew  them 
not,  for  he  could  call  neither  by  name. 

"If  I  dared  to  hope  it,"  he  answered  at 
length,  scrutinizing  his  countenance,  "  I  might 
say  this  is  my  early  friend,  who  brought  me 
to  be  a  boy  seven  years  old ;  but  I  don't  be- 
lieve it  !" 

The  man  seized  his  hand  quickly,  and  told 
him  he  must,  for  he  was  no  other. 

"  You  don't  recollect  me,  then  ?"  said  the 
woman,  somewhat  cast  down  by  the  inequality 
of  Puffer's  memory ;  "  you  sartainly  haven't 
forgot  Hetty — Hetty  Simmons,  it  was  then, 
Hetty  Lettuce  now — your  old  nurse  ?  Ah,  me  ! 
I  can't  be  changed  so  sadly  since  then  !" 

After  a  while  Puffer — she  pressed  him  to  it 
. — admitted  that  he  caught  now  and  then  atone 
in  her  voice  that  he  ought  to  know. 

«  Now,  to  tell  the  truth,"  said  Hetty,  a  little 
vexed,  "I  didn't  know  your  face  either;  but  I 
knew  your  voice  the  minute  I  heard  it  at  Belle- 
vue  the  other  night ;  it  was  me  that  fastened 
that  bracelet  on  your  arm  the  night  you  were 
stolen  away." 

«  What  bracelet  ?"  said  Puffer.  "  You  don't 
mean  the  one  I  wear  in  my  breast  ?" 

"  Sartain — the  very  one,"  answered  Hetty  ; 
"  Let's  see  ;  I  guess  it's  a  match."  Hetty  held 
in  her  hand  a  half  bracelet ;  in  a  minute  more 
she  had  Puffer's  ; — they  were  matches,  as  she 
had  guessed ;  the  same  auburn  hair — the  same 
golden  clasp.  She  threw  open  the  door.  Hob- 
bleshank  stood  there  like  one  in  a  swoon — 
white  and  trembling,  his  two  hands  hanging 
like  dead  branches  at  his  side. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Hetty ;  "  good  heavens, 
it's  all  as  we  thought !" 

At  this  bidding  Hobbleghank  staggered  across 
the  door-sill,  and  casting  himself  upon  Puffer's 
neck,  muttered  brokenly,  "  My  son — my  son !" 
The  tears  fell  from  his  old  lids  like  rain.  Mrs. 
Lettuce,  and  the  other,  laying  .the  broken 
bracelet  upon  a  table  by  the  side  of  the  great 
breast-pin  which  was  there  already,  took  each 
other  by  the  hand  and  silently  withdrew,  leav- 
ing father  and  son  to  know  each  other,  after  a 
lifetime's  separation,  in  peace.  With  halting 
words,  with  tears  and  passionate  embraces, 
Hobbleshank  made  known  to  Puffer  the  chan- 
ces of  his  past  life,  how  his  mother  died — he 
did  not  tell  him  all,  there  were  dreadful  words 
be  could  not  trust  himself  with — how  he  was 
lost — how  in  twenty  years  he  had  often  thought 
his  child  found  again,  but  was  so  often  sore 
baffled  and  almost  broken  in  hope.  From  the 
first  he  felt  that  Puffer  was  his  child  and  no 
other;  he  dared  not  claim  him  till  the  last 
rivet  fastened  him  back,  as  it  had  to-night. 

For  many  hours  they  had  lingered  together, 
dwelling  upon  the  past,  so  full  of  hope  and 
fear  and  strange  vicissitude,  when  Hobble- 
shank,  starting  up  as  though  it  had  just  come 
into  his  mind,  said : — 

"What   wai    they  think   of  us?    Come, 


Paul,  we  have  friends  hard  by  that  must  not  he 
forgotten." 

He  led  him  along  the  hall,  and,  with  his 
hand  in  his  own,  they  entered  another  room, 
larger  than  the  first,  where  a  company  sat,  in 
an  attitude  of  expectation,  looking  toward  the 
door,  and  watching  it  as  it  opened.  They 
knew,  without  a  word,  what  the  story  was.  It 
was  Hobbleshank  and  his  long  lost,  new-found 
son.  They  looked  upon  him  whom  they  had 
all  known  as  Puffer — now  that  he  was  Paul, 
and  the  old  man's  child — with  new  eyes.  How 
kind  in  Hobbleshank,  to  bring  together  such, 
and  such  only,  as  he  knew  Puffer  (for  so  we 
love  to  call  him  still),  would  most  desire  to 
meet.  Tliere  was  Mr.  Fishblatt,  standing 
with  his  skirts  spread,  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  ready  to  open  upon  the  case  at  the  first 
opportunity ;  and  at  his  side  Mr.  Sammy  Sam- 
mis,  whose  face,  from  being  a  cobweb  of  smiles 
on  ordinary  occasions,  was  now  a  perfect  net, 
in  every  line  and  thread  of  which  there  lay 
lurking  a  gleam  of  welcome.  Then  there  was 
old  aunt  Gatty,  who  smiled  too,  but  afar  off, 
like  one  who  has  not  quite  so  sure  a  hold  of 
the  occasion  of  her  smiling  as  might  be  desired, 
and  seated  near  Dorothy,  who  whispered  in 
her  ear,  and  did  what  she  could  to  make  her 
conscious  of  the  change  that  had  come  over 
the  fortunes  of  her  old  friend.  Not  far  from 
these,  something  of  a  shadow  in  their  midst, 
was  Puffer's  early  friend,  the  forlorn  stranger; 
and  Mrs.  Hetty  Lettuce,  who  had  not  alto- 
gether recovered  her  spirits  from  the  shock  of 
not  being  recognised  by  her  boy  and  nursling. 
But  who  are  next — to  whom  Puffer  gave  his 
earliest  gaze — where  his  eye  lingered  so  long  ? 
No  other  than  the  little  old  aunt  and  the  dark- 
eyed  young  lady. 

Puffer  shook  hands  with  them  one  and  all ; 
as  if  he  were  starting  the  world  anew,  and 
wished  to  set  out  well.  There  was  no  lack  of 
voices,  one  might  be  well  assured.  Mr.  Fish- 
blatt, at  the  top  of  his,  declaiming  upon  it  as 
one  of  the  most  extraordinary,  unparalleled, 
wonderful  histories  he  had  ever  known.  (He 
had  heard  but  the  half  yet.)  Mr.  Sammy  Sam- 
mis  corroborating,  and  Hobbleshank  running 
from  one  to  the  other,  and  demanding,  in  a 
highly-excited  state  of  mind,  opinions  upon  his 
boy.  Then  he  would  come  back  again,  re- 
quiring to  be  informed  whether  he  hadn't 
done  well — whether  all  had  not  been  managed 
with  great  discretion,  and  as  it  should  have 
been. 

"  Hold  there  a  minute,"  cried  Mr.  Halsey 
Fishblatt  at  one  of  these  questionings.  "  Are 
you  sure  of  your  title  here  ?" 

"  Quite  sure,"  answered  Hobbleshank. 

«  What,  sir  !"  retorted  Mr.  Fishblatt,  «  won»t 
the  state  come  in  as  the  successor  to  the  bro- 
ker, who,  as  a  prisoner,  is  a  dead  man  in  the 
law,  and  seize  the  farm-house  ?" 

"  Ah  !  you  haven't  heard  the  story  of  the 
deed,"  answered  Hobbleshank,  quickly.  "  Who 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


291 


has  kept  that  back  from  you  ?  You  ought  to 
know  that." 

And  he  proceeded  to  give  him  a  full  and  au- 
thentic  account  of  the  marvel  by  which  it  had 
been  preserved,  rescued,  and  transmitted  to  his 
hands  by  Fob  and  his  pale  country  friend. 

"  Come  and  sit  by  me,"  said  aunt  Gatty,  in 
a  voice  so  affected  by  age  that  every  other 
word  was  at  the  ceiling  and  the  next  plumb- 
down  upon  the  floor,  "  come  here  by  your  old 
aunt."  Puffer  placed  a  chair  by  her  side ;  she 
seized  both  his  hands  in  hers,  regarding  him 
steadily  for  some  minutes,  and  then  said,  still 
gazing,  "  How  like  his  mother  ! — very  like — 
don^t  you  see  it,  Dorothy  ?" 

Dorothy,  although  she  had  never  seen  that 
lady,  rather  than  cross  her  old  companion  in 
her  whim,  admitted  it  was  marvellous. 

"  That's  her  eye  exactly — but  her  hair — was 
that  black  or  flaxen — how  was  that,  Dorothy, 
you  remember  ?  How  old  are  you,  my  child — 
ten — perhaps  twelve — ah,  I  forget  ages  won- 
derfully," and  she  fell  off  into  an  idle  ponder- 
ing. She  evidently  supposed  the  world  had 
stood  still  for  at  least  fifteen  or  twenty  years. 
Dorothy  shook  her  head  to  the  company  round, 
and  soothed  her  aged  friend  as  she  could.  She 
presently  after  brightened  a  little,  and  asked  if 
this  old  man  they  saw  was  the  Hobbleshank 
■whom  she  was  bound  to  watch  and  guard  as  a 
death-bed  trust — by  a  promise  at  his  mother's 
bed-side  fifty  years  old  at  least.  It  was  the 
same,  Dorothy  answered,  and  this  was  his  son. 
Aunt  Gatty  smiled  at  the  news,  and  fell  into  a 
new  vacancy. 

There  was  a  close  and  whispered  interview 
on  Puffer's  jmrt  with  the  dark-eyed  young 
lady,  which,  strain  their  ear  as  they  might, 
was  pitched  in  far  too  gentle  a  key  to  be  guess- 
ed at  by  any  round,  unless  it  might  have  been 
the  smart  little  aunt  who  sat  by,  brightening 
up  as  it  advanced  as  though  it  afforded  her  in- 
finite satisfaction  to  see  how  close  and  whis- 
pered it  was. 

"  I  buried  my  only  daughter,"  said  the  sor- 
rowful boatman,  when  Puffer  questioned  him, 
"  many  months  ago — you  remember  her — your 
little  play-fellow — whose  blue  eyes  you  used  to 
watch  so  closely  ?" 

Puffer  did — but  years  had  changed  the  hue 
of  his  mind,  and  with  that  the  color  of  the  eye 
that  fixed  his  fancy  most. 

The  sorrowful  stranger  sighed,  and  Puffer 
turning  away  with  some  kindly  thought  at  his 
heart,  fell  into  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Lettuce,  who 
stood  near  by  with  a  candle  and  motioned 
Puffer  to  follow  her.  She  crossed  the  room  and 
led  him  into  a  small  chamber  at  its  side.  The 
chamber,  unlike  the  other  parts  of  the  house 
he  had  seen,  was  unfurnished ;  it  held  nothing 
more  than  a  low,  narrow  bed,  a  tattered  blan- 
ket, and  a  few  broken  bed  cords,  trailing  upon 
the  floor.  It  was  cold  and  damp,  and  a  chill 
struck  through  Puffer  as  his  companion  closed 
the  door  and  shut  them  in,  what  seemed  to 
Puffer,  from  the  first  moment,  a  hideous  place. 


"  It's  strange  you  didn't  recollect  your  old 
nurse,"  said  Mrs.  Lettuce,  "  but  never  mind 
that ;  all  your  troubles  and  tribulations  began 
in  this  room ;  and  I  want  to  tell  what  your 
old  father's  heart  failed  him  to  speak  of.  This 
was  Fyler  Close's  sleeping-room  for  more  than 
a  year;  all  the  while  your  poor  mother  was 
sick — what  snake's  eyes  that  old  villain  had ! 
— and  when  he  stretched  his  neck  toward  that 
door,  when  your  poor  mother  was  a  dying,  and 
spread  out  his  old  ugly  hands,  as  if  he  had  'em 
hold  of  her  young  throat  squeezing  the  life  out 
— but  that  isn't  it.  You'll  ask  what  all  this 
means  ?  The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  this. 
Fyler  Close  and  your  father  loved  the  same  wo- 
man ;  and  there  wasn't  a  brighter  angel  out  of 
heaven  than  that  girl;  they  both  loved  her, 
Paul,  but  your  father  married  her ;  and  from 
that  day  to  this,  he  has  had  the  shadow  of  the 
devil,  yes  the  devil  himself  in  the  form  of  that 
broker,  at  his  heels.  Your  father,  Paul,  was 
always  quick,  and  free,  and  lavish  with  his 
money ;  and  that  Fyler  Close  knew  well.  He 
made  believe  that  he  didn't  care  which  married 
the  girl,  but  he  hated  your  father  to  the  death ; 
and  as  he  knew  your  father's  weakness,  he 
worked  upon  it ;  he  urged  him  to  all  sorts  of 
extravagance  ;  to  buy  this,  and  buy  that,  and 
buy  the  other — till  the  tide  begun  to  run  back 
with  him — and  then  Fyler  comes  in,  and  like 
a  dear  friend,  lends  him  all  he  wants.  He 
was  always  of  a  lending  nature,  more  for 
spile  than  gain,  I  always  thought ;  and  so  he 
went  on  lending  till  your  father  wasn't  worth 
a  cent  he  could  call  his  own.  Then  Fyler  be- 
gan to  call  it  in  by  degrees,  so  that  your  father 
didn't  see  what  he  was  driving  at;  first  he 
had  to  sell  a  picture,  then  an  up-stairs  carpet ; 
then  Fyler  came  to  board  in  this  house,  to  keep 
an  eye  on  things.  He  thought  plainer  living 
proper  ;  and  the  family  was  put  upon  a  short 
allowance." 

"  This  is  a  devil,  as  you  say,"  said  Puffer, 
from  his  closed  teeth,  while  the  sweat  started 
to  his  brow.     "  A  devil  with  two  hoofs  !" 

"  By-and-by  your  mother  fell  sick — it  was 
the  presence  of  the  old  broker  and  a  change 
in  her  way  of  living ;  she  grew  worse  day  by 
day  ;  it  was  no  seated  sickness,  the  doctors 
said,  nothing  they  could  name ;  she  was  per- 
ishing, I  verily  believe,  of  hunger,  for  every 
day  the  table  was  more  spare  than  before ;  the 
broker  himself  seemed  to  live  on  air,  to  keep  it 
in  countenance,  and  all  that  time — all  the  while 
that  poor  dear  creature  was  famishing  with  the 
pangs  of  hunger  at  her  heart,  which  made  her 
cry  out,  though  for  his  sake — your  father's 
sake,  and  lest  some  direr  calamity  might  be 
brought  upon  him,  she  said  not  a  word.  But 
such  cries  as  she  uttered,  so  sharp  and  awful, 
I  never  heard  in  my  life ;  and  Fyler  Close  lay 
on  that  couch,  that  very  couch,  drinking  them 
all  in  like  music.  The  devils  must  have  him, 
if  any  man !    Your  mother  was  buried." 

«  Starved  to  death !"  gasped  Puffer. 

«  Even  so,  I  fear,"  answered  Mrs.  Lettuce, 


2tt 


PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


"and  her  grave  is  jus^by  the  house-wall,  where 
the  broker  could  thrust  forth  his  head  from 
this  chamber  window,  and  gloat  upon  it  any 
time  he  chose.  Your  father  saw  her  in  her 
grave,  but  more  like  one  raving  mad  than  a 
rational  creature ;  immediately  after  the  fune- 
ral he  disappeared,  was  gone — no  one  knows 
wliither  to  this  day,  though  it  is  said  he  lived 
during  that  time  upon  the  roads  and  highways 
of  the  country,  and  sheltered  himself  in  sheds 
and  barns.  The  old  broker  lodged  here  a  few 
nights,  grew  disquieted  it  is  thought,  and  went 
into  the  city.  Paul,  Paul,"  said  Hetty,  break- 
ing into  tears,  "I  never  thought  when  you 
were  a  month's  infant  on  my  lap,  that  I  should 
live  to  tell  you  a  tale  like  this.  You  didn't  re- 
member me,  but  I  forgive  you." 

Puifer  stood  gazing  upon  the  bed  with  a 
blanched  face,  and  glassy  eye,  and  rigid  in  ev- 
ery limb.  Hetty  would  not  let  him  dwell  up- 
on it  longer,  but,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  led 
him  gently  back.  So  pale  and  unearthly  was 
his  look  and  action  when  he  came  forth,  they 
all  gathered  about  and  asked  what  sudden  sick- 
ness shook  him  so  ? 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  he  answered.  Before 
they  could  put  further  question,  Hobbleshank 
entreated  them  to  pardon  him  for  a  while,  and 
drew  Puffer  away.  They  went  into  the  open 
air,  and  treading  gently  on  the  earth,  as  though 
a  grave  lay  under  every  step,  they  stood  beside 
a  tomb  built  close  under  the  wall.  It  heaved 
above  the  earth,  and  Hobbleshank,  laying  his 
hand  upon  its  top,  said  to  Puffer,  "This  is 
your  mother's  grave."  The  swelling  vines, 
crested  with  pure  white  blossoms,  broke  like  a 
green  wave  over  its  marbled  top. 

As  they  recrossed  the  threshold  the  trouble 
passed  away  from  heaven,  and  the  pale,  clear 
light  lay  on  all  the  country  round. 

Hobbleshank  led  Puffer  again  into  the  little 
chamber. 

"  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  my  child,"  he  said, 
"  but  one  that  he  will  not  fail  to  grant — I  am 
sure,  am  I  ?" 

To  be  sure  he  was,  let  him  ask  anything  he 
chose. 

« I  want  you,'*  said  Hobbleshank,  « to  fix 


this  breastpin  in  your  bosom  and  get  married 
to-night." 

To-night !  Puffer  hadn't  thought  of  such  a 
thing.  Twenty-five  years  to  come  would  be 
time  enough.  The  young  lady  was  in  the  other 
room — the  parson  at  hand — how  could  it  be 
avoided — he'd  like  to  know  from  Puffer  how  it 
was  to  be  avoided  ?  Puffer  could  suggest  no 
practicable  means  of  escape,  and  proceeded 
with  the  old  man  to  the  other  room,  to  be  mar- 
ried with  as  good  a  grace  as  he  could.  The 
little  parson  had  come  ;  there  was  the  bride, 
too,  whose  consent  had  scarcely  been  asked, 
in  her  snow-white  dress,  the  smart  old  aunt 
smoothing  the  folds  and  rubbing  her  hands  al- 
ternately. In  half  an  hour  a  change  had  come 
over  the  aspect  of  Puffer's  sky  as  great  as  the 
eclipse  without — brightening,  not  darkening, 
all  that  lay  beneath.  Who  can  tell  what  gos- 
sip the  old  farm-house  rung  with  that  night — 
what  plans,  what  jests  were  broached — what 
good  cheer  went  abroad  among  them  all  ?  How 
Halsey  Fishblatt  declaimed — how  the  little  old 
aunt  chattered — how  Hobbleshank  shambled 
up  and  down  the  room  in  a  constant  glow — 
how  it  was  finally  determined  that  Hetty  Let- 
tuce and  Dorothy  and  Aunt  Gatty  should  come 
to  live  in  the  old  farm-house  (there  was  a 
chirping  house  full),  with  Hobbleshank  and 
Paul  and  the  new  wife.  How  Mr.  Halsey 
Fishblatt  would  strike  out  some  grand  scheme 
or  other,  by  which  they  should  hear  and  know 
all  that  the  city  did,  or  thought,  or  said  ;  how 
Mr.  Sammy  Sammis  and  the  little  old  aunt 
would  come  out  and  visit  them,  twice  a  week 
at  least,  in  a  new  one-horse  to  be  immediately 
established ;  and  the  poor  stranger,  too.  Puf- 
fer's early  friend — there  was  a  pleasant  berth 
to  be  thought  of  for  him — a  nice  little  office 
Mr.  Sammy  Sammis  had  pitched  upon  in 
his  own  mind  already,  and  about  which  he 
would  see  seventeen  influential  gentlemen  to- 
morrow. 

A  blessing  upon  the  old  household  and  the 
young — having  spun  out  a  long  sorrow  as  the 
staple  of  their  life,  they  have  come  upon  a  clear 
white  thread,  which  will  brighten  on  in  happi- 
ness and  mirth  to  the  very  grave's  edge  ! 


THE  END  OF  PUFFER  HOPKINS. 


MISCELLANIES. 


MISCELLANIES. 


TRUE     AIMS    OF    LIFE: 

DELIVERED   BEFORE   THE 

ALUMNI  OF  THE  NEW  YORK  UNIVERSITY, 
In  the  UniversUy  Chajpd,  July  16,  1S39. 

Gentlemen,  brethren  of  the  Alumni  : — 
The  occasion  which  has  called  us  together 
to-day  constitutes  a  fortunate  pause  in  our  ca- 
reer. Near  enough  to  the  period  when  we  left 
these  halls,  to  mingle  in  the  cares  and  conflicts 
of  the  world,  and  far  enough  onward  in  the  ac- 
tive inarch  of  life,  it  justifies  us  in  looking  back 
thoughtfully  to  the  past  and  in  considering  what 
the  great  future  may  have  in  store  for  us. 

Youth,  at  least,  the  first  freshness  and  glory 
of  youth,  are  gone  from  us  for  ever.  The  gate 
of  that  happy  paradise,  whose  clouds  were  but 
the  ornaments  of  its  morning  heaven,  and  whose 
sorrow  only  deepened  joy,  is  closed  to  our  steps. 
,  Threatening  and  inexorable  aspects  warn  us 
from  it,  and  we  must  henceforth  seek,  in  a 
wide  and  troubled  world,  such  substitutes  of 
happiness  as  it  may  furnish.  But  the  mind — 
the  unconquerable  and  adventurous  memory — 
breaks  every  fetter,  and,  hurrying  back,  leaps 
that  old  garden  wall,  and  introduces  us  for 
a  little  hour  to  scenes,  hopes,  and  pleasures, 
that  we  thought  were  gone  never  more  to  re- 
turn. Who  would  not  give  all  that  he  is  and 
all  that  he  has  to  recover  his  youth,  with  its 
buoyant  heart,  its  cheerful  dreams,  its  sense 
of  wonder,  its  full-bosomed  and  innocent  de- 
lights ? 
/  But  the  future  brightens  in  the  distance,  and 
/  toward  it  we  are  impelled  by  the  progressive 
i  spirit  that  belongs  to  our  race.  What  we  have 
^been  is  chronicled  in  the  great  calendar  of  God. 
What  we  are  yet  to  be  lies,  in  a  considerable 
measure,  in  the  palms  of  our  own  hands,  and 
will  be  moulded  to  honor  or  to  dishonor,  as  truth 
and  wisdom,  or  madness  and  error,  teach  us  by 
the  way.  What,  then,  are  the  true  aims  of 
life  ?  Many  so  far  misapprehend  the  objects 
of  existence,  as  to  suppose  they  are  fulfilling  all 
the  duty  of  life  if  they  pursue  some  particular 


and  chosen  career  with  honest  and  honorable 
success.  It  is  a  low  and  cheap  estimate  of  our 
nature  that  regards  men  as  mere  merchants, 
soldiers,  and  artisans.  These  are  the  accidents 
and  contingencies  of  our  common  life.  No  man 
acquires  dignity,  in  the  eye  of  a  sagacious  and 
comprehensive  philosophy,  by  filling  any  or  all 
of  these  stations  with  the  utmost  worldly  suc- 
cess. It  is  not  as  the  followers  of  business, 
war,  and  commerce,  that  men  are  venerable 
and  noble  beings.  It  is  the  condition  of  his 
destiny  that  he  should  labor ;  but  it  is  to  im- 
prove and  exalt  his  intelligence,  to  broaden  the 
foundations  of  his  intellectual  and  spiritual  na- 
ture, that  he  lives.  It  is  the  motion  and  im- 
pulses of  a  soul  that  compasses  earth  and  time 
and  transcends  physical  limits,  that  make  him 
the  image  of  the  great  Mover  of  the  heavens. 
These  considerations  should  teach  him  to  rev- 
erence his  nature ;  to  bow  down  to  his  higher 
and  better  qualities  with  respect ;  and  to  culti- 
vate his  mind  and  affections  because  their  de- 
velopment and  cultivation  is  the  noblest  task 
in  which  he  can  be  engaged.  By  too  many  the 
intellect  is  regarded  as  a  means,  a  mere  auxili- 
ary and  mercenary,  enlisted  in  the  achievement 
of  secondary  and  common  objects. 

Instead  of  regarding  and  reverencing  the 
mind  as  essentially  constituting  the  man,  as 
something  in  itself  and  by  itself,  without  refer- 
ence to  its  available  uses  in  life,  it  is  held  by 
many  as  a  lesser  servant  or  menial,  in  the 
large  household  of  human  nature,  and  ranked 
only  with  the  hand  that  hews,  and  the  shoul- 
der that  bears  base  burdens  and  drudges  for  the 
abject  and  physical  wants  of  man.  The  mind, 
this  human  mind  of  ours,  if  rightly  understood, 
is  a  nobler  subject  of  contemplation  than  tem- 
ples and  pyramids — has  in  itself  more  durable 
greatness  and  beauty  than  mountains  and  the 
most  glorious  carved  monuments  fashioned  by 
the  cunning  of  human  skill. 

Objects  and  pursuits  which  we  regard  in 
themselves  as  final  aims,  intrinsically  full  of 
worth  and  moment,  are  furnished  merely  as  in- 
citements and  means  toward  the  development 
of  our  higher  nature.  Many  results  which  we 
gaze  on  as  prodigies  of  human  ingenuity,  are 
the  mere  outbreak  and  transitory  expression  of 
this  divine  fire  smouldering  within. 


I 


296 


MISCELLANIES. 


1/ 


To  accomplish  the  true  aims  of  life  we  must 
first  know  what  our  nature  is  and  what  it  re- 
quires. 

Our  nature,  then,  is  not  a  simple  element, 
like  the  air,  the  ocean,  or  the  wind,  having  a  sin- 
gle agency  to  perform,  performing  it  always  in 
one  way  and  through  an  established  round  or 
channel  of  action.  It  is  a  compound  and  com- 
posite condition — a  rude,  misshapen,  unformed 
chaos  of  moral,  intellectual,  and  physical  ingre- 
dients, placed  in  our  keeping  to  be  wrought,  by 
a  steady  will  and  enlightened  industry,  into 
I  symmetry  and  beauty.  To  show  the  vast  reach, 
i  the  towering  strength  and  altitude  of  our  na- 
1  ture,  and  its  capacity  of  extension,  we  know 
*  that  it  has  been  the  laborious  duty  of  a  long  life 
in  some  men,  to  single  out  some  separate  qual- 
ity and  devote  night  and  day  to  its  mature  and 
perfect  development.  Constantly  heaping  to- 
gether material  from  every  corner  of  the  visible 
universe,  and  piling  thought  on  thought,  until 
the  broad  earth  seemed  to  be  its  base  and  the 
heavens  were  pierced  by  its  rising  summit,  we 
have  seen  the  majestic  fabric  of  some  great  ge- 
nius ascend,  and  just  as  the  structure  was  as- 
suming breadth  and  proportion,  the  earth  has 
opened  and  swallowed  the  mighty  architect 
with  all  his  plans.  Think  you  that  sublime 
labor  was  lost  ?  No.  He  who  here  toiled  at 
the  foundations  in  our  midst  will  there  be  en- 
gaged in  completing  the  glorious  structure  of 
his  nature,  and  will  work  cheerfully  at  its  ar- 
chitrave and  crowning  capital  in  the  eye  of  his 
great  Taskmaster. 

In  the  whole  range  of  animated  beings  there 
is,  I  imagine,  no  creature  in  all  respects  like 
man ;  none  in  the  wide  circuit  of  planets  and 
universes,  possessing  the  same  powers,  placed 
amid  the  same  circumstances,  and  accomplish- 
ing the  purposes  of  his  being  through  the  same 
hopes,  fears,  trials,  joys  ;  under  a  similar  sky, 
and  impelled  by  spiritual  and  physical  influ- 
ences of  like  potency  and  character. 

It  is  our  duty  to  unfold  this  vast,  complex, 
and  peculiar  nature,  by  availing  ourselves  of 
every  aid  within  our  reach ;  and  aids  are  not 
"Wanting.  Not  a  star,  a  stream,  a  shadow — 
that  does  not  co-operate  with  us  in  this  great 
ministry.  Every  mute  thing  in  nature  has  a 
voice  to  summon  forth  some  faculty  of  ours  and 
to  cherish  it  in  its  growth.  The  grandeur  of 
the  heavens  kindles  our  imagination,  the  stub- 
bom  mountain-ascent  evokes  the  resolute  will, 
the  ocean-flood  challenges  our  daring,  and  the 
decaying  blossoms  of  earth  persuade  us  to  weep. 
I  do  not  deny  that  many  objects  are  of  tempo- 
rary use  and  pass  utterly  away  without  any  deep 
and  durable  impressions  on  our  character ;  but 
I  do  believe,  that  in  his  infinite  wisdom  and 
skill  the  great  Builder  has  created  this  world 
of  ours  and  all  that  is  in  it,  for  this  high  pur- 
pose ;  has  devised  it  as  the  best  school  for  hu- 
man nature,  and  in  his  mature  and  eternal 
;  counsels  has  chosen  it  out  of  innumerable  plans, 
\  as  the  best  suited  for  the  composite  and  won- 
1  derfol  being  whose  inheritance  it  is. 


It  is  not  in  the  material  creation  alone  that 
our  nature  finds  aliment  for  its  highest  quali- 
ties. The  human  world,  the  wide  and  restless 
generation  of  our  own  kind,  furnishes  ample 
means  and  inducements.  We  are  so  constituted 
as  to  have  our  best  faculties,  our  broadest  en-  , 
terprises,  our  noblest  emotions,  eTicited  by  the 
quick  sympathies  of  our  common  race.  We  k 
are  generous,  heroic,  fearless  in  trial,  and  with  | 
countenances  glowing  from  within  as  well  as 
from  without,  amid  the  fires  of  martyrdom,  that 
we  may  acquire  the  afifections  and  praises  of 
mankind.  We  build  our  loftiest  and  most  du- 
rable monuments  that  we  mayiive  in  the  mem- 
ory of  man.  We  giye  up  household  quiet,  do- 
mestic joy,  serene  contemplation,  life  itself,  and^' 
wrestle  in  the  stormy  conflict  for  a  sudden  and 
glorious  grave,  to  which  men  may  come  and 
give  their  tears.  We  should  therefore  preserve 
a  pure  and  comprehensive  sympathy  for  our 
race,  as  one  of  the  most  precious  and  persua- 
sive instruments  in  accomplishing  the  true  ends 
of  our  existence.  Let  man,  the  living,  actual 
man,  as  he  moves  before  us  and  around  us,  be 
our  perpetual  study  and  one  of  the  constant 
and  worthy  objects  of  our  regard.  Let  us  also 
bring  ourselves  in  daily  communion  with  the 
generations  that  are  past  and  distant.  And 
how  can  this  be  attained  ? 

Fortunately  we  are  not  bound,  like  lower 
natures,  to  that  only  which  is  present  and 
immediate.  Our  lives  are  not  hedged  in  by 
a  little  round  of  visible  and  present  objects; 
we  can  grasp  the  remote,  the  future,  the  past 
— that  which  is  above  and  beneath  us,  and 
far  off  beyond  the  range  of  sense.  Jl  is  by 
liJierature  that  we  thus  enlarge  and  elevate 
our  vision ;  and  in  no  wise  plan  of  life  will  lit- 
erature be  forgotten.  The  recorded  thought? 
of  men  of  genius  will  teach  us  to  what  sublimt 
heights  the  human  soul  may  be  borne  in  mo 
ments  of  rapture  and  inspiration;  how  cheer 
ful  our  human  nature  may  show  itself  in  its 
hour  of  genial  and  jovial  enjoyment,  and  what 
a  divjnity  of  sorrow  it  may  express  in  its  no- 
blest periods  of  pure  and  gentle  emotion.  Here 
we  may  see  great  souls  wrung  and  touched  and 
wrapt  away  in  the  glorious  agony  of  deep  feel- 
ing and  mighty  thought,  snatched  from  our  com- 
mon life  and  hurried  from  our  mortal  view,  but 
casting  back  a  prophet's  mantle  of  many  death- 
less hues  upon  the  earth.  From  these  precious 
legacies,  left  to  our  race  by  its  richest  benefac- 
tors, we  may  learn  what  human  nature  has 
been,  what  it  is,  and  what  it  should  be.  In 
them  we  shall  discover  pictures  to  startle,  to 
bless,  to  cheer,  and  kindle  our  nature.  From  - 
them,  as  from  a  great  fountain,  every  faculty 
may  draw  that  which  it  thirsts  for,  and  may 
there  be  purified  and  strengthened. 

In  all  moods  of  the  soul,  in  every  access  of 
sorrow,  depression,  and  pain  ;  in  the  tumult  of 
ambition  and  in  the  silent  nook  of  contempla- 
tive life,  some  voice,  measured  to  the  purpose, 
will  speak  to  us  from  some  good  and  precious 
page.    A  liberal  devotion  to  literature  is,  per- 


THE  TRUE  AIMS  OF  LIFE. 


297 


A 


haps,  of  all  human  means,  best  calculated  to 
expand  and  exalt  our  character,  and  to  pre- 
serve its  great  primary  elements  from  being 
undermined  and  swept  away  in  the  treacherous 
and  noisy  currents  of  the  world. 

One  important  lesson  to  be  derived  from  books 
I  should  not  omit.  They  teach  us  by  their 
general  temper  and  spirit  to  regard  every  object 
•with  interest,  and  to  feel  that  nothing  about  us 
is  beneath  our  attention  or  can  not  contribute  to 
rational  enjoyment.  By  that  magic  which  be- 
longs to  genius  alone,  a  charm  has  been  im- 
parted to  a  thousand  objects  which  in  them- 
selves are  barren,  trivial,  and  unprofitable;  so 
that  what  in  nature  has  been  left  unfinished  or 
unfurnished  by  the.  .Creator  himself,  has  been 
supplied  by  the  creative  and  liberal  hand  of 
gifted  men.  Literature  has  thus  lent  a  glory  to 
nature  herself,  and  has  peopled  her  void  and 
desert  places  with  her  own  cheerful  and  happy 
progeny.  Could  we  keep  our  souls  open  to  the 
pure  impulses  awakened  by  genius  and  nature 
how  happy  would  be  this  brief  life  of  ours  ! 
Could  we  retain  the  childish  wonder  and  sen- 
sibility of  youth,  and  acquire  the  maturity  of 
manhood  together,  how  smoothly  and  wisely 
would  our  days  go  by  !  This  can  not  be.  The 
boy  is  alive  to  every  impulse  from  within  and 
from  without ;  no  cloud  passes  through  the  sky 
without  its  influence  on  his  susceptible  temper; 
no  spectacle  of  nature  or  art  that  does  not 
awaken  a  certain  magic  sense  of  wonder  and 
delight.  The  man  hardens ;  his  mind  becomes 
rigid,  like  his  body,  and  all  these  influences  fall 
upon  him  unheeded  or  with  faint  eflect.  It  is 
only  men  born  with  a  peculiar  tenderness  and 
beauty  of  character,  who  continue  through 
manhood  and  age  plastic  to  the  various  agencies 
under  which  they  pass.  To  preserve  some- 
thing of  the  boy,  or  at  least  the  boy's  feelings 
in  our  haughty  and  proud  manhood,  a^id  in  our 
calculating  and  selfish  age,  is  give*  to  but  few 
of  us.  This  is  one  of  the  noblest  arts  of  life; 
to  keep  the  soul  open  to  the  TJOwer  of  what  is 
great  in  nature,  sublime  in  iiumanity,  lovely  in 
beauty,  or  gentle  in  feelmg. 

To  most  of  us  this  happy  susceptibUity  of 
nature  soon  passes  away  for  ever,  but,  praised 
be  Heaven,  there  is  a  race  of  men  whose  duty 
and  privilege  it  is  to  bear  on  high  the  sacred 
torch,  and  lend  a  new  light  to  mankind  by 
which  everything  shall  gain  back  a  portion  of 
the  freshness  and  lustre  it  possessed  in  our 
S  youth. 

'"'    "  Blessings  be  with  them  and  eternal  praise, 
Who  gave  us  nobler  loves  and  nobler  cares, 
The  Poets,  who  on  earth  have  made  us  heirs 
Of  truth  and  pure  delight  by  heavenly  lays." 

It  is  the  prerogative  of  inspired  natures  to 
present  old  objects  to  our  minds  as  if  they  were 
new ;  to  make  us  see  more  in  stars,  streams, 
mountains,  than  mere  material  objects,  and  to 
link  one  majestic  or  lovely  thing  with  another 
bringing  together  the  remotest  and  placing  them 
side  by"  side  to  illustrate  each  other  and  thus 
multiply  nature  itself.    Thus,  by  a  high  effort , 


of  intellect  are  the  colors,  bestowed  on  nature, 
by  youth,  restored ;  and  thus  as  we  advance  in 
life,  does  the  creation  in  the  midst  of  which  we 
dwell,  unfold  new  elements  of  happiness  and 
new  materials  on  which  our  larger  faculties 
may  labor. 

As  far  as  it  lies  within  us,  and  within  the 
reach  of  our  endeavor,  we  should  strive  to 
make  this  fortunate  temper — the  most  fortunate 
that  can  belong  to  man — our  own.  Let  us 
shut  out  petty  cares,  low  passions,  and  unworthy 
desires,  and  in  the  silence  of  a  pure  breast, 
this  kindly  visiter  may,  perhaps,  enter  in  and 
bless  us,  and  ere  it  depart,  it  may,  like  the 
magician  of  the  eastern  story,  anoint  our  eyes 
so  that  we  shall  thenceforth  behold  nothing  but 
splendor  and  beauty  through  the  earth.  To 
live  is  nothing ;  but  to  possess  a  great  soul,  an 
exalted  spirit  of  duty  and  affection,  a  noble, 
cultivated,  and  susceptible  nature,  is  an  honor 
and  distinction  in  any  man. 

No  system  of  philosophy  or  morals,  it  seems 
to  me,  is  sound  and  genuine  which  conflicts 
with  this  liberal  cultivation  of  the  powers; 
which  depresses  some  and  allows  others  to  start 
into  bold  and  prominent  relief.  The  general 
harmony  of  character  must  be  preserved  or  the 
great  commonwealth  of  human  faculties  falls 
into  terrible  and  disastrous  confusion ;  those 
which  have  been  degraded  and  disfranchised 
finding  cruel  avengers  in  such  as  have  acquired 
a  fearful  and  irregular  ascendency. 

Many,  if  not  all,  of  the  gloomy  troubles  on 
which  history  feeds,  have  had  their  source  in 
this  dictatorship  of  single  and  unchecked  pas- 
sions or  propensities. 

Sometimes,  imagination  obtaining  the  entire 
mastery,  the  steadfast  world  has,  as  it  were 
been  swept  from  its  moorings  and  rolled  about 
on  a  wide  sea  of  speculation,  vainly  searching 
for  some  unattainable  shore  of  adventure,  now 
pressing  for  the  holy  sepulchre  in  the  east,  and 
now  drifting  madly  toward  the  western  EI 
Dorado. 

Again,  where  the  strict  judgment,  the  purely 
moral  powers  of  man  have  held  the  supremacy, 
unmated  with  the  gentler  sentiments  and  unre- 
strained by  the  enlightened  intellect,  we  have 
had  persecution,  martyrdom,  baleful  fires,  and 
bloodshed.  And  when,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
intellectual  nature  has  attempted  this  solitary 
authority,  disdaining  counsel  from  the  heart  and 
silencing  the  great  voice  of  duty,  mankind  have 
lost  themselves  in  the  frivolous  discussion  of 
schoolmen  and  the  pigmy  literature  of  Delia 
Cruscan  authors.  \ 

In  connexion  with  this  broad  and  ample  de- 
velopment of  our  powers,  another  important 
duty  resting  upon  us  all,  is  to  select,  as  far  as 
in  us  lies,  our  own  position  in  life ;  nay,  I  would 
almost  say,  the  very  place  and  climate  where 
we  shall  live.  Possessing  a  nature  so  compli- 
cated and  so  finely  sensitive  to  all  influences, 
whether  from  within  or  from  without,  man 
should  render  the  same  justice  and  grant  the 
same  privileges  to  his  own  nature  as  he  be- 


\ 


298 


MISCELLANIES. 


stows  on  other  objects  of  his  care.  For  his 
garden  he  chooses  an  upland,  of  a  healthy  soil, 
a  pleasant  exposure  to  the  sun,  and  a  spot 
where  the  gentle  showers  of  summer  may  fall 
not  unblessed.  His  watch-towers  and  observa- 
tories he  plants  upon  an  eminence,  looking 
forth  on  a  wide  region  of  hill  and  valley,  and 
summoning  by  their  majestic  altitude,  all  earth 
and  heaven  into  the  range  of  their  vision. 
Shall  he  deal  less  wisely  and  justly  by  his  own 
nature  than  by  these  ?  Shall  he  not  choose  for 
himself  a  station  in  life,  a  condition  of  circum- 
stances, a  range  of  outward  objects  which 
shall  exercise  the  happiest  authority  over  the 
nice  organs  of  sense,  and  the  delicate  elements 
of  character  ?  A  man  may  be  said  to  be  the 
result  of  all  that  he  has  known,  seen,  heard, 
and  felt.  It  is  of  high  importance,  then,  that 
he  should  see,  know,  feel,  and  hear,  that  which 
will  exert  the  most  refined  and  exalted  influence 
over  his  mind,  passions,  and  affections.  We 
are  bound  by  our  nature  to  no  one  condition  of 
action  ;  there  is  not  one  business,  one  pursuit, 
and  one  happiness  provided  for  all  men.  Hu- 
manity is  given  to  each  of  us  to  make  of  it 
what  we  can  !  Lofty  natures  require  lofty  in- 
citements to  action.  The  ear  that  is  deaf  to 
the  soothing  music  of  the  dulcimer  may  be 
stirred  by  the  roll  of  the  drum,  or  the  clangor 
of  the  trumpet.  The  sky  may  be  the  holiest 
spectacle  to  one,  and  the  fair  earth  awaken  the 
dearest  solicitude  of  the  other.  To  every  man 
there  is  a  class  of  objects,  associations,  sights 
and  sounds,  that  speak  to  him  with  peculiar 
force  and  agency. 

Hard  and  stern  realities  are  the  best  nurse 
of  some  natures,  while  others  grow  and  expand 
in  an  atmosphere  filled  with  the  soft  radiance 
of  poetic  light,  and  peopled  by  fancy  with  in- 
numerable images  of  splendor  and  renown. 
One  pursues  fame,  and  in  fame  finds  his  best 
reward  and  true  felicity — all  his  powers  brought 
into  action,  his  whole  being  aroused — the  au- 
dience and  occasion  such  as  suit  the  temper  of 
the  man.  Another  in  some  secluded  nook  passes 
his  days  happy  in  peaceful  labors  and  slumbers 
unbroken  by  dream,  vision,  or  hope.  One 
character  shows  to  best  advantage  in  the 
broad  blaze  of  noon ;  another,  in  the  milder 
splendor  of  morning ;  and  a  third,  in  a  glim- 
mering twilight,  half  way  between  fame  and 
obscurity. 

There  are  great  influences,  too,  of  city  and 
of  country  which  sweep  over  large  masses  of 
men.  In  a  mighty  metropolis  a  man's  nature 
is  fed  and  excited  from  a  thousand  sources.  It 
is  stimulated  to  action  by  the  loud  roar  of  the 
multitude ;  it  is  kindled  into  enthusiasm  by  the 
<iaily  sight  of  a  thousand  faces  ;  an  inquisition 
is  fixed  upon  it  from  a  thousand  eyes.  Bad 
passions  can  not  go  long  here  without  a  promp- 
ter ;  nor  benevolent  purposes  long  without  an 
object.  He  stands  amid  the  clash  of  a  Babel, 
and  a  perpetual  tumult  is  stirred  within  his 
breast  in  which  new  and  newly  compounded 
motives  of  action  are  daily  springing  up.  Noth- 


ing is  done  simply  as  if  he  stood  alone  in  the 
view  of  Heaven.  Then,  with  an  observant 
eye,  what  crowds  of  strange  and  curious  images 
are  engendered  in  the  brain  by  this  swift  and 
varied  phantasmagoria  of  life !  Transitions 
from  fortune  to  famine ;  great  men  toppled 
down  from  their  elevation,  and  little  men  raised 
on  a  pedestal  as  if  they  were  gods.  Here  he 
can  laugh  at  one  moment  and  weep  at  the 
next.  In  the  train  of  son  bright  fashion  and 
beauty,  dark  sorrow  walks  as  a  mourner,  and 
every  man's  shadow  is  but  a  gloomy  monitor  of 
distress.  The  picture  of  life  is  made  up  of 
startling  contrasts ;  gloom  of  more  than  mid- 
night darkness — ^joy  of  more  than  meridian 
splendor.  Here  ambition  stalks  forth  and  as- 
sumes a  kingly  post,  and  the  next  moment  oc- 
cupies a  coffin.  This  is  a  wonderful  school  of 
human  nature,  but  is  it  alone  the  wisest  and 
best  ?  I  think  not ;  but  if  it  be,  and  our  duty 
assign  us  a  station  here,  let  us  not  forget  the 
cheerful  regions  that  lie  beyond.  From  the 
noise  and  madness,  let  the  wise  man  steal  forth 
at  times  to  other  scenes  where  nature  sits  alone, 
and  where  he  may  learn  some  lessons  from  her 
unpurchased  and  incorruptible  voice. 

Among  the  healthiest  influences  that  can  be 
brought  to  bear  upon  his  nature,  let  him  visit 
the  green  fields  often  !  No  unwise  thought — no 
dark  passion  rises  from  the  pure  bosom  of  the 
earth.  There  he  will  have  happy  meditations, 
prosperous  periods  of  thought,  and,  if  his 
childhood  have  been  familiar  with  the  scene, 
thronging  recollections  that  will  swell  his  heart 
and  overflow  at  his  eyes  in  tears  of  passionate 
delight.  Let  him  see  the  green  fields  often  ! 
for  there  he  will  walk  with  angelic  quiet,  se- 
rene contemplation,  and  when  he  returns,  if  re- 
turn he  must,  to  the  crowded  and  raging  city, 
thesR  sweet  companions  will  champion  him 
back,  aad  crossing,  perchance,  the  noisy  bounds 
will  be  ctiQtent  to  dwell  with  him  awhile  and 
cheer  his  hej^rt  in  the  interv^als  and  calm  hours 
of  strife  and  g^n.  Let  him  visit  the  green 
fields  often !  there  he  will  renew  his  youth  and 
acquire  a  fresh  and  cheerful  spirit  that  shall  be 
better  to  him  in  his  old  age  than  rank,  wealth, 
or  worldly  honor.  • 

Let  other  influences  be  sought  and  cherished 
as  they  adapt  themselves  to  th^  requirements 
of  each  man's  nature.  If  the  ocean  move  him 
with  a  special  power,  let  him  visit  the  ocean 
and  feel  its  greatness.  Let  his  mind  h^ave  and 
expand  with  the  heaving  mountain  wave, 
stretching  far  onward  into  the  dark  distance 
and  the  darker  future.  If  the  thunder  of  the 
cataract  utter  a  more  audible  voice  to  him,  let 
him  stand  by  its  side  while  his  nature  wrestles 
and  grows  strong  in  the  embrace  of  the  great 
God  of  waters.  Or  if,  on  the  other  hand,  in 
the  thronged  assemblies  of  men  his  soul  is 
more  deeply  moved,  and  the  inspiration  of  high 
purposes  breathed  more  fully  upon  him,  let 
him  seek  their  companionship  and  school  him- 
self amid  the  multitudinous  tumult.  These  are 
higher  and  worthier  objects  than  fortune,  con- 


THE  TRUE  AIM  OF  LIFE. 


299 


quest,  victory  in  great  battles,  or  triumph  in 
the  loud  senate  of  nations. 

Another  great  consideration  I  would  urge  as 
an  important  aid  in  attaining  the  true  aims  of 
life :  namely  a  devout  and  generous  love  of 
our  native  land.  A  sincere  and  earnest  attach- 
ment to  the  land  of  our  birth,  is  calculated  to 
awaken  the  whole  soul  into  healthy  action ;  to 
appeal  to  us  by  a  thousand  silent  sympathies, 
and  by  casting  a  charm  around  the  scene  in 
which  we  dwell,  impart  to  our  nature  a  genial 
excitement  under  Avhich  its  best  powers  are 
exerted.  To  love  our  country  is  to  love  life,  and 
to  strive  to  make  that  life  happy  by  lending  a 
romantic  interest  to  the  spot  in  which  it  is  cast. 
Our  country,  if  we  truly  love  it,  evokes  our 
feelings,  our  judgment,  our  imagination,  and 
solicits  these,  by  an  unseen  persuasion,  to  em- 
ploy themselves  in  adorning  and  exalting  the 
object  of  their  regard,  and  in  contributing  to 
its  well-being  with  all  the  strength  and  capaci- 
ty they  possess.  Where  that  country  is  a  sub- 
lime and  noble  one,  and  her  external  aspect 
grand  and  lovely,  we  should  endeavor  to  make 
ourselves  worthy  of  it,  and  to  show  that  the 
human  spirit  can  be  no  less  great  and  generous 
than  the  outward  objects  with  which  it  copes. 
Who  has  not  felt,  at  some  period  or  other  of 
his  life,  an  ardent  wish,  a  burning  desire,  to 
link  himself  in  some  way  or  other,  with  the 
destinies  of  his  country,  to  live  in  his  land's 
language,  and  to  leave  some  memorial  behind 
him,in  which  his  country  should  have  a  claim? 
Who  knows  not  some  little  spot,  some  humble 
stream,  which  is  nearer  to  his  heart  because  it 
belongs  to  the  land  of  his  birth,  the  bower  of 
his  boyhood,  the  shelter  and  solace  of  his  de- 
clining years  ? 

By  some,  patriotism,  or  love  of  country,  is 
regarded  as  an  airy  bubble,  raised  by  cunning 
statesmen  to  dazzle  and  bewilder  the  multitude. 
They  speak  of  it  as  if  there  were  in  reality  no 
such  thing  as  a  genuine  and  honest  attachment 
to  one's  country.  Is  there,  then,  no  solid 
foundation  in  the  constitution  of  our  nature  on 
which  to  build  such  an  affection  ?  Are  there 
no  claims  that  plead  in  the  heart  for  such  a 
love  ?  Here  we  first  saw  the  morning  light ; 
here  we  drank  in  the  first  breath  of  the  pure 
air.  From  its  bosom  we  first  beheld  the  glad 
spectacles  which  cheer  and  illumine  our  life. 
The  first  rainbow  that  we  ever  looked  on 
spanned  our  native  land ;  the  first  sunset, 
whose  splendors  made  our  young  hearts  dance 
with  joy,  was  kindled  on  the  horizon  of 
our  country.  It  is  here  that  we  have  first 
known  spring-time  and  autumn,  and  the  genial 
round  of  seasons.  Here  we  saw  the  fir§t 
odorous  flower ;  and  here  we  first  beheld  the 
distant  hill-tops  and  the  broad  green  wood 
tinged  with  the  glory  of  the  sun.  From  this 
chosen  scene  of  our  existence  we  first  looked 
abroad  on  the  starry  miracle  of  a  sustained 
and  balanced  universe.  Here  dawned  upon 
our  minds  our  earliest  conceptions  of  duty, 
justice,  kindred,   and    fellowship    with   man. 


Here  we  first  felt  the  warm  embrace  of  a 
mother's  love  and  the  first  pressure  of  a  friend- 
ly hand.  It  is  here  we  have  shed  our  first 
tears,  and  felt  all  the  tender  emotions  that 
spring  up  over  the  grave  of  those  we  have 
loved.  Here,  in  a  word,  we  first  had  life ;  and 
here,  in  the  dispensations  of  sovereign  power, 
we  shall  lay  it  down.  Should  not  the  spot  of  all 
these  gentle  and  aflecting  associations  be  dear  to 
us  ?  Should  it  be  as  common  earth  ?  We  do  no 
wrong  to  our  nature  by  a  devout  and  earnest 
love  of  the  land  in  which  we  live,  but  rather 
render  it  an  acceptable  service  and  aid  its 
powers  in  their  development  by  all  the  impulses 
of  hope,  reason,  and  affection,  that  grow  from 
such  a  love. 

Another  important  and  genuine  aim  of  life 
is  to  regulate  the  action  of  our  own  mind  and 
character  on  the  mind  and  character  of  others. 
The  influence  of  man  on  man  can  not  be 
measured.  Human  nature  is  so  full  of  startling 
echoes  and  reflections,  that  a  voice  can  scarce- 
ly be  raised  or  a  light  held  up  in  any  corner  of 
the  earth  without  ci-eating  everywhere  a  thou- 
sand responses,  and  returning  the  original 
image  in  innumerable  colors  of  surprise,  indig- 
nation, horror,  and  joy.  In  a  narrower  circle 
mind  acts  upon  mind  with  fearful  force.  Lured 
on  by  the  mutual  voice  of  man,  human  beings 
have  reached  their  highest  fortune  or  have  been 
plunged  into  utter  and  abject  misery.  Sustain- 
ed by  the  generous  homage  of  a  few  wise  and 
steadfast  friends,  one  of  the  great  masters  of 
our  age  has  toiled  for  half  a  century  and  is 
now  hailed  a  poet  by  the  general  acclaim  of  the 
world.  By  human  sympathy  and  influence 
great  enterprises  are  pushed  to  a  successful 
issue ;  purposes  that  lurked  in  the  breast  have 
been  matured  into  large  and  prosperous  results ; 
conjecture  has  ripened  into  disco verj%  faith 
swelled  to  martyrdom,  and  out  of  our  common 
and  vulgar  clay  an  almost  angelic  creature  been 
fashioned.  So  vast  are  the  operations  of  human 
sj'mpathy,  (hat  pure  natures,  by  its  perversion, 
may  be  brought  down  to  degradation  and  shame, 
and  fiendish  ones,  by  its  higher  influence,  be 
elevated  to  beauty  and  honor. 

There  are  auspicious  moments  when  the  soul 
lies  open,  by  some  natural  and  imperceptible 
movements  of  its  springs,  when  lofYy  thoughts 
and  happy  visions  glide  serenely  into  the  mind, 
and  when  we  are  gently  disposed  to  receive 
sweet  influences  and  grant  them  a  residence  in 
the  breast.  It  may  be  in  the  red  twilight  of 
summer,  that  the  heavenly  visitant  is  disclosed ; 
it  descends,  perchance,  in  the  soothing  August 
shower,  or  may  flow  upon  us  with  the  invisible 
wind  that  stirs  the  green  blades  of  the  meadow 
with  life.  These  are  the  golden  moments  when 
the  influence  of  man  on  man  is  most  deeply  and 
happily  felt.  We  all  have  these,  nor  should  we 
let  them  pass  in  ourselves  or  in  others,  without 
profit.  It  is  these  moments  of  natural  revela- 
tion, if  I  may  so  call  them,  that  can  give  th« 
brightest  and  truest  colors  to  our  lives.  If  wf 
could  alwavs  be  what  we  are  under  the  momen 


300 


MISCELLANIES. 


tary  inspiration  of  these  divine  awakenings, 
old  Eden  would  be  restored  and  man  would 
walk  again  with  his  Maker  without  fear  and 
without  reproach.  Let  no  such  moment — for 
but  a  few  such  are  granted  to  us — pass  by  un- 
heeded or  unimproved.  Then  is  the  chosen 
hour  to  enter  the  bosom  of  our  fellow-man  and 
leave  there  some  durable  impress  of  goodness, 
beauty,  and  truth.  It  is  the  peculiar  privilege 
of  genius  and  eloquence  to  create  a  condition 
of  mind,  in  many  respects,  kindred  to  this,  and 
to  win  their  way  to  the  heart  and  there  plant 
the  everlasting  seeds  of  truth  in  a  soil  thus 
genially  prepared  for  their  welcome. 

Contemporary  and  co-ordinate  with  this,  is 
the  duty  to  sustain  great  truths,  and  the  dis- 
countenanced advocates  of  great  truths,  in  the 
midst  of  doubt,  opposition,  and  calumny.  Into 
the  hands  of  a  few  chosen  spirits  falls,  often- 
times, the  custody  of  principles  vital  to  the 
best  interests  of  mankind.  Scorned,  slandered, 
ridiculed,  it  is  their  generous  labor  to  hold  up 
the  banner  of  some  outcast  truth,  and  carry  it 
forward  amid  the  clamors  of  an  ignorant  and 
passionate  multitude.  A  few  fearless  and  high- 
souled  men  in  every  generation  act  the  part  of 
posterity  to  pure  and  lofty  opinion,  and  antici- 
pate in  themselves  and  by  their  own  sagacious 
hardihood,  the  verdict  of  that  impartial  tribunal. 
Wherever,  then,  we  see  a  vital  truth  delivered, 
a  noble  creation  of  genius,  a  suppressed  but 
struggling  thought  that  belongs  to  mankind, 
let  us  bring  it  forth  to  the  light,  give  it  our 
countenance  and  support,  and  fix  it  on  an  emin- 
ence where  the  world  can  not  but  behold  it,  and 
in  the  end  fall  down  in  worship  of  its  excellence 
and  grandeur. 

Common  opinions,  of  use  to  the  daily  inter- 
ests of  men,  will  find  friends  and  patronage 
in  every  street  and  marketplace ;  but  new, 
vast,  and  sublime  creations,  unfamiliar  to  the 
vulgar  mind,  and  startling  to  the  trained  criti- 
cism and  judgment  of  the  day,  require  that 
such  as  are  capable  of  comprehending  them, 
should  form  themselves  into  a  resolute  guard, 
and,  by  union,  firmness,  and  a  high  tone  of 
manly  and  vigorous  daring,  urge  them  on  the 
attention  of  the  world.  No  great  truth,  no  sub- 
lime creation,  can  utterly  perish;  but  the  hour 
of  its  triumph  may  be  held  back,  and  a  thou- 
sand hearts  be  buried  in  the  earth,  that  would 
have  been  thrilled,  refined,  and  exalted,  by  the 
glorious  vision,  had  it  come  earlier  to  greet 
their  eyes. 

How  blessed  a  consolation  would  it  be  to  us 
in  old  age — yea,  even  in  an  old  age  of  poverty, 
sorrow,  and  obscurity — that  we  have  seen  in  si- 
lence no  good  man  trampled  on,  no  great  prin- 
ciple crushed,  which  we  might  have  saved  from 
such  dishonor  ;  have  fled  from  the  advocacy  of 
no  friend  because  he  was  poor ;  have  sought 
the  shelter  of  no  unrighteous  error  because  it 
was  strong,  and  might  beat  off  the  dark  shower 
of  malice,  oppression,  or  popular  madness ; 
have  not  fawned  on  brutal  or  vulgar  pomp ; 
and  can  close  our  eyes  on  a  world  which  has 


had  in  us  no  example  of  time-serving,  cunning 
cowardice,  or  a  prudent  and  considerate  love  of 
self  and  selfish  ends.  Not  to  have  soothed 
the  anguish  of  some  broken  spirit;  not  to  have 
resisted  unjust  aggression ;  to  have  refrained 
from  upholding  the  truth  through  fear,  favor, 
or  hope  of  reward ;  to  have  allowed  insolent 
magistracy  to  pervert  or  dally  witli  the  right, 
or  furious  multitudes  to  invade  public  sanctu- 
aries or  private  homes  ;  to  have  shrunk  back 
from  stretching  a  hand  to  an  overwhelming  and 
sinking  fellow-being  because  he  has  sinned ;  to 
have  frowned  down  one  honest  smile  in  a  poor 
man's  face,  or  to  have  wrung  one  tear  from  a 
desolate  woman's  eye ;  these  will  be  gloomy  at- 
tendants about  a  death-bed  ;  a  horrible  retinue 
to  herald  us  into  a  perilous  and  fearful  hereaf- 
ter ;  these,  these  it  is  that  make  the  grave  dark 
and  terrible ! 

Finally,  if  we  adopt  this  broad  and  liberal 
plan  of  cultivating  our  powers  and  affections, 
ijy  every  faculty  developed,  we  shall  expand  the 
circle  of  our  enjoyments,  the  grasp  of  our 
minds,  and  the  true  manliness  of  our  characters. 
Where  before  we  crept  along  impaired  of  the 
very  limbs  that  should  aid  our  motions,  we  now 
assume  an  erect  and  vigorous  gait,  and  an  eye 
that  smiles  on  the  varied  scenes  and  truths  of 
life  with  an  intelligent  joy.  We  thus  provide 
for  ourselves  a  wide  range  of  objects  on  which 
to  lavish  our  justice,  affection,  our  observation 
and  fancy,  our  whole  passionate  and  thoughtful 
nature.  Embracing  thus  many  topics,  and  en- 
larging our  minds  to  the  comprehension  of  a 
wide  range  of  duty  and  affection,  we  will  be- 
come endowed  with  a  more  just  judgment,  a 
keener  insight  into  right  and  wrong,  and  a 
general  capacity  for  action  and  meditation  un- 
known to  us  before.  Many  things  which  seem- 
ed distasteful  and  repulsive  to  our  narrow 
vision,  will  now  start  up  into  significancy  and 
beauty  under  the  authority  of  some  newly  de- 
veloped sense  of  enjoyment.  All  life  will  then 
be  full  of  meaning.  The  sad,  the  humorous, 
the  imaginative,  will  need  no  interpreter  but  the 
faculty  furnished  by  nature,  to  apprehend  them. 
From  no  phase  of  human  nature,  no  condition 
of  men,  can  we  then  turn  away  our  eyes  with- 
out injustice  to  the  great  law  written  in  the 
soul.  We  will  glow  at  the  thought  of  heroic 
daring ;  weep  over  the  sorrows  that  afilict  gentle 
natures,  and  smile  at  the  grotesque  and  comic 
ex\iibitions  of  humanity  in  the  ordinary  walks 
of  life.  We  can  then  sit  with  the  philosopher 
in  his  cell,  and  feel  a  kindred  rapture  in  the 
contemplation  of  the  starry  vastness  and  ma- 
jesty of  the  heavens,  and  with  him  weigh  out 
the  glories  and  planetary  masses  of  infinite 
space.  Amid  the  mountains  we  will  wander 
with  the  poet,  and  listening  to  the  roar  of  dis- 
tant waters,  have  the  divine  particle,  the  bless- 
ed imagination,  stirred  with  a  deep  fervor  with 
in  us.  With  the  humbler  moralist  and  th 
shrewd  observer  of  life,  we  will  lake  our  po- 
sition in  the  thoroughfare  and  catch,  with  a 
pleased  eye,  the  strange  humors,  the  cunning 


NEW  ETHICS  OF  EATING. 


301 


dealings  and  actions  of  common  men.  Sky, 
ocean,  human  faces,  human  thoughts,  the  for- 
tunes of  rich  and  poor,  God's  anger  in  the 
storm  and  earthquake,  man's  lesser  rage  in 
battle  and  revenge,  ambition,  love,  the  finer 
and  coarser  passions  of  the  soul,  our  destiny 
here  and  hereafter,  will  pass  under  the  cogni- 
zance of  this  organized  and  balanced  intellect, 
and  each  will  have  its  due  place  accorded  to  it. 
All  objects,  in  such  a  mind,  will  attain  their 
just  position,  have  their  peculiar  influence,  and 
be  permitted  to  co-operate  together  in  building 
up  that  noblest  of  earthly  existences,  a  human 
soul.  An  exquisite  harmony  will  pervade  our 
life  and  character.  Every  passion  will  enjoy 
its  due  growth  and  enlargement ;  every  faculty 
move  in  conjunction  with  its  kindred  powers, 
and  none  in  this  well-ordered  assemblage,  will 
venture  to  usurp  an  unnatural  and  unwise 
supremacy.  The  human  spirit  will  then  stoop 
under  no  despotism,  whether  of  lawless  imagi- 
nation, harsh  reason,  or  benighted  conscience. 
The  world  will  not  then  assume  to  the  eye  a 
level  and  repulsive  smoothness,  clothed  in  a 
single  and  sombre  hue,  but  will  be  disclosed  in 
varied  shapes,  hills,  valleys,  ample  plains,  and 
be  tinged  with  a  thousand  happy  and  cheerful 
colors.  Our  life  will  not  be  single  but  a  hun- 
dred fold  ;  every  object  will  have  many  true  and 
just  interpretations,  which  shall  gather  around 
it  like  rays,  and  constitute  the  brightness  and 
effulgence  of  truth  whose  whole  countenance 
we  shall  then  behold,  as  far  as  men  may  be- 
hold it,  turned  with  a  full  gaze  upon  our 
own.  Under  this  many-colored  standard  we 
shall  pursue  the  triumphant  march  of  life, 
while  melodious  sounds  -of  many  measures 
cheer  us  on. 

We  shall  then  know  how  joyous  a  place  is 
this  world  of  ours  ;  how  many  sweet  objects  it 
bears  when  rightly  regarded.  We  shall  then 
repent  that  we  have  ever  uttered  one  harsh 
word  against  it,  and  shall  weep  to  leave  it  with 
its  varied  blessings  behind.  It  will  be  a  hard 
thing,  after  all,  to  leave  this  pleasant  chamber 
of  the  earth  in  which  we  have  dwelt  so  long. 
It  will  be  something  to  give  up  the  bright  sky, 
and  the  green  woods,  and  the  blue  waters,  to 
go  and  dwell  with  the  worm.  Our  old  familiar 
friends,  the  forest,  the  mountain,  and  the 
stream,  must  henceforth  know  us  no  more. 
The  silent  shadow  of  the  tree,  the  sweet  voice 
of  the  bird,  and  the  glowing  sunset,  must  no 
longer  look  upon  us,  nor  make  music  for  our  ear, 
nor  a  cool  shadow  for  our  feet.  We  must  yield  up 
the  true  friend  and  forget  and  forego  his  em- 
brace. The  smile,  the  trust,  and  the  tender 
caress  of  woman  must  never  more  be  our  por- 
tion or  our  solace.  It  is  true  we  are  to  be  ap- 
parelled in  glory  and  to  put  on  the  garments  of 
angels;  but  what  can  recompense  us,  what 
height  of  glory,  what  rapture  of  bliss,  for  those 
purely  human  joys  which  made  a  part  of  our 
lot  on  earth  ?  We  would,  if  so  permitted,  bear 
something  of  our  mortality  with  us  even  to  the 
gate  of  heaven,  and  add  it  as  a  worthy  ingre- 


dient to  the  nobler  elements  of  celestial  happi- 
ness.  We  are  now,  as  it  were,  in  the  vestibule 
and  outer  court  of  nature ;  before  and  above  us 
the  solemn  temple,  the  vast  cathedral  of  the  uni- 
verse, towers  and  broadens  into  immeasurable 
extent.  Ere  we  are  admitted  let  us  prepare  our 
hearts  for  this  mighty  habitation ;  let  us  lift  up 
our  imaginations,  purged  of  earthly  grossness, 
to  the  height  and  sanctity  of  that  great  struc- 
ture ;  so  that  when  we  enter  in,  our  feeble  and 
guilty  spirits  may  not  tremble  at  its  vastness, 
nor  shrink  back  from  its  holy  and  enduring 
grandeur ! 


NEW  ETHICS  OF  EATING.* 

[New  York  Review,  Oct,  1837.] 

The  world  is  peopled  by  two  classes  of  be- 
ings, which  seem  to  be  as  cognate  and  neces- 
sary to  each  other  as  male  and  female.  Char- 
latans and  dupes  exist  by  a  mutual  dependance. 
There  is  a  tacit  understanding,  that  whatever 
the  one  invents  the  other  must  believe.  All 
bills  which  the  former  draws,  the  latter  comes 
forward  at  once  and  honors.  One  is  Prospero, 
the  other  his  poor  slave  Caliban.  The  charla- 
tan tricks  himself  out  in  a  mask,  assumes  a 
deep,  hollow  voice,  and  struts  upon  the  stage ; 
while  the  dupe  sits  gaping  in  the  pit,  and  taies 
every  word  that  drops  from  the  rogue's  mouth 
for  gospel  truth  and  genuine  philosophy.  It 
would  really  seem  as  if  the  two  parties  had  en- 
tered into  a  solemn  compact,  that  wherever  the 
one  exhibits  as  charlatan,  the  other,  by  an  ab- 
solute necessity,  agrees  to  be  present  as  simple- 
ton. Let  the  rogue  open  shop  to  dispense  pills, 
the  simpleton,  as  soon  as  he  learns  the  fact, 
hies  to  the  place  of  trade,  and,  pouring  down 
his  pence  on  the  counter,  takes  his  box  of  spe- 
cifics and  walks  complacently  away.  The 
knaves  seem  to  consider  the  world  as  a  rich 
parish — a  large  diocese  of  dunces,  into  which 
they  have  an  hereditary  and  prescriptive  right 
to  be  installed.  They  arc  never  at  rest  until 
they  have  some  subject  on  which  to  hold  forth 
in  public ;  some  novel  doctrine  running  against 
the  grain  of  the  old  good  sense ;  some  antiqua- 
ted sophism  dressed  in  a  new  suit,  to  be  put 
forth  to  surprise  and  startle  the  community,  and 
gather  around  it  (as  a  gay  adventurer)  an 
army  of  disciples.  These  men  constantly  as- 
sume an  attitude  of  battle.  They  wage  war 
ui>on  everything  past,  present,  and  to  come  : 

"  Rather  than  fail  they  will  decry- 
That  which  they  love  most  tenderly ; 
Quarrel  with  minced  pies,  and  disparage 
Their  best  and  dearest  friend  plum-porridge  ; 
Fat  pig  and  goose  itself  oppose, 
And  blaspheme  custard  through  the  nose." 

*  Dyspepsy  Forestalled  and  Resisted  ;  or  Lectures 
on  Diet,  Regimen,  and  Employment ;  delivered  to  the 
students  of  Amherst  College,  Spring  term,  1830.  By 
Edward  Hitchcock,  Professor  of  Chymistry  and  Natu- 
ral History  in  that  Institution.  Amherst.  Published  by 
J.  S.  &  C.  Adams,  <fc  Co. 


302 


.'V/:rMlSCELLANIES. 


General  ignorance,  with  a  smattering  of  med- 
ical knowledge ;  some  fluency  in  speaking,  or 
readiness  with  the  pen  ;  great  tact  in  discover- 
ing the  disposition,  and  skill  in  the  manage- 
ment of  a  certain  class  of  persons ;  an  air  of 
easy,  cool  impudence  in  public ;  an  oracular  and 
self-possessed  manner  in  private,  are  parts  of 
that  beautiful  mosaic — an  apostle  of  dietetics. 
Of  such  materials  are  framed  those  little  men 
who  attempt  upon  the  earth  to  rival  Deity ;  who 
assume  his  thunder  and  trident ;  his  power  to 
shake  the  heart  with  fear ;  to  regulate  the  hu- 
man system ;  and  to  denounce  penal  fires,  and 
all  imaginable  and  unimaginable  tortures  on  the 
head  of  rebellion.  These  are  the  cunning  plot- 
ters who  work  upon  weak  minds  through  their 
fancies  and  doubts.  "  They  give  a  life  and 
body  to  their  fears."  Such  men,  broken  down 
in  health  and  dyspeptic,  whose  whole  lives  have 
been  a  scene  of  miserable  and  false  feelings, 
engendered  by  a  morbid  condition  of  body,  as- 
sume to  become  prophets  and  dispensers  of 
health.  These  ruined  and  ruinous  horologues 
would  give  the  time  o'  day  to  the  healthy  world. 
In  every  age  there  has  existed  some  favorite 
theory  for  the  regeneration  of  the  race ;  some 
grand  discovery  (about  to  be  made),  which  was 
to  be  universal,  ubiquitous  in  its  influence  and 
success.  At  one  time  the  philosopher's  stone  ; 
in  the  next  age  a  short  passage  to  the  East  In- 
dies ;  and  now,  in  a  third  and  less  romantic  pe- 
riod, all  the  great  objects  of  amelioration  and 
amendment  are  to  be  accomplished  by  the  sub- 
stitution  of  unbolted  flour  in  the  place  of  pure 
wheat  and  solid  animal  food.  The  authors  of 
these  miraculous  discoveries  believe  that  the 
human  race  is  to  be  regenerated  solely  through 
the  medium  of  the  palate ;  that  the  channels  of 
access  to  the  human  head  and  human  heart  are 
not,  as  of  old,  through  the  understanding  and 
the  afl^ections,  but  through  the  alimentary  ducts. 
Instead  of  winding  along  the  shore  of  the  Med- 
iterranean and  over  the  shoals  of  the  Indian 
ocean,  they  strike  boldly  across  the  Atlantic, 
and  find  the  country  for  which  they  are  in  search. 
They  take  for  granted  that  man  has  no  imagi- 
nation, no  heart,  no  nerves,  no  soul,  nor  arter- 
ies ;  but  that  he  is  a  creature  all  stomach  ;  that 
one  mighty  abdomen  is  the  badge  and  property 
of  human  kind ;  and  that  in  it  centres  the  ma- 
chinery, from  it  spring  the  movements,  which 
build  up  aiid  overturn  states  and  empires — ^the 
strong  fancy  which  moulds  itself  in  epics  and 
histories — the  gentle  pathos  which  melts  us  from 
the  pulpit  or  in  the  elegy — the  fierce  wrath 
and  "  energy  divine"  which  shake  the  stage  ; 
all  hold  their  court  in  this  vast  subterranean 
cavern,  and  from  it  rush  forth  upon  the  world. 

The  first  great  canon  of  this  code  of  living, 
is,  that  the  flesh  of  beasts  be  banished  from 
the  table.  Unholy  pig,  nor  stupid  veal,  nor  sil- 
ly mutton,  corpulent  roast-beef,  nor  presump- 
tuous sirloin,  must  appear  before  these  chaste, 
dietetic  vestals.  Calf,  sheep,  ox,  fowl,  par- 
tridge— they  know  them  not  in  animated  na- 
ture.     They  have  revised  the  edible  universe, 


and  from  it  stricken  these  blots  and  monsters. 
Tender-souled  philanthropists  !  They  would 
know  why  these  should  not  run  rampant,  and 
fly  on  the  earth  and  in  the  air  harmless  ?  They 
are  joint  denizens  here  ;  fellow-citizens  of  ours, 
are  these,  good  friends  ! 

These  natural  feeders  have  "  a  touch  that 
makes  them  kin"  with  us.  Let  them  grow  and 
multiply.  Let  them  fatten  in  our  meadows,  and 
spread  their  pinions  in  our  woods.  Like  us, 
they  are  for  an  equitable  division  of  property  ; 
they,  too,  are  humble  agrarians  ;  their  desires 
are  moderate.  Till  your  fields  until  the  sweat 
pearls  upon  your  forehead ;  you  need  not  chaf- 
fer with  customers — they  will  take  the  crop  of 
grain  off  your  hands.  Gay  creatures,  they  will 
frisk  and  eat  for  you.  They  have  made  us 
their  stewards ;  if  we  plough  and  plant,  they^ 
will,  most  willingly,  gather  the  increase.  >  ^ 

"  The  hog  that  ploughs  not,  nor  obeys  thy  call, 
Lives  on  the  labors  of  this  lord  of  all ; 
While  man  exclaims, '  See  all  things  for  my  use !' 
'  See  man  for  mine  !'  replies  a  pampered  goose."      i' 

Yes,  these  prodigal  Pythagoreans,  these  vege- ^ 
table  philosophers,  would  give  the  earth  up  to 
the  undisputed  possession  of  Messrs.  Ox,  Hog, 
&  Company.  They  would  hand  the  title-deeds 
over  to  that  firm.  It  has,  perhaps,  never  en- 
tered the  heads  of  these  anti-carnivorous  gen- 
tlemen, these  minor  omnipotents,  who  would 
change  mankind  into  so  many  Nebuchadnez- 
zars  and  send  the  world  to  eat  grass,  what 
disposition  they  would  make  of  their  fourfooted 
rivals  in  the  event  of  a  general  adoption  of  their 
principles.  "We  would  have  to  turn  back  into 
heathenism,  and  ofler  up  a  hecatomb  to  each  one 
of  the  forty  thousand  gods  of  antiquity,  to  reduce 
the  cattle-market  within  reasonable  limits. 

"  Man  partalcesy"  says  one  of  the  learned  doc- 
tors of  this  school,  "  of  the  nature  of  the  animal 
which  he  eats  /"  Here  is  a  reverse  system  of 
metempsychosis.  The  old  doctrine  was,  that 
the  soul  of  a  philosopher  might  possess  the 
body  of  a  donkey ;  but  it  is  an  altogether  new- 
fangled thing  for  the  spirit  of  a  Bakevvell  bull 
or  a  Merino  to  take  up  its  residence  in  the  body  of 
a  doctor  of  divinity,  or  that  of  a  lecturer  on  Hy- 
giene. But  so  it  is ;  and  it  needs  but  a  little  disor- 
der of  the  nerves  to  make  the  imagination  teem 
with  frightful  consequences  of  this  new  faith. 
Only  to  think  of  our  rosy-cheeked  friend,  the 
Englishman,  who  feeds  on  roast-beef,  in  the 
excitement  of  a  political  argument,  suddenly 
protruding  upon  us  the  horns  of  an  ox !  Or 
Madame  Beauvais,  our  vivacious  and  agreeable 
French  acquaintance,  getting  animated  into  one 
of  the  frogs  she  loves  so  well !  Dear  old  Pisca- 
tor,  too,  who  delighteth  so  in  fishing  and  in  eat- 
ing fish,  to  imagine  him  jumping  from  the  boat 
and  turning  into  one  of  his  own  favorite  striped 
bass !  Forfend  us,  that  we  should  hook  up  our 
bosom-friend,  and  salt  him  away  for  a  mor- 
row's breakfast ! 

But  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  these  attenuated 
apostles  of  bran  bread  and  water-cresses — 
whose  worn-out  organs  can  assimilate  no  strong 


NEW  ETHICS  OF  EATING. 


303 


meat,  can  not  be  content  with  feeding  their  own  I  admirable  battery  of  masked  irony  directed 
way  (which,  if  it  be  best  for  them,  they  have  against  vegetable  feeders.  It  is  a  short  sketch, 
our  free  leave  to  feed  as  they  list),  nor  be  con-  |  supposed  to  be  written  by  a  lady  (Hospita)  de- 
tented  with  simply  proselyting  by  example  and  |  scribing  a  gluttonous  visiter.     "  What  makes 

1..-. .,  _  .  •     •  .    jj-g  proceedings  more  particularly  offensive  at 
our  house  is,  that  my  husband,  though  out  of 


doctrine  men  of  their  own  kind,  but  they  insist 
upon  imposing  all  the  pains  of  moral  excommu- 
nication upon  us  who  have  healthy  digestions 
and  cheerful  spirits,  unless  we  will  follow  their 
examples  swear  by  their  names,  and  feed  by 
their  rules. 

Men  must  be  lean,  ghostlike,  sepulchral 
— who  know  not  flesh  at  their  tables.  With 
them,  to  be  lean  is  a  virtue ;  to  be  fat,  an  abom- 
ination. If  you  fill  your  garments  well, 
and  keep  a  running  account  with  your  butcher, 
they  will  have  an  eye  on  you — you  are  not  to 
be  altogether  trusted.  Crimes,  in  this  code, 
are  regulated  by  pounds  avoirdupois.  ^^  An  ad- 
herence to  animal  food,"  says  Hitchcock,  "  is  no 
more  than  a  persistence  in  the  customs  of  savage 
life."  We  are  barbarians,  all.  Now  we  put  it  se- 
riously to  the  disciples  of  this  creed,  whether  they 
can  call  to  mind  a  well-authenticated  case  of 
murder,  or  any  act  implying  brutality  or  cruelty 
of  disposition,  committed  by  a  corpulent  man. 
A  fat  murderer  would  be  a  monster.  The  earth 
could  not  bear  him  up.  It  is  true,  such  a  one 
may  be  an  accomplice  in  the  second  or  third 
degree ;  a  rosy  landlord,  who  holds  the  light, 
or  a  stout  countryman,  employed  to  watch  un- 
der a  hedge  for  the  approach  of  the  victim.  It  is 
a  part  of  our  nature,  on  the  other  hand,  a  Dra- 
conic law  of  our  blood  and  being,  that  we  should 
look  upon  a  lean  man  with  something  of  sus- 
picion in  most  cases ;  in  many,  with  pity  and 
contempt.  A  corpulent  man  we  may  dislike 
or  detest,  but  in  his  broad,  open  countenance, 
there  is  something  so  like  candor  and  honest 
living,  that  it  would  require  much  to  bi'ing  us 
to  believe  him  a  villain.  In  no  case  may  we 
despise  him,  or  charge  him  reasonably  with  a 
criminal  act.  It  is  your  starvelings  who  fill  the 
calendar  of  the  sessions.  It  is  they  who  com- 
mit thefts,  burglaries,  petit  larcenies,  and  other 
contemptible  small  crimes.  It  is  they  who  are 
seen  running  down  streets  with  stray  pieces  of 
linen  or  pairs  of  pilfered  Wellingtons.  Who 
ever  heard  the  cry,  "  Stop  thief!"  raised  at  the 
heels  of  a  man  who  weighed  two  hundred  and 
upward  ?  It  would  be  an  anomaly,  a  prac- 
tical solecism,  to  see  the  hands  of  a  constable 
or  sheriff's  officer  on  the  collar  of  a  coat  three 
feet  across  the  shoulders.  It  is  your  fat,  solid 
men — men  who  know  the  luxury  of  three  full 
meals — that  make  good  citizens,  kind  fathers, 
lender  husbands.  These  men  are  all  fed  on 
teef. 

According  to  the  dietetic  system,  food  seems 
to  be  apportioned  in  an  inverse  ratio  to  the  char- 
acter and  rank  of  the  feeder.  Thus,  man,  the 
noblest  creature  of  the  earth,  must  fatten  on 
bran  bread  and  spare  vegetables ;  while  the 
horse,  we  suppose,  is  to  feed  on  custards,  and 
the  right  worshipful  donkey  on  blancmange  and 
ice-cream. 

Charles  Lamb,  in.  one  of  his  essays,  has  an 


common  politeness  he  is  obliged  to  set  dishes 
of  animal  food  before  his  visiters,  yet  himself 
and  his  whole  family  (myself  included)  feed  en- 
tirely on  vegetables.  We  have  a  theory  that 
animal  food  is  neither  wholesome  nor  natural 
to  man ;  and  even  vegetables  we  refuse  to  eat 
until  they  have  undergone  the  operation  of  fire, 
in  consideration  of  those  numberless  little  liv- 
ing creatures  which  the  glass  helps  us  to  de- 
tect in  every  fibre  of  the  plant  or  root  before  it 
be  dressed.  On  the  same  theory  we  boil  our 
water,  which  is  our  only  drink,  before  we  suffer 
it  to  come  to  table.  Our  children  are  perfect 
little  Pythagoreans ;  it  would  do  you  good  to 
see  them  in  their  nursery,  stufl!ing  their  dried 
fruits,  figs,  raisins,  and  milk,  which  is  the  only 
approach  to  animal  food  which  is  allowed. 
They  have  no  notion  how  the  substance  of  a 
creature  that  ever  had  life  can  become  food  for 
another  creature.  A  beef-steak  is  an  absurdity 
to  them  ;  a  mutton-chop,  a  solecism  in  terms  ; 
a  cutlet,  a  word  absolutely  without  any  mean- 
ing ;  a  butcher  is  nonsense,  except  so  far  as  it 
is  taken  for  a  man  who  delights  in  blood,  or  a 
hero.  In  this  happy  state  of  innocence  we 
have  kept  their  minds,  not  allowing  them  to 
go  into  the  kitchen,  or  to  hear  of  any  prepa- 
rations for  dressing  of  animal  food,  or  even  to 
know  that  such  things  are  practised.  But,  as 
a  state  of  ignorance  is  incompatible  with  a  cer- 
tain age  ;  and  as  my  eldest  girl,  who  is  ten 
years  old  next  midsummer,  must  shortly  be  in- 
troduced into  the  world  and  sit  at  table  with  us, 
where  she  will  see  some  things  which  will  shock 
all  her  received  notions,  I  have  been  endeavor- 
ing, by  little  and  little,  to  break  her  mind,  and 
prepare  it  for  the  disagreeable  impressions 
which  must  be  forced  upon  it.  The  first  hint 
I  gave  her  upon  the  subject,  I  could  see  her  re- 
coil from  it  with  the  same  horror  with  which 
we  listen  to  a  tale  of  Anthropophagism ;  but 
she  has  gradually  grown  more  reconciled  to  it, 
in  some  measure,  from  my  telling  her  that  it 
was  the  custom  of  the  world — to  which,  how- 
ever senseless,  we  must  submit,  so  far  as  we 
could  do  it  with  innocence,  not  to  give  offence ; 
and  she  has  shown  so  much  strength  of  mind 
on  other  occasions,  which  I  have  no  doubt  is 
owing  to  the  calmness  and  serenity  superin- 
duced by  her  diet,  that  I  am  in  good  hopes 
that  when  the  proper  season  of  her  debut  ar- 
rives,  she  may  be  brought  to  endure  the  sight 
of  a  roasted  chicken  or  a  dish  of  sweetbreads, 
for  the  first  time,  without  fainting." 

We  think  one  of  the  rarest  spectacles  in  the 
world  must  be,  what  is  called,  a  Graham  board- 
inghouse,  at  about  the  dinner-hour.  Along  a 
table,  from  which,  perhaps,  the  too-elegant  and 
gorgeous  luxury  of  a  cloth  is  discarded  (for  we 
have  never  enjoyed  the  felicity  of  an  actual 


304 


MISCELLANIES. 


vision  cf  this  kind),  seated  some  thirty  lean- vis- 
aged,  cadaverous  disciples,  eying  each  other 
askance,  their  looks  lit  up  with  a  certain  can- 
nibal spirit,  which,  if  there  were  any  chance  of 
making  a  full  meal  off  each  other's  bones,  might 
perhaps  break  into  dangerous  practice.  The 
gentlemen  resemble  busts  cut  in  chalk  or  white 
flint ;  the  lady-boarders  (they  will  pardon  the 
allusion),  mummies,  preserved  in  saffron.  At 
the  left  hand  of  each  stands  a  small  tankard  or 
pint-tumbler  of  cold  water,  or,  perchance,  a  de- 
coction of  hot  water  with  a  little  milk  and  su- 
gar— (as  Professor  Hitchcock  justly  styles  it) — 
"A  harmless  and  salutary  beverage;"  at  the 
right,  a  thin  segment  of  bran  bread.  Stretched 
on  a  plate  in  the  centre  lie,  melancholy  twins ! 
a  pair  of  starveling  mackerel,  flanked  on  either 
side  by  three  or  four  straggling  radishes,  and 
kept  in  countenance  by  a  sorry  bunch  of  aspar- 
agus, served  up  without  sauce.  The  van  of 
the  table  is  led  by  a  hollow  dish,  with  a  dozen 
potatoes,  rather,  corpses  of  potatoes,  in  a  row, 
lying  at  the  bottom. 

At  those  tables  look  for  no  conversation,  or 
for  conversation  of  the  driest  and  dullest  sort. 
Small  wit  is  begotten  of  spare  viands.  They, 
however,  think  otherwise.  "  Vegetable  food," 
says  the  sagacious  Hitchcock,  "  tends  to  preserve 
a  delicacy  of  feeling,  a  liveliness  of  imagination, 
and  acuteness  of  judgment,  seldom  enjoyed  by 
those  who  live  principally  on  meat."  Green  peas, 
cabbage,  and  spinach,  are  enrolled  in  a  new 
catalogue.  They  are  no  longer  culinary  and 
botanical — they  take  rank  above  that.  They 
are  become  metaphysical,  and  have  a  rare  oper- 
ation that  way ;  they  "  tend  to  preserve  a  deli- 
cacy of  feeling,"  &c.  Cauliflower  is  a  power 
of  the  mind  ;  and  asparagus,  done  tenderly,  is 
nothing  less  than  a  mental  faculty  of  the  first 
order.  "  Buttered  parsnips"  are,  no  doubt,  a 
great  help  in  education ;  and  a  course  of  vege- 
tables, we  presume,  is  to  be  substituted  at  col- 
lege in  the  place  of  the  old  routine  of  Greek 
and  Latin  classics.  The  student  will  be  hence- 
forth pushed  forward  through  his  academic  stud- 
ies by  rapid  stages  of  Lima  beans,  parsley,  and 
tomato.  Very  good — we  like  your  novelties  in 
education.  Nothing  could  certainly  be  more 
original,  or  more  happily  thought  of,  than  a 
diet  of  greens  for  freshmen  and  sophomores, 
and ,  you  must  have  something  expansive  and 
brilliant  there,  a  regimen  of  sunflowers  and 
pumpkin  for  the  elder  classes.  We  like  this 
vastly.  This  is  metempsychosis  again.  The 
"  soul  of  Socrates  might  take  up  its  residence 
in  a  stocking  weaver,"  as  the  doctrine  used  to 
stand  ;  but  now,  better  still,  a  man  may  go  out 
into  the  fields  and  cull  just  such  a  soul  as  he 
chooses,  in  the  same  way  as  you  select  a  coat 
in  a  tailor's  shop,  or  a  glove  at  the  hosier's. 
He  has  a  free  range  of  faculties  to  draw  upon. 
If  he  finds  his  sympathies  begin  to  flag  from  too 
much  use,  or  to  soil  from  contact  with  the  rude 
world,  let  him  but  step  into  his  garden  and 
gather  a  few  of  those  vegetables  "  which  tend 
lo  preserve  a  delicacy  of  feeling."    We  have 


here,  also,  a  new  specific  for  the  composition 
of  Shaksperes,  Miltons,  and  Byrons.  Poets  are 
now  to  be  turned  into  the  meadow,  and  pre- 
pared for  the  production  of  a  tragedy  or 
epic,  just  as  you  fat  a  prize-ox  or  a  pieCe  of 
mutton.  Such  feeding  tends  to  preserve  a 
"  livelin'iss  of  imagination."  Statesmen  and 
lawyers,  who  require  "  acuteness  of  judgment," 
will  henceforward  graduate  on  potherbs  from 
the  kitchen-garden.  Sir  Walter  Scott  must 
have  been  altogether  at  fault  in  the  opinion  ex- 
pressed in  the  autobiographical  fragment  pre- 
fixed to  the  Life.  "  After  one  or  two  relapses," 
says  he,  speaking  of  an  illness  he  had  suffered 
from,  "my  constitution  recovered  the  injury  it 
had  sustained,  though  for  several  months  after- 
ward I  was  restricted  to  a  severe  vegetable 
diet.  And  I  must  say,  in  passing,  that  though 
I  gained  health  under  this  necessary  restriction, 
yet  it  was  far  from  being  agreeable  to  me  ;  and 
/  was  afflicted,  while  under  its  influence,  with  a 
nervousness  which  I  never  felt  before  nor  since, 
A  disposition  to  start  upon  slight  alarms — a 
want  of  decision  in  feeling  and  acting,  which 
has  not  usually  been  my  failing — an  acute  sen- 
sibility to  trifling  inconveniences — and  an  un- 
necessary apprehension  of  contingent  misfor- 
tunes, rise  to  memory  as  connected  with  my 
vegetable  diet,  although  they  may  very  possi- 
bly have  been  entirely  the  result  of  the  disor- 
der and  not  of  the  cure."  It  is  clear,  however, 
which  way  he  leaned,  although  he  speaks  in  the 
most  guarded  language.  It  will  be  observed, 
that  he  attributed  to  vegetable  diet  a  peculiar 
malady,  for  which  the  dietetic  professors  assert 
it  is  a  most  admirable  specific. 

The  most  lamentable  aspect  of  the  system 
and  teachings  of  these  apostles  of  improved  di- 
etics  is  that  which  regards  its  moral  character 
and  influence.  Not  content  with  a  total  revo- 
lution of  the  whole  world  by  the  aid  of  absti- 
nence and  fasting,  they  would  turn  the  same 
engines  toward  heaven,  and  with  them  impi- 
ously, perhaps  ignorantly  impious,  batter  down 
the  established  muniments  of  gospel,  morals, 
and  truth.  Not  satisfied  with  the  operations  of 
their  specific  on  mind  and  body,  they  would  in- 
corporate their  wild  fantasies  in  the  moral  code, 
and  place  the  dogma  of  an  itinerant  lecturer  at 
the  head  of  the  commandments.  These  men 
have  interleaved  the  Bible,  and,  scrawling  their 
own  absurd  texts  and  comments  upon  the  blank 
pages,  put  forth  an  improved  version  of  the 
book  of  God. 

They  would  turn  all  the  denunciations  of 
scripture  against  the  single  sin  of  inordinate 
indulgence  of  the  appetite.  They  would  make 
repletion  the  Anti-Christ,  and  prove  that  penal 
fires  and  scorchings  of  conscience  are  prepared 
for  him  who  dares  partake  in  liberal  measure 
of  the  gifts  and  bounties  of  Heaven.  All  things 
in  the  two  testaments  are,  in  the  misty  fancies 
of  these  fanatical  dreamers,  typical  of  intem- 
perance in  eating. 

Thus,  in  the  book  of  Numbers,  occurs  the 
following  passage :  "  So  they  did  eat  and  wert 

\ 


NEW  ETHICS  OF  EATING. 


305 


filled,  for  he  gave  them  their  own  desire ;  they 
were  not  estranged  from  their  lust ;  but  while  their 
meat  was  yet  in  their  mouths,  the  wrath  of  God 
came  upon  them,  and  slew  the  fattest  of  them,  and 
smote  down  the  chosen  men  of  Israel."  Here,  ac- 
cording to  the  dietists,  is  a  vigorous  argument 
against  corpulency  and  animal  food.  On  the 
surface  it  seems  so;  and  as  the  philosophical 
dogmatists  to  whom  we  refer,  abhor  the  labor 
of  diving,  we  suppose  they  are  very  well  pleas- 
ed with  such  deduction.  Because  they  were 
slain  "  while  the  meat  was  yet  in  their  mouths," 
a  judgment  is  pronounced,  they  believe,  against 
animal  food.  This,  therefore,  is  an  argument 
for  vegetable  diet.  But,  by  turning  to  a  verse 
in  the  same  chapter,  which  precedes  the  one 
we  have  quoted,  the  learned  pundits  will  dis- 
cover that  the  Israelitish  appetite  was  as  keen 
for  vegetable  as  animal  diet ;  so  that  ihe  de- 
nunciation was  directed  as  strongly  against  the 
one  as  the  other.  "  Who  shall  give  us  flesh  to 
eat  ?  We  remember  the  fish  which  we  did  eat 
in  Egypt  freely !  the  cucumbers,  and  the  melons, 
and  the  Ueks,  and  the  onions,  and  the  garlic." 
Here  is  not  only  fish  and  flesh,  but  as  select  and 
delicate  a  regimen  of  greens  as  one  could  wish. 
But  the  "  fattest"  were  slain.  That  is  very 
true,  and  it  seems  to  us  (no  very  profound  bib- 
lical critics)  that  they  were  particularly  smit- 
ten because  they  repined  against  the  manna 
■which  had  been,  to  them  at  least,  most  healthy 
and  invigorating  sustenance.  But  with  our 
new  apostles  it  is  no  matter.  They  were  pun- 
ished for  rebellious  murmuring,  while  their 
Inouths  were  filled  with  flesh — therefore,  flesh- 
eating  is  sinful ;  not  merely  eating  too  much 
of  whatever  it  be,  nor  even  intemperate  flesh- 
eating — but  any,  the  least  degree  of  flesh-eating 
whatever. 

Not  only  (if  they  are  to  be  believed)  is  Gra- 
hamism  the  great  burden  of  the  Scripture,  but 
it  is  to  be  the  great  auxiliary  in  spreading 
Christianity  over  the  earth.  The  fiend  infidel- 
ity is  to  be  put  out  of  the  way  by  nothing  less 
than  spare  diet  and  a  course  of  vegetables. 
"  This  demon,"  says  Hitchcock,  the  erudite 
founder  of  the  dietetic  college,  "  can  not  be  suc- 
cessfully met  and  encountered  by  the  puny  arm 
and  shrinking  sensibility  of  dyspepsy.  It  needs 
the  resolution,  the  assured  faith,  and  the  ener- 
getic action  of  our  pilgrim  fathers.  And  then 
again,  what  but  the  strong  arm,  and  the  reso- 
lute courage,  and  unwavering  faith,  of  men  sus- 
tained  by  eupepsy  as  well  as  the  grace  of  God, 
can  urge  forward,  into  the  dark  and  untrodden 
fields  of  spiritual  death,  the  mighty  wheels  of 
benevolence  that  are  in  motion  ?"  Sustained  by 
eupepsy  as  well  as  the  grace  of  God !  This  is 
good  ;  it  is  admirable ;  a  flight  not  contemptible 
— at  least  as  high  as  ihe  fifth  heaven  of  inven- 
tion. Have  courage — he  will  be  shortly  in  the 
seventh !  Rising  on  the  wing,  toward  the  region 
we  have  indicated,  he  bursts  out  in  the  full  fer- 
vor of  Grahamism  :  "  They  were  eupeptics  who 
carried  the  gospel  over  the  east,  in  primitive  times. 
They  were  eupeptics  who,  in  modem  times,  have 
V 


successfully  engaged   in  ihe  same  work;    and 

THEY   MUST   BE   EUPEPTICS   WHO  ARE  TO  BRING 
ON    THE    MILLENIUM." 

We  doubt  much  whether  there  will  be  any 
human  beings  extant  by  the  arrival  of  the  mil- 
lenium,  if  the  dietetic  system  should  be  univer- 
sally adopted.  It  hath  a  rapid  operation  in 
translating  its  professors  from  the  "  smoke  and 
stir  of  this  dim  spot.*'  Their  career  on  this 
road  to  health  brings  them  speedily  in  sight  of 
tombstones  and  family  vaults.  Pretending  by 
their  false  and  base  empiricism  to  lengthep^ 
they  absolutely  abbreviate  life.  There  is  an 
amount  of  moral  evil  thus  committed,  which, 
but  for  the  ignorance  of  its  apostles,  should 
place  empirical  dietetics  at  once  on  the  list 
with  murder. 

He  who,  in  a  time  of  scarcity,  forestalls  the 
market,  and  by  a  monopoly  of  provisions  stints 
the  people  of  their  proper  supply,  is  held  guilty 
of  treason  to  the  community,  and,  in  some  codes 
of  law,  is  subject  to  the  penalty  of  death.  But 
the  dietetic  preachers  would  actually  snatch 
from  the  lips  the  very  sustenance  which  its 
possessor  has  in  abundance,  or  can  purchase 
with  ease.  He  perishes,  deluded  by  the  soph- 
isms of  pretenders,  in  the  midst  of  a  full  gra- 
nary. He  falls  surrounded  by  harvests  of  the 
richest  wheat.  He  starves  in  sight  of  a  thou- 
sand platters,  smoking  with  substantial  fare. 
In  truth,  this  whole  system  seems  to  be  a  dis- 
guised and  ignoble  attempt  to  establish  a  kind 
of  monkish  creed  in  the  New  World.  It  is  a 
phantom  of  the  middle  ages,  revived  from  its 
slumbers,  and  put  forth  again  into  the  waking 
light  to  marshal  under  its  tattered  and  faded 
banner,  retouched  and  repaired,  all  that  class 
of  human  beings  who,  in  every  age,  jump  at 
novelties,  and  are  willing  to  go  out  and  join  in 
a  crusade  against  their  own  health,  happiness, 
and  peace  of  mind,  provided  it  is  done  in 
the  guise  of  accomplishing  some  mighty  moral 
or  national  purpose,  and  provided  some  special 
mountebank  appears  boldly  in  the  van  to  lead 
them  on.  In  this  case  starvation  has  turned 
crusader  and  philanthropist,  and  by  its  stalwart 
strength  promises  to  banish  poverty  and  crime ; 
to  annihilate  acute  and  chronic  diseases  and 
nervous  maladies ;  to  clear  and  strengthen  the 
mind  ;  to  elevate  and  purify  the  morals ;  to 
brighten  and  invigorate  the  religious  aflfections ; 
and,  finally,  to  bring  about  the  millenium! 
Health,  morals,  and  intellect,  aU  hang  on  this. 
Eupepsy  is  the  good  principle,  the  evil  one  is  a 
mighty  dyspepsy. 

We  may  remark,  in  passing,  that  one  learned 
professor  hints  that  history  might  be  hereafter 
written  on  dietetic  principles,  and  gives  us  an 
illustration  of  the  manner  in  which  it  could  be 
managed,  by  speaking  of  England  as  present- 
ing "  an  alarming  contrast  between  the  eupep 
tic  days  of  Elizabeth  and  the  dyspeptic  times 
of  George  the  Fourth."  Cooks,  we  suppose, 
are  henceforward  to  write  the  chronicles  of  the 
times,  and  waiters  will  take  charge  of  memoirs 
and  the  lighter  sketches  of  manners,  morals,. 


•»  m- 


..^ 


306 


MISCELLAN[ES. 


and  customs.  We  may  apply  to  them,  in  an- 
ticipation, the  language  which  the  learned  pro- 
fessor of  chymistry  and  natural  history  uses  in 
reference  to  the  wonders  which  might  be 
achieved  by  a  phalanx  of  eupeptic  youth  :  "  Oh, 
the  light  and  influence  which  they  might  thus  send 
out  into  the  world  and  down  to  posterity,  would  not, 
like  other  emanations  proceeding  from  a  centre, 
spread  and  increase  in  the  slow  ratio  of  the  square 
of  the  distance  and  the  time;  but  in  a  ratio  so 
high,  that  the  quadratics  of  the  millenium  could 
alone  express  and  resolve  iV  !  !  Certainly,  one 
of  the  most  singular  and  mathematical  emana- 
tions we  ever  read  of !  We  think  the  profes- 
sor must  have  (in  addition  to  his  aforesaid 
duties)  a  small  class  in  celestial  trigonometry 
under  his  charge. 

The  dietetic  philosophers,  whether  they  in- 
tend it  or  not,  are  practical  atheists,  for  they 
rob  God  of  one  of  his  essential  attributes,  by 
supposing  that  he  has  created  the  animal  and 
vegetable  world  merely  to  prey  on  each  other 
and  encumber  the  earth.  They  render  it  a 
shrewd  problem,  too,  to  explain  why  man  has 
carnivorous  teeth. 

We  consider  this  system  also  as  the  most 
pernicious  and  abhorrent,  when  we  look  upon 
it  as  a  fanatical  attempt  to  shut  out  from  man- 
kind certain  sources  of  happiness  and  enjoy- 
ment, which  were  clearly  provided  and  intend- 
ed for  them  in  the  economy  of  the  earth.  We 
humbly  believe  that  all  tlmigs  were  made  to  be 
enjoyed  rationally,  temperately,  and  with  an 
eye  to  the  great  Benefactor.  The  universe 
was  not  only  built  for  the  eye,  that  man  might 
sit  in  its  midst,  like  a  child  at  a  theatre,  and 
gaze  on  its  wonderful  and  shifting  scenes,  its 
strange  and  grand  actings  and  decorations. 
There  are  also  other  senses  which  in  their 
measure  may  be  gratified.  That  is  a  poor  my 
tery  of  gastronomy,  which  feeds  the  eyes  and 
leaves  the  stomach  famished. 

If  these  philosopher  lings  can  not  learn  from 
the  constitution  and  history  of  their  own  spe- 
cies what  is  due  to  themselves  and  their  kind, 
let  them  turn  to  the  animal  creation  and  gath- 
er an  example.  They  at  least  remind  us  of 
one  class  of  feathered  bipeds.  Of  all  the  fowls 
of  the  air,  the  most  contemptible  is  a  mongrel 
heron,  known  familiarly  as  the  mudpokc.  The 
mudpoke  we  take  to  be  your  best  natural  disci- 
ple of  Grahamism.  He  feeds  little,  and  that 
little  does  him  small  good.  His  digestion,  such 
as  it  is,  is  rapid  indeed,  but  dry.  Lean-vis- 
aged  and  cadaverous,  he  sits  upon  a  hard  branch 
or  rail,  and  looking  heaven  in  the  face,  with  a 
pharasaical  expression  of  countenance,  he  drawls 
a  short  denunciation  in  loud  treble,  against 
high  livers  and  good  feeders.  His  skin  hangs 
about  his  bones  like  a  coat  ill-cut.  He  keeps 
good  hours,  it  is  true — is  never  out  late  at  night, 
like  the  nightingale — is  never  found  at  a  mer- 
rymaking, nor  high  in  the  air,  at  morn,  with  the 
lark,  eihging  out  his  gratitude  to  the  Giver  of 
all  good.  He  feeds  solitary  on  crusts  and 
scraps;  drinks  but  little,  and  that  of  the  stalest 


puddle ;  and  is,  in  fact,  a  Graham  in  feathers  ;■ 
a  deliverer  of  dry  lectures,  from  sapless  tree 
tops  ;  and  his  only  fault  is  that  his  digestion  is 
a  trifle  too  lively. 

Those  who  have  advocated  in  public  the 
spare  system  of  diet,  have  generally  been  men 
who  have  made  a  previous  pilgrimage  through 
the  catalogue  of  maladies,  and  who,  therefore, 
assume  to  be  the  most  profoundly  skilled  in  the 
prescriptions  necessary  for  each.  From  having 
suffered  much  themselves,  they  believe  they 
have  an  equitable  privilege  to  make  others  suf- 
fer in  a  like  degree.  They  become  skilled  in 
the  gnostics  of  every  complaint,  and  by  a  sweep- 
ing specific,  purge  the  materia  medica  of  every 
malady  save  that  with  which  they,  as  patients, 
had  been  afflicted.  Now,  of  all  sorts  of  tam- 
pering, we  think  tampering  with  the  human 
system  is  the  most  abominable  and  pernicious. 
There  is  a  class  of  sciolists,  and  those  of  whom 
we  have  spoken  belong  to  it,  who  believe  that 
all  kinds  of  experiments  are  to  be  ventured  up- 
on the  human  constitution  ;  that  it  is  to  be 
hoisted  by  pulleys  and  depressed  by  weights  ; 
pushed  forward  by  rotary  principles,  and  pulled 
back  by  stop-springs  and  regulators.  They 
have  finally  succeeded  in  looking  upon  the  hu- 
man frame,  much  as  a  neighboring  alliance  of 
stronger  powers  regards  a  petty  state  which  is 
doing  well  in  the  world  and  is  ambitious  of 
rising  in  it.  It  must  be  kept  under.  It  must 
be  fettered  by  treaties  and  protocols  without 
number.  This  river  it  must  not  cross  ;  at  the 
foot  of  that  mountain  it  must  pause.  An  at- 
tempt to  include  yonder  forest  in  its  territories 
would  awaken  the  wrath  of  its  powerful  supe- 
riors, and  they  would  crush  it  instantly.  Or  the 
body  is  treated  someAvhat  as  a  small-spirited 
carter  treats  his  horse ;  it  must  be  kept  on  a 
handful  of  oats  and  made  to  do  a  full  day's 
work.  Famine  has  become  custodian  of  the 
key  which  unlocks  the  gate  to  health,  to  knowl- 
edge, to  religious  improvement,  and  the  mil- 
lenium ! 

Unless  checked,  this  wild  fanaticism  will 
sweep  through  the  land,  overthrowing  every 
social  comfort,  every  physical  enjoyment,  ev- 
ery pleasure  that  springs  from  sense  and  refers 
to  sense.  Indulgence  in  the  common  luxuries 
of  air  and  water,  will  be  soon  set  down  in  the 
index  expurgatorial  as  a  crime  ;  and  punish- 
ments and  penalties  be  attached  to  every  gra- 
dation of  bodily  comfort.  To  feel  the  pulse 
throb  with  joy,  or  the  cheek  glow  with  delight, 
or  the  heart  beat  under  the  genial  influence  of 
springtime  or  autumn ;  in  fine,  to  yield  in  any 
way  to  the  generous  and  universal  emotions  of 
humanity,  will  next  be  deemed  a  damnable  her- 
esy and  perversion  of  our  moral  faculties.  The 
adventurous  champions  of  this  dietetical  Quixot- 
ism, would  ride  through  the  country  armed  cap- 
a-pie  with  argument  and  denunciation,  and, 
like  the  Moss-troopers  of  the  Scottish  border, 
snatch  from  the  peasant's  pot  his  haunch  of 
mutton  or  round  of  beef,  and  force  him  to  dine 
on  kale  and  cold  water. 


JEDUTHAx\  HOBBS. 


307 


These  men  know  not — they  have  no  dream 
— of  the  injury  they  would  inflict  on  the  poor 
by  depriving  them  of  animal  food,  and  the  lit- 
tle (what  seems  to  us,  at  least,  little)  luxury 
of  a  healthy  and  savory  meal.  Their  daily 
bread  is  the  only  comfort  that  many  of  the  poor 
enjoy.  They  have  no  knowledge  of  books — no 
music — no  pleasant,  festive  companies,  where 
care  is  laughed  or  danced  away — no  concerts  nor 
anniversaries — no  resources  of  thought  or  con- 
versation— none  of  those  delicate,  refined  sensa- 
tions, which  are  perpetual  inlets  to  the  thought- 
ful and  educated — no  poetical  joy  in  the  fair 
shows  of  nature,  and  at  best  nothing  more  than 
a  ruder  sort  of  religion,  which  exhibits  itself  in 
a  simple,  single,  undoubling  faith.  Their  "  life  is 
rounded  with"  a  meal.  In  this  they  are  impara- 
dised.  Nature  has  not  denied  to  them  the  common 
and  yet  sweet  enjoj'ments  of  the  palate.  Sitting 
at  their  rude  tables,  with  their  clean  and  well- 
cooked  mutton  or  steak,  they  are  equal  to  kings. 
The  most  royal  of  the  earth  can  not  enthrone 
themselves  with  a  finer  sense  of  sweetness  on 
golden  thrones  or  under  canopies  of  purple. 
Who  would  rob  the  poor  of  such  dainties  ? 

Be  not  afraid  !  ye  poor  of  the  land.  God's 
bounties  flow,  in  these  regions  at  least,  from  a 
perennial  urn.  God  still  walks  on  the  hill  and 
in  the  valley,  and  cheers  the  husbandman  in 
his  labors.  Be  not  afraid  ! — forward  through 
many  years  of  household  happiness,  may  ye  look 
for  well-filled  boards  and  hearthstones  savory 
with  daily  comforts  and  consolations.  While 
God  guides  your  plough  and  gives  the  increase 
to  your  honest  toil,  eat  jour  bread  in  peace. 
No  fanatical  visionary,  no  arbitrary  and  self- 
willed  man  shall  rob  j^ou  of  these.  Your  own 
good  sense,  the  good  sense  of  your  friends  and 
countrymen,  will  save  you  from  the  desolation 
which  these  wild  men  would  bring  upon  you 
in  common  with  all. 

The  people  will  not  hearken  to  their  mad  ap- 
peal. There  is  an  instinct  above  all  knowledge. 
Guided  by  that,  our  countrymen  will  scorn  the 
starveling  philosophy  of  Graham,  and  the  wild 
theories  of  Hitchcock.  Our  broad  meadows  will 
still  sustain  their  noble  herds ;  and  still  shall  the 
cool  stream  and  the  open  sea  nurture  its  kind  to 
strengthen  and  cheer  the  sons  of  the  earth.  Our 
rich  wheatfields  shall  whiten  as  of  old,  and  the 
pure  loaf  be  called  the  staflTof  life,  though  igno- 
rant and  reckless  men  would  strike  it  down 
and  bring  man  level  with  the  earth  and  the 
brute  that  feeds  on  husks  and  grass. 

Sad  and  bitter  consequences,  God  knows, 
have  already  flowed  from  these  false  doctrines, 
Alas !  how  many  pale  students,  future  orna- 
ments and  defenders  of  their  country,  if  permit- 
ted to  live ;  how  many  fair  daughters ;  how 
many  mothers,  blessed  and  blessing ;  how  many 
merchants,  sagacious  in  business  and  liberal  in 
leisure  ;  how  many  ministex-s  of  God,  hallowed 
oracles  and  voices  of  Heaven ;  how  many  of 
the  good,  the  great,  the  young,  and  the  aged — 
the  tender-hearted  and  the  learned  and  wise, 
hav€  already  fallen  before  the  arm  of  this  hom- 


icidal and  accursed  dogma  ?  In  pale  and  sick- 
ly troops  they  totter  down  the  road  to  the 
grave  and  lay  themselves  on  the  cold  pillow  of 
their  last  slumber,  emaciated,  ghastly,  the  vic- 
tims of  the  cunning  impostor  who  used  imagi- 
nation as  his  tool,  and  with  it  undermined  the 
"  house  of  life."  Upon  their  ashes  we  build  a 
monument,  dedicated  to  temperate  enjoyment 
of  the  bounties  of  the  air,  the  earth,  and  the 
sea! 


[The  author  might,  in  mercantile  phrase,  evade 
legal  liability  on  the  two  or  three  sketches  follow- 
ing, on  the  ground  that  they  were  produced  before 
he  had  arrived  at  an  age  when  one  acquires  the  right 
to  utter  paper.  As  more  advanced  life  is,  however, 
glad  enough  at  times  to  draw  upon  youth  ana 
habits  then  acquired,  in  excuse  of  older  offences, 
the  author  foregoes  his  plea,  with  the  hope  of 
showing,  by  their  reproduction,  at  how  early  a 
period  he  had  fallen  upon  a  vein  of  writing  which 
(whether  good  or  bad)  he  has  since  wrought 
upon  in  one  or  two  more  elaborate  works.  The 
<'  trick  of  it"  was,  he  thinks  the  reader  will  ad- 
mit, in  the  blood,  and  not  caught  from  foreign 
sources.] 


JEDUTHAN  HOBBS. 

A    TRIBUTE  TO  THE   MEMORY   OF   A   METROPOLI- 
TAN   BOOK-PEDLAR. 

(Knickerbocker  Magazine,  jSprUy  1835.) 

In  his  life-time  Jeduthan  Hobbs  had  never 
suited  himself  with  a  dwelling-place.  He  was 
ever  flitting  about,  like  a  swallow  on  the  wing, 
from  garret  to  garret.  He  has  chambers  now, 
against  which  he  can  never  more  repine.  A' 
few  nails,  and  boards  of  lath,  have  shut  out 
apprehension,  and  care,  and  poverty.  No 
longer  shall  rich  repasts,  and  the  panorama  of 
delicate  viands,  move  before  his  eye,  which  his 
tongue  may  not  taste.  No  longer  shall  his 
gaunt  form  traverse  the  pavement  of  public 
hostels,  living  on  steams  and  odors.  From  the 
unceremonious  touch  of  catchpoles,  henceforth, 
the  person  of  Jeduthan  Hobbs  is  sacred. 

They  laid  him  according  to  his  wish.  He 
had  prayed,  almost  to  the  last  hour  of  his  life, 
that  Providence  would  grant  him  the  farewell 
privilege  of  selecting  a  spot  for  his  grave, 
which  might  be  his  own — the  first  and  last 
can  tie  of  proprety  he  should  ever  possess.  And 
at  the  moment  when  death  was  holding  his 
final  parley  for  the  surrender  of  his  body,  a 
missive  arrived  from  a  deceased  aunt,  bearing 
within  a  gift  just  sufficient  to  purchase  the 
dying  man  the  luxury  of  renting  independently 
his  last  habitation. 

It  was  chosen  strangely — one  lone,  solitary 
strip  of  green,  imbedded  in  rocks.    It  were 


308 


MISCELLANIES. 


vain  to  attempt  to  fathom  this  fancy.  Perhaps 
he  wished  to  leave  it  as  a  testimonial — though 
dark  and  difficult  the  interpretation — that  thus 
his  heart  had  retained  its  freshness  and  verdure, 
in  the  very  midst  of  the  rough  roads  and  stony 
circumstances  of  life. 

His  face,  when  living,  was  the  very  dial-plate 
of  hope.  He  lived  on  glorious  expectation.  He 
breakfasted  on  hope,  dined  on  hope,  and  was 
even  oftentimes  forced,  for  the  want  of  more 
substantial  food,  to  make  his  supper  from  the 
same  dish.  Yet  was  he  ever  uncomplaining. 
He  was  monarch  over  all  futurity.  No  black 
usurper  dared  intrude  upon  that  ample  realm. 
He  peopled  it  with  his  own  subjects.  They 
never  disobeyed  his  kingly  authority,  but  ever 
came  at  his  beck.  How  well  I  remember  the 
last  time  I  beheld  him !  He  had  just  given — 
poor  and  lowly  as  he  was — a  cheerful  volume, 
to  a  pale,  thin  young  man,  in  a  faded  black 
coat,  who  had  been  standing  at  a  book-stall,  at 
the  corner  of  the  street,  filching  a  little  mental 
entertainment  from  a  meager  collection  of 
dingy  tomes.  "  Poor  fellow !"  said  Hobbs,  "  he 
has  seen  better  days ;  but  he  should  needs  be 
happy  now,  for  I  have  given  him  a  glorious 
companion,  and  I  have  just  read  to  him  these 
truth-speaking  lines  from  good  old  Spenser." 
And  the  kind  donor  set  down  his  humble  basket 
upon  the  flags,  and  with  a  benevolent  chuckle, 
read  thus  from  a  thumbed,  yellow-leaved  oc- 
tavo : 


"Ah!  why  doth  flesh,  a  bubble-glass  of  breath, 
Hunt  after  honor  and  advancement  vain. 
And  rear  a  trophy  for  devouring  Death, 
With  so  great  labor  and  long-lasting  pain, 
As  if  his  days  for  ever  should  remain  ? 
Sith  all  that  in  this  world  is  great  or  gay, 

Doth,  as  a  vapor,  vanish  and  decay. 

'•  Look  back  who  list  unto  the  former  ages, 
And  call  to  count  what  is  of  them  become  ; 
Where  be  those  high-born  men,  those  antique 
Which  of  all  grandeur  knew  the  perfect  sum  ? 
Where  those  great  warriors,  which  did  overcome 
The  world  with  conquest  of  their  might  and  main. 

And  made  one  mear  of  the  earth  and  of  their  reign  V 


Thus,  with  a  fine  vein  of  philosophy,  would 
Hobbs  beguUe  penury  of  bitter  remembrances, 
and  rob  sharp  misery  of  its  pangs. 

He  would  sit  in  his  veteran  arm-chair,  at  the 
end  of  a  long  summer  day,  and  looking  through 
the  dusky  panes  of  a  narrow  dormer  window, 
point  to  the  sun  melting  afar  over  the  Jersey 
hills — dropping  gently  and  softly,  as  a  babe  to 
its  evening  slumbers.  «  That  sun,"  he  would 
exclaim,  "  rises  brighter  to-morrow,  because  it 
rises  on  a  happier  man.  My  friend,  I  am  not 
crack-brained  nor  visionary.  In  truth,  poor 
denizens  like  me  have  no  right  to  share  that 
privilege  of  the  titled  and  wealthy.  But  I  do 
believe  there  is  some  great  blessing  in  store  for 
me — some  overwhelming  joy — that,  like  wine 
on  the  lees,  is  but  improving  its  flavor,  by  age, 
for  my  palate." 

"  But,  Hobbs,  how  can  you  revel  in  such  de- 
lights, with  these  wrecks  about  you?    How 


can  you,  from  a  garret,  like  Moses  from  Pisgah, 
steal  such  glimpses  of  a  promised  land  ?" 

"  Do  you  see,"  was  his  answer,  "  yonder 
flight  of  birds,  fanning  the  rosy  air  around  the 
setting  sun  ?  Mark  you  how  their  wings  are 
gilded  with  royal  gold  and  purple,  as  they  bathe 
themselves  in  the  fading  day-beams?  So, 
my  friend,  every  thought,  every  imagination, 
every  common  object  and  meaner  sight,  in 
passing  through  my  soul,  is  transmuted  into  a 
precious  and  golden  reality,  that,  though  it 
may  have  no  existence  in  this  world  of  fact, 
transports  me  into  a  heaven  !" 

"  What  heaven  ?  The  bigot's — the  secta- 
rian's ?" 

"  No,  friend,  there  can  be  no  heaven  where 
dwells  the  bigot  or  the  sectarian.  I  mean  his 
heaven  whose  tastes  are  refined,  whose  eyes 
are  as  crystal  mirrors,  reflecting  joyously  the 
Creator's  little  universe  below,  the  fair  scenes 
of  nature,  and  the  glories  of  air,  earth,  and 
sea.  Such  alone  can  live  in  heaven.  To  brute 
minds — minds  that  have  no  spirit,  but  are  all 
sinew  and  flesh — heaven  would  be  but  a  '  worse 
hell.' " 

Thus  have  we  whiled  hour  after  hour,  in 
pleasant  converse,  pilfering  many  a  smile  from 
the  wrinkled  face  of  time,  and  smoothing  the 
yet  untrodden  road  to  the  inevitable  church- 
yard. The  vocation  of  my  friend  was  a  modest 
and  humble  one.  He  was  a  book-pedlar.  He 
wended  from  house  to  house — a  merchant  of 
the  mind — bearing  in  his  basket  and  pack  the 
rich  products  of  every  clime  in  which  intellect 
grows  and  buds. 

He  was  born  with  a  love  for  books.  The 
first  object  on  which  his  infant  eyes  opened, 
must  have  been  the  family  Bible,  or  a  copy  of 
the  household  almanac.  He  delis:hted,  as  soon 
as  his  feeble  hands  could  lift  a  volume,  to  gaze 
on  its  black  rows  of  letters.  When  his  mind 
expanded,  its  first  dawnings  were  spent  in  mar- 
shaling words  in  order,  to  form  some  little 
"  composition."  He  took  a  kind  of  military 
pride,  in  drilling  the  twenty-four  letters  of  the 
alphabet,  in  banding  them  into  petty  companies. 
As  he  grew  older  he  assumed  his  calling.  It 
was  congenial,  though  lowly.  He  loved  to 
pass  from  dwelling  to  dwelling,  dealing  out,  as 
it  were,  delight  by  the  handful — handing  over 
whole  treasures  of  joy,  volumes  of  fun  and 
knowledge.  And  he  himself  had  been  at  the 
festival,  he  had  partaken  of  the  feast. 

He  came  at  length  to  be  known,  to  be  loved, 
to  be  welcomed.  His  face  broadened  and 
brightened  into  the  sun  of  many  a  house ;  and 
wherever  he  threw  a  beam,  some  tender  flower, 
or  some  happy  sentiment  would  spring  and 
blossom.  He  was  the  sower  of  good  seed,  and 
he  reaped  the  harvest  that  follows  it. 

And  thus  he  spent  twenty  years.  He  was 
the  father  of  the  book-pedlars.  Much  they 
honored  him ;  and,  when  chance  had  gathered 
a  circle  of  them  together,  they  listened  with 
eager  ears  to  his  tales  of  the  elder  days  of  their 
trade— how  it  had  begun  from  nothing,  how,  on 


BEN.  SMITH,  LOAPER. 


309 


one  bright  summer  morning,  when  he  had  risen 
early  and  saw  the  milkmen  and  bakers  busy 
distributing  their  comforts,  the  thought  struck 
him,  what  a  good  and  pleasant  thing  it  would 
be,  if  some  kind  people  would  thus  actively 
and  alertly  serve  the  aliment  of  mind  to  as 
needy  customers — how  the  thought  would  every 
morning  visit  his  soul — how  he  gave  it  wel- 
come— and,  finally,  how  lie  became  the  pioneer 
in  the  cause,  dandling,  as  it  were,  the  profes- 
sion upon  his  knee,  until  it  had  arrived  to  its 
present  manhood,  sending  its  missionaries  into 
every  nook  and  corner  of  the  heathen  city. 

Farewell,  Hobbs  !  I  had  said  more  and  bet- 
ter things  of  thee,  but  ray  pen  would  drop 
nothing  but  tears.  Farewell !  Thou  hast  left 
this  world  of  book-making,  book-reading,  and 
book-peddling,  and  art  gone,  I  trust,  where 
angels  chant  poetry,  and  the  face  of  thy  Maker 
shall  be  to  thee,  for  perusal,  thy  brightest  book  ! 


THE  LATE  BEN.  SMITH,  LOAFER. 

(Knickerbocker  Magazine,  July,  1835.) 

I  HAVE  wept  for  the  death  of  the  late  Benja- 
min Smith  until  I  can  weep  no  more,  and  I  have 
come  to  the  conclusion  to  vent  the  superflux  of 
my  grief  in  ink-drops.  Ben.  was  a  metropolitan 
loafer,  and  a  phenomenon.  He  was  the  ruling 
luminary  of  a  whole  shoal  of  shag-tailed  comets 
that  used  to  shoot  madly  about  the  terrestrial 
firmament  of  New  York.  He  was  not  a  New 
Yorker,  though  born,  bred,  and  reared  in  this 
town.  He  had  a  spirit  beyond  and  above  it.  I 
sometimes  conjectured  that  he  was  stolen  in 
his  infancy  from  Thomson's  "  Castle  of  Indo- 
lence," or  that  he  was  merely  a  transient  visiter 
from  Rabelais'  island,  where  industrious  slug- 
gards are  paid  sixpence  ha'penny  a  day  for 
hard  sleeping.  As  a  faithful  historian,  how- 
ever, I  am  compelled  to  state,  that  my  hero  did 
actually  come  into  the  world  by  the  connivance 
of  Susan  and  Samuel  Smith,  loafer  and  loafress 
of  this  burgh — not  exactly  under  a  favorable 
planet — but  with  the  auspicious  light  of  a 
brown,  sputtering  tallow  candle. 

His  education  was  not  collegiate  or  academi- 
cal. It  was  obtained,  most  of  it,  in  the  open 
air,  without  the  superfluous  expense  of  books, 
ferules,  or  schoolmasters.  In  truth,  he  con- 
sidered flagellation  as  a  serious  hinderance  to 
the  circulation  of  the  intellectual  fluids.  He 
could  not  believe  that  it  constituted  an  essential 
element  in  education ;  and  he  often  averred,  in 
proof  of  his  position,  that  he  was  acquainted 
with  a  cart-horse  that  had  been  belabored  all 
his  life-time,  and  yet  was  as  ignorant  as  an  ass 
to  this  day  !  Ben.,  however,  had  a  diploma  to 
show,  written  on  sheepskin,  in  legible  charac- 
ters, and  signed  by  competent  authority.  He 
ofiered  one  day  to  produce  it,  before  me,  by 
stripping  his  jacket.     I  excused  him. 

Young  Benjamin  Smith— like  all  remarkable 
20 


young  men — had  original  views  of  this  world. 
He  considered  it,  in  the  first  place,  as  a  large 
dormitory,  or  bedroom  ;  in  the  second  place,  as 
a  stupenduous  cook-shop ;  and,  in  the  third,  as 
an  unbounded  loafing-ground.  And  these  views 
would  he  defend  with  the  pertinacity  of  a  con- 
gressman. Ask  him  why  the  wharves  and  pier- 
heads were  constructed  ?  "  Fine  places  to 
stretch  in  the  sun  !"  was  his  answer.  "  Why 
was  the  court  of  sessions  established  by  the 
legislature  ?"  « To  help  and  further  sleep- 
ing." "  Why  ministers  ordained  and  consecrat- 
ed?" "To  encourage  somnolence."  "Why 
the  corporation  opened  fair  streets,  laid  side- 
walks, labelled  the  corners  ?"  "  To  point  out 
the  shortest  cut  to  the  best  loafing-grounds." 

On  ordinary  occasions  Smith  was  pedestrian, 
but  sometimes  he  could  prevail  on  a  crony  in 
the  next  grade  of  life  above  himself,  to  give  him 
an  airing  to  Harlaem.  These  were  his  gala 
days — the  real  holydays  of  his  heart.  "  Fare- 
well !  ye  foot-pad  loafers,"  he  would  exclaim, 
as  he  mounted  Aie  vehicle,  "  trudge  on — trudge 
on,  and  wear  out  your  shoes  !  I  am  Christian 
henceforth,  and  believe  in  Providence,  in  that 
he  has  created  horses !"  Truly,  he  was  a 
great  man  in  his  tours  to  Harlaem,  Kingsbridge, 
and  parts  adjacent.  He  would  sit  in  his  friend's 
carriage,  on  a  cross-board  (for  his  charioteer 
was  generally  a  friendly  Irishman,  on  a  journey 
for  a  load  of  dirt),  and  bracing  his  feet  with  a 
most  determined  air,  would  grasp  the  reins  with 
a  fierceness,  and  draw  in  his  ghost  of  a  steed 
with  a  nerve  that  often  produced  an  electric 
titter  from  the  lookers-on.    He  was  irresistible. 

Smith  was  fond  of  music,  and  whistled  every 
other  mile  all  the  way.  He  took  much  pride  in 
this  accomplishment,  which  he  had  almost  cul- 
tivated into  a  fine  art  by  his  assiduity.  He 
had  carried  it  to  such  a  pitch  of  perfection, 
that  he  very  often  whistled  for  his  dinner.  He 
told  me  when  I  last  saw  him,  that  he  had  been 
trying  his  mouth  on  a  piece  of  sentimental 
music,  and  that  it  needed  only  one  quaver  and 
a  bar  to  make  it  complete.  Alas,  poor  Ben. ! 
He  is  now  gone.  He  fell  the  victim  of  an  at- 
tempt to  whistle  a  dull  senator's  speech  in  Con- 
gress. He  was  heard  late  at  night,  rehearsing ; 
the  next  morning  he  was  found  lying  on  his 
back,  with  his  mouth  wide  agape,  and  drawn 
askew  by  the  violence  of  the  attempt.  The 
result  of  the  crowner's  'quest  was,  that  the 
deceased  came  to  his  death  by  a  long  sentence 
in  Senator 's  last  harangue. 


I  HAVE  forgotten  thus  far — an  omission  al- 
most unpardonable  in  a  small  novelist — to 
sketch  the  person  and  habiliments  of  my  hero. 
I  will  "  about  it  straight." 

Benjamin  Smith,  then,  was  a  tall  loafer,  sur- 
mounted with  a  well-woven  and  well-entangled 
mat  of  hair,  that  proved  dame  nature  no  in- 
different hatter.  His  frame  was  a  bundle  of 
rods,  or  straight  pipe-stem  bones,  wired  togeth- 


310 


MISCELLANIES. 


ev  with  small  ligaments,  and  swinging  easily  in 
their  sockets,  to  and  fro,  as  he  shuffled  through 
the  street.  He  was  tall,  nay,  gigantic,  in  an 
upward  direction ;  a  peculiarity  from  which  he 
drew  the  ingenious  inference  that  if  angels 
ever  came  from  above  (and  here  he  would  look 
reverently  up),  he  believed  about  their  nighest 
landing  place  would  be  his  head !  This  pro- 
cerity,  with  his  stationary  habits,  would  have 
rendered  his  crown  a  grand  building  spot  for  a 
crow's  nest,  or  the  little  Parnassus  of  a  flock  of 
singing  birds.  He  would  have  sold  the  fee- 
simple  for  a  gin  sling,  and  have  never  harmed 
an  occupant  in  the  world. 

How  shall  I  describe  his  dress  ?  'Tis  like 
drawing  a  note  for  a  thousand  dollars,  with  an 
empty  pocket  to  meet  it.  Alas!  he  had  no 
dress ;  nothing  that  could  be  considered  a  broad- 
cloth synonym  for  the  word — nothing  that  a 
tailor  would  have  dignified  with  the  name. 
The  very  alms-house  pensioners  would  have 
laughed  at  his  variegated  coat  and  unmention- 
ables. They  were  patches  of  color,  and  shreds 
of  nothing;  the  very  ghosts  of  defunct  habili- 
ments ;  indigo  blue  at  the  bottom,  and  red  at 
the  top,  the  intervals  interspersed  with  an  as- 
sortment of  shades.  He  was  a  walking  rain- 
bow, and  an  observer  might  have  thought  that 
he  had  eyes  in  every  inch  of  his  body,  from  the 
spots  of  flesh  that  peeped  forth  from  the  irregu- 
lar casements  of  his  "  looped  and  windowed  rag- 
gedness."  In  the  event  of  a  war,  in  his  time, 
he  would  have  been  a  fine  mark  for  small  shot. 

Possessing  these  inimitable  graces  of  person 
and  pantaloon — together  with  a  large  amount 
of  intellect,  to  which  I  have  not  alluded,  on  the 
supposition  that  the  shrewd  reader  would  take 
it  for  granted — I  was  surprised,  and  often  ex- 
pressed such  surprise  to  the  surviving  friends 
of  Smith,  that  he  never  was  sent  to  the  legis- 
lature; for  he  was  one  of  our  distinguished 
*' high-binders,"  and  deserved  promotion  and  a 
good  ofiice.  And  from  the  exhibition  of  cer- 
tain gushes  of  genius,  I  am  confident  he  would 
not  have  spent  a  winter  at  the  capitol,  without 
learning  the  difference  between  steam  and 
botany,  and  that  coal-heaving  and  legislation 
are  two  distinct  departments  of  knowledge. 


What  was  life  to  Ben  Smith  ?  A  mere  farce, 
during  which  pea-nuts  might  be  munched,  a 
nap  taken,  and  a  little  laughter  indulged.  Some 
might  have  doubted  whether  he  had  a  soul,  or 
if  any,  a  proper-sized  one.  Such  cavillers  should 
consider  that  the  accommodations  for  that  ethe- 
real essence  were  not  ample.  There  is  a  test 
that  brings  out  one's  soul  as  easily  and  certain- 
ly as  the  knuckle  elicits  a  spark  from  the  Ley- 
den  jar,  a  small  and  inevitable  event  (for  like 
death,  it  comes  sooner  or  later  to  all),  that 
shakes  up  and  jostles  out  a  man's  spirit  into 
broad  daylight,  like  a  cork  from  a  bottle,  or  a 
bird  from  its  nest.  He  loved.  He  rehearsed 
his  little  two  act  pathetic  comedy  (for  love 


is  made  up  of  laughter  and  tears),  in  such  by- 
corners  and  strange  places  as  poverty  affords. 

To  him  and  his  beloved,  garrets  must  needs 
be  drawing-rooms,  and  public  streets  parlors. 
Cupid  furnished  no  perfumery  or  purple  hang- 
ings for  my  hero  and  his  enamorata.  The 
courtship  commenced  in  an  alley,  where  the 
lover  saw  his  "  fond  one"  bearing  a  basket  of 
cold  victuals  to  a  blind  aunt.  The  attitude 
was  romantic,  and  the  heart  can  not  be  always 
on  its  guard.  Subsequent  interviews  were  had 
at  the  pump.  She  stole  slyly  into  his  bosom, 
and  left  her  little  miniature  on  his  heart.  It 
was  better  framed  than  if  in  gold,  and  more 
wisely ;  for  those  who  have  golden  miniatures 
of  their  mistresses,  are  apt  to  love  gold  better 
than  their  mistress.  Smith's  chosen  was  a 
small,  dark-eyed  girl,  with  a  neck  of  snow,  and 
black  tresses  that  lay  upon  it  in  happy  contrast. 
Her  step  was  light  and  elastic,  and  her  voice 
bird-like,  though  uncultivated. 

I  will  not  insult  humble  love,  by  describing 
her  weather-worn  and  use-worn  garments. 
She  was  clothed  in  feeling,  home-spun,  indeed, 
but  heart-spun,  as  well,  and  worth  all  your 
silks  and  jewels.  They  were  wedded.  It  was 
the  very  night  before  his  melancholy  demise, 
which  I  would  fain  think  I  have  drawn  with  a 
just  remembrance  of  his  virtues.  Poor  girl ! 
She  knew  not  that  death's  high- constable  was 
so  near,  and  so  soon  to  serve  his  warrant.  She 
would  gladly  have  put  in  bail,  but  it  was  not 
permitted  her.  Let  me  not  open  the  vial  of  her 
sorrows  afresh.  She  is  yet  living,  lowly,  and 
disconsolate. 

A  word  touching  the  funeral  of  the  departed. 
His  demise,  for  he  was  a  royal  ragamuffin, 
spread  universal  sorrow  through  all  ranks  of 
the  loafer  community.  The  very  beggars'  dogs 
seemed  to  be  aff'icted  and  cast  down,  as  if  they 
had  lost  a  father.  The  hour  of  his  burial  was 
fixed  at  four  o'clock,  P.  M.,  on  the  day  of  his 
death,  in  order  that  his  gentlemen  cronies  might 
be  allowed  good  time  to  arise  from  bed,  and 
that  they  might  return  from  the  ceremony  late 
enough  for  a  fashionable  dinner.  Supported 
by  two  sturdy  associates,  his  mortal  remains 
were  escorted  to  a  snug  corner  of  Potter's 
Field — the  true  "Westminster  Abbey  of  New 
York  paupers.  No  clergyman  was  present  to 
administer  the  rites  of  sepulture.  A  brother 
loafer  ofiiciated,  but  not  like  an  ordinary  func- 
tionary. With  his  companions,  he  had  inspired 
himself  with  tears  at  a  neighboring  temple  of 
spirits,  and  instead  of  the  cold,  stereotyped 
tones  of  official  sorrow,  he  gave  out  (in  the 
moving  melting  accents  of  poetical  pauperized 
pity),  verse  by  verse,  as  is  the  manner  in 
methodist  chapels,  a  "talented"  requiem,  of 
which  the  following  stanzas  were  all  that  I  was 
enabled  to  remember : 

"  Toll,  toll  the  watch-house  bell, 
Sound  loud  the  sad  conch-shell, 

For  Ben.  is  gone  I 
He  did  no  harm, — all's  well ; 
A-whistling  brave  he  fell,— 
His  loafing's  doQ«  1 


AN  ARGUMENT  AGAINST  CLOTHING. 


311 


*(  Weep  docks,  wharves,  cotton-bags  1 
Ben  greets  no  more  with  rags 
Your  honored  beds  ; 
A  little  here  he  lagged 
Then  to  his  heaven  Ben  jagged, 

And  dropped  his  shreds  I" 

Let  me  add  one  word  of  eulogy  in  prose. 
Ben  was  no  gentleman,  for  he  had  never  pulled 
any  man's  nose  nor  fought  a  duel ;  no  Christian, 
for  he  never  sung  psalms  loudly  in  church,  nor 
disturbed  a  whole  congregation  with  the  osten- 
tatious clink  of  his  silver  in  the  plate ;  no  mer- 
chant, for  he  was  totally  ignorant  of  that  finest 
of  fine  arts,  the  art  of  splitting  one  sixpence 
into  two ;  no  philanthropist,  for  he  was  not  a 
member  of  the  society  for  the  promotion  of  self- 
righteousness  ;  and  no  politician,  for  he  had 
two  eyes.  Neither  was  he  a  learned  man,  for 
he  could  eat  pudding  without  knowing  how  it 
was  compounded.  He  was  simply  what  I 
have  set  forth,  "  The  late  Benjamin  Smith, 

LOAFEB." 


A  SERIOUS  ARGUMENT 

AGAINST    THE   USE   OF   CLOTHING  :     ADDRESSED 
TO   TAILORS. 

{Knickerbocker  Magazine,  Nov.,  1836.) 

"  Some  were  for  the  utter  extirpation 
Of  linsey-woolsey  in  the  nation." — Hudibras. 

I  TRUST  I  shall  not  be  suspected  of  the  pur- 
pose, in  this  paper,  of  putting  an  insult  upon 
the  respectable  fraternity  to  whom  it  is  ad- 
dressed. On  the  contrary,  I  have  hopes,  built 
upon  the  justice  of  my  object  and  the  purity  of 
my  wishes,  to  win  them  over  to  the  view  I  in- 
tend to  take,  and  to  convince  them  that  a  re- 
fined and  nice  moral  sense,  as  well  as  a  lofty 
and  philosophical  comprehension  of  the  fitness 
of  things,  requires  at  their  hands  an  immediate 
abandonment  of  the  profession  in  which  they 
are  at  present  engaged.  I  trust  to  be  able  to 
prove  to  them  that  it  is  their  duty  to  break  in 
pieces  their  lapboards,  take  down  their  signs, 
give  their  iron  geese  the  wing,  and  bid  a  long 
farewell  to  skein  and  needle. 

Beside  the  urgent  necessity  resting  upon 
them  of  restoring  themselves,  physically,  to  that 
erect  posture  from  which  they  have  fallen,  I 
shall  bring  before  them  reasons  more  purely 
addressed  to  their  understanding. 

It  is  clear,  then,  in  the  first  place,  that  tail- 
ors came  in  with  the  fall.  Adam,  in  his  prim- 
itive condition,  ennobled  by  the  complete  de- 
velopment of  every  power  of  the  mind  and  nerve 
of  the  body — a  profounder  philosopher  than  Ba- 
con— superior  (in  all  probability)  in  imagina- 
tion to  Shakspere — as  a  musician,  sweeter  than 
Mozart,  and,  in  fact,  as  a  universal  handi- 
craftsman, to  all  the  world  since — Adam — what 
was  the  secret,  or,  at  least,  the  development 
of  all  his  power  ?  He  went  undressed  !  If 
I  may  so  speak,  wit|liout  irreverence  to  the 


founder  of  our  family,  he  was  the  Great  Shirt- 
less. ^ 

His  descendants  degenerated.  They  were 
trowsered  and  coated.  And  this  was  the  first 
sad  symptom  of  the  fall.  Had  not  pantaloons 
been  introduced,  there  had  been  hope  for  man. 
The  downfall  was  not  complete — the  destruc- 
tion was  not  irremediable — the  last  chain  was 
not  irrevocably  bound  upon  us — till  Adam  drew 
on  his  first  pair  of  indispensables.  Of  immor- 
ality 

"the  primitive  tradition  reaches 

As  far  as  Adam's  first  green  breeches." 

In  making  up  the  account  of  our  depravity,  we 
must  halt  here.  Farther  backward  we  can  not 
journey. 

Adam,  before  this,  might  have  perpetrated 
the  indecency  of  talking  Dutch  in  the  Garden ; 
but  we  have  no  records — no  authentic  history 
of  that  absurdity.  We  begin  with  the  surmount- 
ing of  the  articles  set  forth  in  the  couplet. 

He  drew  them  on,  not  like  a  modern  juvenile, 
with  exultant  eyes  and  eager  limbs  (though 
they  were  his  first  suit),  but  with  sorrowing  and 
tears.  Through  the  two  narrow  vistas  down 
which  his  legs  descended,  as  through  the  tubes 
of  a  telescope,  he  saw  the  degradation  of  his 
race.  Bloody- visaged  war  and  hypocritic  peace, 
pestilence  and  famine,  disease  and  death,  peer- 
ed at  him  through  those  twin  openings. 

Oh  !  had  that  fatal  suit  never  been  donned, 
how  glorious  a  spectacle  would  this  our  world 
present !  It  would  have  swarmed  with  tall  and 
pure  intelligences  "  only  less  than  the  angels." 
But  mark  the  consequences  !  Cain  becomes  a 
butcher,  and  Abel  a  huckster — afterward,  the 
first  a  vagabond,  the  second  a  carcass. 

Such  were  the  disgraces  which  the  first  cloth- 
ing put  upon  our  humanity.  Every  age,  since  the 
ejectment  of  our  first  parent  from  his  territories, 
has  seen  their  renewal.  If  man  had  remained  to 
this  hour  unclothed  and  unshirted,  he  had  been 
still  pure  and  happy.  But  misery  and  dress  go  to- 
gether— they  are  natural  yokefellows.  Whenev- 
er I  see  a  pair  of  breeches  I  think  of  original  sin, 
and  smallclothes  remind  me  of  total  depravity. 
A  frock-coat  is  to  me  the  exponent  of  damnation, 
and  a  tight-bodied  one  the  sign  and  token  of 
eternal  torture. 

Is  it  not  our  duty,  then,  to  put  away  from  us 
these  mementoes  of  our  shame  ?  to  cast  to  the 
winds  these  daily  slaves  of  Philip,  whose  ever 
business  it  is  to  babble  in  our  ears,  "  Thou 
must  die  !'*  Shall  we  endure  these  provocative 
monitors  ?  shall  we  put  up  with  these  woollen 
impertinences  ? — manufactured  disturbers  of 
peace  ? — these  hangers-on  ? 

I  think  not.  Better  visions  dawn  upon  me. 
I  see  the  Naked  Age  approaching.  I  see  the 
time  when  tailors'  bills  shall  be  no  more,  or  be- 
come mere  matters  of  history — remembered, 
only  to  be  classed  with  the  witches  and  goblins 
which  affrighted  our  ancestors. 

The  argument  against  clothing  assumes,  if 
possible,  a  still  more  serious  aspect,  when  ex- 
amioed  in  its  connexion,  with,  the  dignity  of  man. 


312 


MISCELLANIES. 


It  must  be  confessed,  that  all  objects  are  pure, 
in  proportion  as  they  are  free  from  contingents 
and  adjuncts.  The  diamond  only  when  clean- 
ed from  its  imbedding  earth  exhibits  its  full 
lustre,  and  the  pearl  shines  not  forth  in  its 
clear,  native  whiteness,  till  disinterred  from  the 
coffining  oyster.  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  of 
opinion  that  the  only  sorts  of  chaste  matter  on 
earth  were  certain  fine  particles,  or  impene- 
trable finite  atoms,  and  that  all  other  matter 
was  a  mere  mongrel.  He  considered  the  pure 
existence  of  atoms  to  be  in  a  state  of  undress. 
I  agree  with  the  venerable  author  of  the  pippin 
(sometimes  called  the  gravitating)  philosophy. 
Man  is  among  the  corruptible — the  adulterated 
— the  impure. 

There  is  something  to  me  ludicrous  in  the 
very  physical  structure  of  man.  He  is  a 
"  forked  radish."  It  always  seemed  to  me  some 
strange  error  or  accident  in  his  formation,  that 
he  was  divided  and  cleft  at  the  bottom.  It 
would  better  fulfil  my  notions  of  symmetry,  if 
he  were  fashioned  column-like  and  progressed 
with  one  leg.  By  having  two,  it  would  seem  as 
if,  in  some  convulsion  of  nature  he  had  split  up. 

My  notions  of  a  perfect  being,  gentle  reader 
— to  let  thee  a  little  into  some  new  mysteries — 
is  (abandoning  the  columnar  doctrine),  as  a 
shapeless  and  invisible  cloud,  containing  in  it- 
self the  power  of  motion,  and  floating  about, 
guided  by  mere  impulse.  I  would  have  it  pos- 
sess a  full  source  of  harmony,  and  capable  of 
breathing  music  and  sweet  sounds  at  wil].  It 
should  journey  to  and  fro,  in  company  with  the 
seasons ;  it  should  rest  under  the  shadow  of  a 
mountain  in  Greece,  and  melt  into  crimson  and 
golden  hues  in  our  own  far  west.  Sometimes 
it  should  glide  noiselessly  amid  the  flowers,  the 
rare  and  pleasant  flowers  of  England,  or  over 
the  famed  war-fields  of  old  France.  It  should 
possess  the  perfect  power  of  metempsychosis 
or  transition  ;  at  one  time  it  might  cool,  far  up 
in  the  ether,  into  all  the  delicious  freshness  of 
snow,  and  at  another  dissolve  in  all  the  sweet 
summer  tenderness  of  rain. 

But  mark  me  ;  it  should  be  no  common  cloud, 
this  perfect  creature,  this  paragon,  this  phoenix 
of  mine.  It  should  bear  about  in  the  heavens 
no  semblance  of  garments.  It  should  figure 
forth  to  the  clown  or  the  school-boy's  brain  no 
rude  monster  bedighted  in  fantastical  apparel ; 
no  celestial  Dutchmen ;  no  well-breeched  har- 
lequin; no  valorous  chieftains,  with  black 
cocked  hats,  made  of  wind,  with  swords  of  va- 
por. No ;  but  there,  pillowed  on  the  air,  my 
human  cloud,  my  immortal  fragment  of  ether, 
my  animate  and  beautiful  substitute  for  man, 
should  sit  and  become  intellectual  with  thought. 

"  Beautiful  cloud  !  I  would  I  were  with  tliee, 
In  thy  calm  way  o'er  land  and  sea  : 
To  rest  on  thy  unrolling  skirts  and  look 
On  earth  as  on  an  open  book !" 

By  looking  at  your  next  neighbor,  you  will 
soon  see  that  he  is  no  such  thing  as  my  perfect 
and  symmetrical  being.  You  will  not  only  see 
that  he  is  a  little  toy,  moulded  of  clay,  but  that 


he  is  also  tricked  out  in  that  inhuman  absurdity 
styled  dress.  From  the  chin  to  the  heels,  he  is 
a  tailor's  ape.  What  an  abasement ! — how  des- 
perate a  degradation ! 

Man,  it  seems,  can  not  be  man  without  this 
pitiful  adjunct;  he  is  a  tree  that  blooms  not 
without  this  foliage.  And  yet  it  irks  him ;  it 
it  is  a  bondage  to  him,  to  be  cased  up  thus 
within  wooden  walls.  His  soul  lives  in  a  double 
prison ;  it  is  egg  within  egg ;  first  a  shell  of 
clay,  and  next  an  outer  covering  upon  that  of 
cloth.  How  is  it  possible  for  orators  and 
divines  to  reach  this  doubly-defended  nucleus  ? 
Can  a  refined  sentiment  make  its  way  through 
broadcloth  ?  or  will  a  pointed  thought,  or  fierce 
denunciation  pierce  the  solidity  of  a  Petersham  ? 

Man  goeth  about  bearing  his  own  shame  as  a 
burden  upon  his  back ;  and  yet  he  aspires  to 
mate  with  the  angels.  Think  you  they  stoop  to 
these  appendages  ?  That  they  walk  the  heaven- 
ly avenues,  cultivating  the  cock  of  a  hat,  or 
staking  the  happiness  of  their  immortal  natures 
on  the  roll  of  a  collar  ?  No :  the  higher  we 
ascend  the  scale  of  intelligence,  the  less  do  we 
find  of  this  vain  incumbrance. 

Even  the  brute  has  a  lesson  for  us  here.  The 
horse — does  he  wear  aught  over  his  leathern 
jerkin  ?  And  have  I  not  seen  Sir  Goat  strut 
forth  with  only  his  mohair  cloak  cast  over  his 
shoulder,  with  much  of  native  and  dignified 
simplicity  ? 

Let  us  sift  our  notions  nicely,  then,  and  with 
candor,  and  we  shall  speedily  learn  that  we 
have  an  instinct  within  us  which  preacheth 
against  clothing,  at  least  against  the  modern 
modification  of  that  vileness. 

Perhaps  we  may  conceive,  with  some  show 
of  reason,  of  Alcibiades  promenading  our 
Broadway  with  a  cane  and  whiskers,  or  the 
Emperor  Otho  arranging  his  curls  in  faultless 
mirrors  ;  but  what  say  you,  reader,  to  Socrates 
in  the  Portico  philosophizing  in  a  round-about  ? 
or  Cicero  walking  the  Forum  (forecasting  an 
oration  against  Catiline)  in  a  pair  of  top- 
boots  ?  or  Plato  in  nankeens  ?  or  Pythagoras 
in  a  swallow-tail  ?  Hercules  in  small-clothes  ? 
or  Homer  (pauper  though  he  was)  in  a  dicky  ? 

It  is  beyond  you — is  it  not  ? 

Post  Scriptum. — When  I  had  laid  the  first 
timbers,  as  it  were  of  the  above  essay,  I  men- 
tioned my  views  (such  as  I  expected  to  set  forth, 
and  have  set  forth  here),  to  a  bosom  friend  of 
mine,  confidentially.  I  think  he  must,  in  some 
failing  moment,  have  broken  his  trust.  It  ap- 
pears the  tailors  have  "  got  wind"  of  the  forth- 
coming argument,  and  are  beginning  to  take 
steps  to  prevent  the  dissemination  of  its  doc- 
trines. The  following  I  take  from  an  evening 
paper : 

"Notice.— To  Tailors.— The  tailors  of  the  city  of 
New  York  are  respectfully  invited  to  attend  a  meeting 
of  the  trade  to  beheld  at  Jefferson  House,  on  Monday 
evening  next,  wAcn  business  of  importance  will  be  laid  be- 
fore them." 

The  mark  at  which  this  points  is  palpable. 


SOLOMON  QUIGG;  EX-MEMBER  OF  CONGRESS. 


313 


I  am  farther  corroborated  in  the  belief  that 
some  movement  is  on  foot  among  the  Thimbles, 
from  the  circumstance  that  when  the  other  day 
I  was  taking  my  customary  afternoon's  walk,  I 
was  met  by  a  tailor's  journeyman,  who,  in  the 
usual  hobbling  style,  was  hurrying  home  with 
a  coat  on  his  left  arm.  As  I  passed  him,  the 
fellow,  who  by  some  mode  or  other  had  become 
acquainted  with  my  person,  put  his  unemployed 
hand  into  his  'hind  pocket,  and  shook  out  his 
coat-tail  deliberately  in  my  face ! 


SOLOMON  QUIGG;  EX-MEMBER  OF 
CONGRESS. 

(Knickerbocker  Magazine,  April,  1837.) 

On  the  second  step  of  a  "  stoop"  in  Broad- 
way, sat  Quigg — Solomon  Quigg,  ex-member 
of  the  nineteenth  congress  of  the  United 
States — casting  about  in  his  mind,  like  a  melan- 
choly heron,  the  means  and  devices  for  procur- 
ing a  breakfast.  While  his  large  person  ex- 
panded over  the  solid  bench  whereon  he  sat, 
his  ponderous  chin  rested  on  one  hand,  and  the 
other  reposed  in  his  breeches  pocket ;  his  eyes, 
meantime,  travelling  here  and  there,  as  if  in 
search  of  something  to  silence  the  voice  of 
hunger. 

His  dress  was  a  congress  of  absurdities — a 
pie-bald  court,  to  which  every  tailor's  shop  in 
the  city  seemed  to  have  sent  its  representative. 
While  one  leg  of  his  blue  pantaloons  draggled 
on  the  ground,  the  other,  apparently  of  a  more 
aspiring  disposition,  mounted  to  the  very  knee. 
Half  his  coat  was  of  a  mixed  gray,  while 
the  other  moiety  was  of  a  lively  crimson. 
His  vest,  originally  the  gift  of  a  strolling  play- 
er— whom  Quigg  had  once  patronised  at 
Washington — had  been  so  often  remodelled 
and  amended,  that,  like  the  constitution  of  a 
small  debating  society,  scarce  a  shred  of  the 
original  articles  remained.  The  countenance 
of  Quigg  had  certainly  been  once  expressive ; 
now,  the  only  feature  which  retained  a  claim  to 
that  appellative,  was  a  bulbous  nose,  which 
stood  out  from  his  face  like  the  boom  of  a  ves- 
sel, with  a  light  run  out  at  its  extremity ;  a  bea- 
con of  warning  to  all  those  who  sail  the  sea  of 
wine,  lest  one  day  when  they  dream  not,  ship- 
wreck may  befall  them.  The  mouth,  which 
had  doubtless  in  days  past  been  bearded  with 
scorn,  and  stiff  with  haughty  feeling,  now  hung 
loose  and  agape,  like  an  old  lady's  worn-out 
purse.  On  the  summit  of  his  head  rested  an 
ancient,  bell-shaped  hat,  the  crown  of  which 
had  partly  given  way,  and  lifted  up  and  down, 
like  the  lid  of  a  pipkin,  with  every  passing  gust 
of  wind.  It  seemed  to  be  a  convenience,  by 
which  the  wearer's  more  devout  thoughts  might 
find  a  shorter  road  to  heaven. 

At  times  as  Quigg  sat  thus,  with  an  elbow 
on  his  knee,  a  tear,  despite  a  certain  effort  at 
self-control,  would  steal  from  the  corner  of  his 

'  / 


eye,  and  resting  for  a  moment  on  a  crow-foot 
wrinkle  underneath  it,  run  down  his  cheek  be- 
j  side,  just  so  as  to  escape  his  mouth,  over  his 
chin,  and  fall  to  the  ground. 

His  aspect  expressed,  to  me  at  least,  a  certain 
regret  for  the  past,  and  doubt  of  the  future. 
Quigg  the  congressman  was  now  but  a  ragged 
gentleman— a  loafer.  As  he  sat  upon  that  cold 
stone,  weeping  in  tatters,  he  was,  unconscious- 
ly, the  representative  of  a  constituency  larger 
than  his  original  political  one  ;  namely,  of  that 
vast  body  known  as  decayed  politicians — a  red- 
faced,  tavern-haunting  tribe ;  fishes  who  live 
in  an  ocean  of  liquor,  and  yet  are  always 
athirst ;  the  cast-off  leaders  of  parties  ;  dema- 
gogues out  of  favor ;  office-holders  thrust  into 
that  direst  Erebus — out-of-office.  The  cushion 
of  state  Quigg  had  exchanged  for  a  more  sub- 
stantial bench  in  the  open  sunshine.  No  long- 
er a  servant  of  the  people,  he  was  the  lacquey 
of  his  own  sweet  will.  Abandoning  the  dress- 
circle  of  fashionable  life,  where  he  had  once 
revolved  a  special  planet,  he  looked  upon  it 
from  an  humble  corner  in  the  pit.  And  yet 
hunger  was  not  so  easily  to  be  got  over.  It  is 
a  creditor  who  takes  up  its  mansion  within  our- 
selves, and  devours  our  very  seat  of  life,  tiU  it 
be  paid  the  uttermost  farthing.  Quigg  was  in 
a  perplexity. 


The  room  into  which  Solomon  Quigg  was 
ushered  that  night — when  he  had  passed 
triumphantly  through  the  Marengo,  the  Auster- 
litz,  and  the  Waterloo  of  the  day — breakfast, 
dinner,  and  supper — was  an  upper  chamber  of 
an  old  tavern  in  the  second  ward  of  our  me- 
tropolis. The  tavern  had  once  been  the  head- 
quarters of  a  dominant  political  party.  At  a 
glance,  Quigg  read  its  history.  On  one  side, 
the  remnant  of  candle  which  he  held  in  his 
hand  gleamed  on  the  dusty  fragment  of  a  flag 
which  had  erst  waved  proudly,  illumined  with 
the  national  stars  and  stripes.  This  was  rolle<? 
up,  and  on  it,  as  a  pillow,  Quigg  laid  his  un- 
kempt head.  Near  his  right  hand,  on  the  floor, 
reposed  a  broken  fiddle,  which  had  once  given 
forth  cheering  music  to  the  freemen  of  the 
second  ward.  Against  the  instrument,  reclined 
the  relics  of  a  tin-pan,  half  through  the  bottom 
of  which  was  thrust  a  mouldering  drum-stick, 
which  in  its  better  days  had  summoned  from  the 
cold  metal  sounds  that  stirred  many  a  voter's 
bosom,  and  filled  many  an  urchin  heart  with 
keen  delight.  In  different  corners  of  the 
humble  attic,  hung  from  pegs  and  nails,  flags, 
banners,  ensigns,  and  devices  of  a  thousand 
kinds,  setting  forth,  in  monstrous  capitals  the 
virtues  and  qualifications  of  favorite  candidates. 

But — and  this  struck  the  somnolent  eyes  of 
Quigg  with  most  force — on  the  corner  of  one 
of  the  tattered  banners  were  the  figures  1 8 — ; 
the  very  year  in  which  Quigg  himself  had  been 
elected,  after  a  fierce  struggle,  to  the  American 
Congress.  As  he  stretched  himself  for  sleep, 
his  hand  by  some  mischance,  struck  against  a 


314 


MISCELLANIES. 


modest  pine  box,  which  stood  perched  just  over 
his  head ;  it  came  to  the  floor,  and  from  its 
bowels  rolled  forth  a  heap  of  dusty  papers, 
folded  like  doctors'  prescriptions.  He  seized 
one  of  them,  and  on  it  found  : 


For  Congress. 
SOLOMON  QUIGG. 


Here  was  a  theme  for  thought.  Quigg  now 
lay,  as  it  were,  before  a  wizard  glass,  over 
which  passed  in  gloomy  procession  the  achieve- 
ments, the  glories,  and  the  triumphs,  of  his 
past  life.  In  contrast  with  that  bright  lang- 
syne,  he  felt  the  double  bitterness  of  his  pres- 
ent condition.  His  soul  began  to  stir  afresh, 
and  to  feel  the  throbbings  of  a  revived  ambition. 
A  thousand  plans  and  enterprises  crowded  his 
brain,  and  all  that  night  he  lay  restless  ;  medi- 
tating high  schemes,  and  devising  new  ladders, 
in  this  his  Jacob's  vision,  by  which  to  reach 
the  heaven  of  his  desire.  Quigg  was  once 
more  an  ambitious  man. 


On  the  bosom  of  the  East  river,  cabled  to 
the  wharf,  floated  a  light  sloop,  with  its  deck 
carefully  scrubbed  down,  and  its  red  flag  float- 
ing gayly  in  the  wind.  Gently  upon  the  water 
lay  its  cool  image.  From  its  anchorage  to  the 
wharf  its  tall  mast  reached,  and  tipped  with 
its  wavy  shadow  the  countenance  of  a  quiet 
idler,  whose  head  rested  on  a  decayed  pile, 
while  his  feet  hung  carelessly  over  the  wharf's 
end.  On  board  the  graceful  vessel,  extended 
flounderwise,  with  his  twinkling  eyes  peering 
at  the  water  over  the  sloop's  stern,  was  stretched 
Solomon  Quigg.  A  group  of  blue-fish  had  gath- 
ered just  before  him.  Perhaps  they  expected  a 
congressional  effort.  Ever  and  anon,  Quigg 
would  cast  an  eye  toward  the  shore,  as  if 
in  momentary  expectation  of  the  arrival  of 
some  personage  or  the  turning-up  of  some 
matter  of  importance.  About  the  time  when 
the  guard  on  board  a  man-of-war's  man,  which 
lay  anchored  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  had 
sounded  the  three  o'clock  bell,  a  group  of  vag- 
abond and  listless  persons  began  to  gather  be- 
fore the  vessel  on  whose  deck  Quigg  reposed. 
Rapidly,  dozen  by  dozen,  their  numbers  in- 
creased. Every  moment  the  collection  became 
more  extended  and  more  motley.  Stevedores, 
wharfingers,  a  stray  customhouse  officer — old 
gentlemen  who  had  come  to  the  neighboring 
market  for  fish— all  aided  in  completing  the 
human  assortment. 

Precisely  at  five,  Quigg  arose  from  his  recum- 
bent posture,  ascended  the  rigging  to  the  main- 
top, there  took  his  stand,  turned  toward  his  au- 
ditory, took  off"  his  bell-shaped  hat,  cast  it  on 
the  deck,  and  made  a  low  and  solemn  bow, 
which  was  received  by  the  vast  congregation 


with  nine  cheers.  He  then  addressed  them  in 
a  short  speech,  something  in  his  old  style  of 
eloquence. 

He  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  so  high 
a  pulpit.  It  was  better,  in  that  respect,  than 
the  floor  of  the  house ;  it  gave  him  a  more  com- 
manding view  of  his  audience.  He  closed  his 
harangue  with  a  touching  allusion  to  the  diffi- 
culty of  obtaining  a  subsistence,  and  the  brev- 
ity of  life — and  leaped!  Through  the  air,  like 
an  arrow,  Quigg  descended  to  the  water.  His 
head  cleaved  its  glassy  surface  ;  the  lookers-on 
beheld  his  descending  form,  as,  for  an  instant, 
his  white  feet  glimmered  above  the  river  and 
then  disappeared.  Five  minutes  elapsed,  and 
Quigg  arose  not.  The  crowd  thought  this  a 
special  feat,  and  gave  three  cheers.  Five  min- 
utes more  passed,  and  yet  Quigg  reascended  not 
to  the  light.  The  feat  was  miraculous ;  the 
assemblage  burst  into  three  cheers  again,  heart- 
ier and  more  protracted  than  ever.  A  few  philos- 
ophers among  the  audience  began  now  to  doubt 
the  reappearance  of  the  aquatic  diver — the  per- 
formance was  too  good  to  be  fictitious.  Anoth- 
er five  minutes  elapsed;  an  idle  friend  of 
Quigg's  stepped  out  from  the  rabble  and  began 
to  whimper. 


The  sun  went  down,  and  Solomon  Quigg 
arose  not.  He  had  made  his  last  dive.  The 
river  was  searched,  but  no  mortal  relic  discov- 
ered. In  the  soft  river-mud  he  had  found  a 
ready  coffin.  In  its  liquid  embraces  slept  for 
ever  the  person  of  Solomon  Quigg,  ex-member  of 
the  nineteenth  congress  of  the  United  States. 


THE  UBIQUITOUS  NEGRO. 
{.American  Monthly  Magazine^  Jan.,  1838.) 

I  HAVT5  noticed,  any  time  these  last  ten  years, 
a  singular-looking  creature — some  would  call 
him  goblin — prowling  about  the  purlieus  of 
Theatre  alley.  This  is  his  place  of  most  fre- 
quent resort,  but  by  no  means  his  only  one.  In 
this  region  he  has  established  his  ordinary  dom- 
icil.  In  the  dark  hall  that  stretches  in  the  rear 
of  the  Park  theatre  he  stalks  most  at  home,  in 
a  sort  of  grim,  epic  grandeur,  as  if  he  held  that 
region  as  his  own.  Bell's  printing  office,  or 
some  kindred  place  in  the  neighborhood,  is  his 
castle,  the  rest  of  New  York  his  parks  and 
pleasure-grounds.  This  very  negro  seems  to 
be  ubiquitous.  Go  whithersoever  you  will, 
Rumbout  is  there.  He  mingles  with  every  fes- 
tivity, and  makes  himself  an  element  in  every 
kind  of  business  or  pleasure  that  goes  on  in 
this  great  city.  Carry  yourself  with  the  utmost 
speed  to  any  part  of  the  metropolis,  there,  in 
some  shape  or  other,  will  turn  up  this  African 
Ubiquity.  Stroll,  ride,  fish,  walk,  sail,  he  pre- 
sents himself  as  naturally,  and  in  as  good  keep- 


THE  UBIQUITOUS  NEGRO. 


315 


ing  with  the  scenery  you  may  be  amid  as  the  sky 
itself,  or  the  grass,  the  water,  or  the  pavement. 

You  are  in  Castle  garden  to  see  the  bal- 
loon ascend ;  there  is  a  vast  crowd,  innumera- 
ble faces,  colors  of  dress,  shapes  of  hat,  canes, 
children,  dogs,  &c. ;  and  yet  you  feel  that  the 
group  is  not  complete,  and  that  something  is 
wanting  to  the  perfect  success  of  the  aeronaut ; 
and,  just  as  he  is  about  to  slip  himself  loose 
from  the  earth,  your  unsatisfied  eye  falls  on 
Rumbout,  tugging  at  one  of  the  cords,  with  his 
hands  entangled,  on  the  eve  of  ascending  as  a 
sort  of  unwilling  plummet  at  the  end  of  the 
rope  to  steady  the  air-ship.  A  happy  voyage  to 
thee,  Rumbout ;  and  be  not  the  fate  of  Cocking 
thine  ! 

Again,  you  are  at  the  Parade  ground,  in  the 
extreme  northern  quarter  of  the  city.  Before 
you  flash  the  gaudy  coats,  gay  plumes,  glitter- 
ing sabres  of  officers  and  privates ;  the  mimic 
machinery  of  battle  moves  with  admirable  pre- 
cision in  admirable  time.  A  certain  solemnity 
hangs  like  a  cloud  over  the  place,  as  it  might  in 
actual  engagement,  when  Death  rides  out  on 
his  white  horse,  distributing  his  darts  on  either 
side.  Suddenly  a  mirthful  roar  shakes  the  field. 
You  thrust  through  to  learn  the  cause,  and  be- 
hold !  the  omnipresent  Rumbout's  arms  dexter- 
ously pinioned  together  behind  by  the  bayonet 
of  the  guard.  He  looks  like  a  roasted  fowl 
brought  to  the  table  with  his  arms  reversed. 
He  had  attempted,  with  his  naturally  eager  and 
inquisitive  spirit,  to  get  a  nearer  insight  into 
the  mysteries  of  warfare,  and  this  is  the  result. 

Chatham  square  is  a  singular  locality — "a 
most  ancient  and  fishlike"  place.  Any  time  in 
the  day  before  two  in  the  afternoon,  you  will 
see  there  as  motley  crowds  as  may  be  brought 
together  in  Christendom.  As  every  one  knows, 
it  is  the  vendue  of  infirm  furniture,  disabled 
chairs,  superannuated  stoves,  decayed  bed- 
steads, neckless  bottles,  pots  without  legs, 
frameless  looking-giasses,  shirts  without  own- 
ers, owners  wichout  shirts.  Finer  voices,  in 
some  of  the  ordinary  keys,  you  will  nowhere 
find  than  belong  to  the  eloquent  auctioneers  of 
the  square.  There  is  one,  I  know,  hath  the 
voice  of  a  clarion ;  it  stirs  the  spirit  to  its  very 
depths,  and  is  like  a  sudden  call  to  battle.  In 
a  clear  noon,  when  the  wind  is  laid  and  he  lifts 
it  up  :  "  How  much  !  gentlemen,  how  much  ! 
how  much  for  this  small  piece  of  spotted  cali- 
co ;  gentlemen  and  ladies,  how  much  !"  the 
neighboring  buildings  shake  to  their  base  with 
the  sound,  the  hackmen  pause  and  listen ;  Cath- 
arine street,  with  its  living  tides,  is  silent,  and 
the  cartmen  are  astounded  in  their  frocks.  If 
there  is  any  spare  coin  lurking  in  any  secret 
corner  of  the  pocket  of  any  human  being  with- 
in reach  of  his  lungs,  it  will  be  tolled  from  its 
"hidden  residence"  by  this  magician's  spell. 
And  among  the  buyers  there  is  at  times  a  voice 
to  be  heard  scarcely  inferior  to  his.  A  watch 
is  up  for  sale ;  or,  rather,  I  should  say,  that 
which  was  the  coffin  once  of  the  living  works, 
the  vital  parts  of  a  chronometer ;  a  huge,  mon- 


strous, unformed  shape  of  metal.  Whether  tin 
or  silver  be  the  main  ingredient  in  its  composi- 
tion, is  not  to  be  decided  rashly.  A  sweet,  flu- 
ent voice  in  the  throng,  however,  assumes  the 
decision ;  "  Threepence  per  pound  without  the 
works,  three  and  a  half  with  !"  It  is  the  bu- 
gle voice  of  our  friend  Rumbout, 

I  have  been  out  in  many  snowstorms,  and 
always  met  Rumbout  running  hither  and  thith- 
er, half  bent,  with  his  hands  in  his  pocket  or  a 
snow-shovel  on  his  shoulder,  looking  for  a 
"  small  job."  It  always  excites  odd  feelings 
in  me  to  see  a  negro  in  a  snowstorm.  Innu- 
merable strange  and  jostling  contrasts  bustle 
into  my  brain,  and  make  themselves  busy  in 
framing  a  many-colored  web  of  humorous  asso- 
ciation. The  absurdity  is  so  bold  between  the 
pitch-black  animalculae  moving  about  on  the 
surface,  and  the  white  masses  piling  themselves 
around  him  on  every  side,  and  pressing  upon 
him  from  above ;  as  if  the  heavens  would 
smother  him  to  death  with  his  opposite — a  hor- 
rid mummy,  wrapped  in  winding-sheet  wide 
as  creation.  Foul  blot  on  the  page  of  nature. 
Death's-head  in  the  midst  of  gay  bells  and  mer- 
ry shows.  Black  swan  on  the  clear  stream  of 
Sterchio,  dimming  its  pellucid  waters.  Goblin, 
dungeon-intruder  into  the  heaps  of  half-molten 
silver  (as  are  these  brilliant  snowheaps),  steal- 
ing upon  them  like  a  dark-visaged  thief  flushed 
with  the  hope  of  plunder.  It  seems  as  if  the 
earth  should  gape  and  swallow  up  this  incon- 
sistency— this  living  foe  to  her  fairness  and 
whiteness  ;  yet  Rumbout  hobbles  along,  know- 
ing and  dreaming  none  of  these  things.  My 
vein  in  this  sketch  is  episode  on  episode. 

I  love,  in  a  clear  summer  afternoon,  to  glide 
up  the  East  river  in  a  light  boat,  and,  dropping 
anchor  near  the  classic  regions  of  Hurlgate, 
partake  the  pleasant  and  contemplative  joys  of 
angling.  Many  such  sunny  hours  have  I  spent, 
leaning  over  the  boat's  side,  pretending  to  be 
on  the  watch  for  the  finny  prey,  but,  in  truth, 
deep  in  a  meditation  on  some  bygone  scene,  or 
building  up  fairy  palaces  from  the  ooze  below, 
and  peopling  them  with  fishlike  nymphs,  in 
half  dresses — water-colored  silks— with  pretty 
round  faces,  and  a  train  to  their  garments  as 
long  as  a  queen's.  And  every  time  that  I  have 
thus  occupied  my  fancy,  about  the  middle  of 
my  revery  I  have  heard  the  careful  dash  of  an 
oar,  the  gentle  dropping  of  a  line  in  water,  and 
looking  up,  have  immediately  beheld — Rum- 
bout the  ubiquitous. 

He  is  never  out  of  place.  In  crowds,  look 
for  Rumbout.  Of  processions,  shows,  wassail- 
ings, riots  (in  an  innocent  way),  feastings,  fast- 
ings, mobs,  multitudes,  he  is  a  natural  constit- 
uent. He  has  a  face  that  becomes  all  these 
things,  and,  like  the  painter  who  wrought  a 
hand,  in  which  he  was  skilful,  prominently  in- 
to all  his  pictures,  so  Rumbout  works  in  his 
picturesque  visnomy  upon  the  ground  of  these 
numberless  exhibitions  and  diversions.  I  doubt 
much  whether  a  street-organ  ever  sounded  in 
our  goodly  city  out  of  hearing  of  Rumbout.  He 


316 


MISCELLANIES. 


listens  afar  off,  and  soon  hies  to  the  spot.  No 
band  of  musicians  ever  played  in  our  thorough- 
fares if  Rumbout  were  missing.  He  is  the 
man  that  forms  friendships  with  the  drummer's 
boy,  and  takes  liberties  with  the  third  flute- 
player  !  It  is  he  that  asked  the  captain  of  the 
Flying  guards,  "how  much  he  paid  a  yard  for 
the  flannel  in  his  coat  ?" — meaning  his  red  uni- 
form. No  presence,  however  imposing — no 
uthority,  however  grave  or  dignified,  can 
awe  down  the  spirit  of  the  immortal  negro.  He 
has  bearded  the  recorder  in  two  petty  larceny 
suits ;  and  has  threatened  Mr.  Hays  (the  an- 
cient Hays)  with  a  drubbing  !  Omnipresent, 
Rumbout  seems  also  to  be  immortal.  He  has 
been  called  "  Old  Rumbout,"  I  have  been  in- 
formed, since  the  year  1800;  He  is  "  Apollo— 
ever  young."  He  has  never  looked  younger 
than  at  present ;  he  will  never  look  older.  The 
principles  of  life  and  youth  seem  to  be  rooted 
down  deep  in  the  constitution  of  Rumbout. 


These  plants  seem  to  flourish  best  in  that  rich, 
black  mould.  Time  can  not  pluck  them  up.  He 
appears  to  have  known  but  one  season  of  life. 
Surly  winter,  sad  autumn,  capricious  spring, 
have  not  visited  him. 

He  is  an  incarnation  and  creature  of  the 
golden  summer ;  gay  with  lowering  clouds  that 
seem  more  than  they  mean,  prodigal,  content, 
with  fruit  and  blossom  mingled ;  for  Rumbout 
has  never  seen  want  yet.  Like  the  great  sun, 
in  his  favored  season  that  we  have  spoken  of, 
h&  works  leisurely,  making  a  long  circuit  in  his 
labors — slowly,  pleasantly,  from  the  morning 
to  the  eve.  I  think  Rumbout  was  educated  a 
rag-gatherer.  He  goes  through  his  vocation 
more  as  if  it  were  an  elegant  recreation  than  a 
gainful  mode  of  life.  To  appropriate  the  lan- 
guage of  the  studio,  there  is  a  delicacy  in  his 
touch,  a  mellowness  and  freedom  in  his  style  of 
handling,  and  a  picturesqueness  in  his  grouping, 
that  render  Rumbout  the  Raphael  of  his  craft. 


END  OF  MISCELLANIES. 


SELECTIOIS  FROM  AECTUEUS. 


f- 

•. 
^ 


\ 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


[Eighteen  numbers  of  Arcturus— the  monthly 
magazine  from  which  these  selections  are  made — 
were  published  in  1840,  '1,  '2,  under  the  direction  of 
the  present  author  and  INIr.  Evert  A.  Duyckinck. 
The  author  avails  himself  of  this — the  earliest  op- 
portunity that  has  offered — to  acknowledge  the  ad- 
vantage its  conduct  derived  from  the  genial  and 
graceful  pen  of  this  gentleman,  suited  so  well  to 
shed  through  the  pages  of  a  periodical  a  kindly 
light,  and  to  make  each  corner  glow  with  a  senti- 
xnent  dropped  fresh  from  a  fancy  well-instructed. 

Other  and  acceptable  aid  was  furnished  in  various 
essays  by  Mr.  William  A.  Jones,  truthful,  acute, 
and  vigorous,  and  equal,  in  the  writer's  humble 
judgment,  to  the  best  of  their  kind,  at  that  time 
published  in  the  United  States.  With  Mr.  Auld 
(little,  but  worthy  to  be  greatly,  known),  unrolling 
month  by  month,  an  old,  quaint  tapestry,  wrought 
with  figures  Rabelaisian  and  devices  of  the  age  of 
Secundus;  and  Mr.  J.  M.  Vancott,  a  rising  man 
at  the  bar  of  New  York,  coming  in  at  the  close,  in 
a  compact  and  well-ordered  argument,  the  author 
would  have  left — as  these  were  the  mainstays  and 
props  of  the  undertaking — but  few  tributes  to  pay. 
Others  stole  upon  its  pages  by  degrees,  in  no  unac- 
ceptable whisperings  or  utterances,  but  these  were 
its  key-notes,  heard  oftenest  and  not  ungratefully 
by  its  readers.  Their  services  were  at  least  suc- 
cessful— it  is  well  known—in  awakening  an  answer 
to  their  thoughts  in  many  places,  and  in  calling 
forth  the  favor  of  the  general  press  of  the  country.] 
July  15,  1843. 


POLITICAL  LIFE. 

The  American  is  calfed  to  play  his  part, 
whether  it  be  cast  in  the  higher  or  lower 
walks  of  life,  amid  many  novelties  of  incident, 
situation,  and  emotion.  It  is  true  that  as  far 
as  costume  and  many  of  the  lesser  appliances 
of  character  are  concerned,  he  adjusts  himself 
in  an  antique  mirror,  and  is  guided  in  the  mere 
language  of  his  part  by  the  prompting-book  of 
fashions  and  habits  long  in  use  and  borrowed 
from  abroad.  At  a  distance  he  hears  the  con- 
flict of  many  kingdoms — the  tumult  of  great 
masses  of  men  striving  together  in  ancient  com- 
binations, and  around  him  lie  the  wrecks  of  a 
world  of  humanity  that  has  passed  or  is  swiftly 
passing  away.  As  far,  however,  as  the  inner  life 
of  the  man  is  concerned,  the  fountains  from  which 
he  draws  his  inspiration  are  fresh  and  new.  The 


sky  above  him  is  a  new  sky,  the  earth  beneath 
him  is  a  new  earth,  and  the  living  influences 
and  life-guiding  institutions  about  him  are  new 
institutions  and  new  influences.  With  him, 
custom  hath  lost  its  sway,  and  time  and  change 
are  the  champions  against  the  field.  His  life  is 
not  "rounded  with  a  sleep,"  but  whirls  per- 
petually through  great  diversities  of  accident 
and  circumstance. 

Humanity  is  here  thrown  back,  as  it  were, 
upon  its  original  elements,  and  is  constrained  to 
work  out  its  destiny  by  native  hardihood  and  in- 
ternal force  alone.  Like  the  rivers  of  the  land, 
its  course,  it  seems  to  us,  is  through  scenes  of 
more  than  ordinary  grandeur  and  beauty; 
mountain  elevations,  illimitable  plains,  and 
valleys  quiet  and  serene.  If  it  chooses,  how- 
ever, perversely  to  abandon  the  track  of  nature, 
and  to  seek  channels  of  its  own  through  baser 
soils — so  be  it,  and  with  the  workman  rest  the 
wages  of  his  folly. 

Along  the  way  are  scattered  indications  of 
his  progress,  and  far  onward  we  see  steadily  ad- 
vancing messengers  that  bear  tidings  of  the 
times  that  are  at  hand.  Temporary  in  part,  in 
part  constant  and  abiding,  are  the  signs  that 
meet  our  eyes  as  we  look  abroad  on  the  daily 
life,  the  growing  customs,  and  the  expanding 
character  of  the  American  i>eopIe.  Some  of 
these  shall  pass  away,  because  they  are  of  the 
time,  and  some  shall  remain,  durable  as  truth, 
because  they  are  anchored  in  the  permanent 
soul  of  man.  From  an  inspection  of  the  first, 
we  shall  gather  amusement  suited  to  the  hour ; 
from  the  more  serious  scrutiny  of  the  last,  we 
shall  derive  grave  omens  of  the  chances  that 
await  the  generations  yet  to  be. 

Whether  the  aspects  of  Political  Life,  as  i1 
now  unfolds  itself  in  our  Republic,  in  stations 
high  and  low,  on  fields  broad  and  narrow,  are 
to  be  held  as  belonging  to  the  first  or  second  of 
these  classes,  might  be  matter  of  question. 
With  us  they  assume  a  double  complexion ;  at 
times  full  of  dignity  and  a  certain  naked  and 
Roman  simplicity ;  at  others  broadening  into  all 
that  we  can  conceive  of  the  ludicrous  and  gro- 
tesque. A  noble  senator  standing  on  the  plat- 
form of  the  nation  in  the  honest  performance 
of  duty  is  to  us  an  emblem  of  whatever  is  man- 
ly and  imposing ;  a  congress  of  three  hundred 
deliberating  on  grand  questions  of  polity,  on  the 


( 


320 


SELECTION'S  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


armed  defences  of  the  country,  on  the  com- 
merce that  has  wings  in  every  quarter  of 
the  earth,  are  in  such  moments  the  imbodied 
power,  the  living  personation  of  twenty-six 
sovereign  empires.  Here  we  breathe  the  in- 
spiring air  of  Alps  and  Allegany ;  we  are  in 
the  high  places  of  the  earth.  But  if,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  enter  the  public  room  of  a  city 
ward,  and  discover  a  worthy  individual,  some 
forty  years  of  age,  bowed  double  with  con- 
gratulations as  he  makes  progress  through  the 
throng  of  citizens;  smiling  upon  faces  that  re- 
spond to  him  through  squalor ;  tender  in  his  in- 
quiries after  the  health  of  babes  and  wives  at 
home,  of  whose  existence  he  has  nothing  more 
than  a  daring  conjectural  knowledge  ;  then  as- 
cending a  tub,  barrel,  or  platform,  as  most  con- 
venient, tearing  the  air  as  if  it  were  cambric 
muslin,  and  rending  the  ears  of  the  assemblage 
with  vociferations  loud,  false,  or  incoherent,  as 
it  may  chance — we  must  confess  we  look  upon 
a  counterfeit  presentment,  from  which  every 
line  of  dignity,  truth,  and  nobleness,  have  been 
happily  blotted  by  the  artist. 

Political  life  has  its  turnpikes,  its  half-way 
houses,  its  highways  and  its  by-ways ;  there  is 
a  political  costume  and  a  political  dialect,  and 
without  some  knowledge  of  the  road,  and  skill 
in  the  employment  of  the  appropriate  dress  and 
idiom,  the  poor  wayfarer  would  find  himself,  in 
truth,  in  foreign  parts,  and  travelling  on  a 
thoroughfare  that  literally  leads  to  nothing. 
We  propose,  therefore,  for  the  benefit  of  those 
gentlemen  who  admire  but  can  not  reach,  as 
well  as  for  the  edification  of  such  as  decry  but 
do  not  covet  advancement  in  the  state,  to  make 
an  inquiry  into  the  arts  of  the  politician,  or  the 
game  of  government,  as  practised  under  our 
own  window  and  within  sound  of  our  own 
church-bells. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  we  must  remark — in 
order  to  rescue  ourselves  from  the  charge  of  ex- 
aggeration, and  our  reader  from  the  heinous 
sin  of  unbelief — that  political  life  has  a  trans- 
forming power  beyond  any  element  we  are  ac- 
quainted with,  except,  perhaps,  the  water  of 
stagnant  ponds,  which  is  said,  by  a  quality  in- 
herent in  and  peculiar  to  its  own  ooze,  to  be 
capable  of  converting  the  silly  and  dull-coated 
tadpole  into  the  wide-awake,  well-dressed,  and 
open  mouthed  bull-frog.  Whether  this  legend 
be  false  or  true,  certain  it  is,  that  not  only  is 
the  outward  habit,  organ,  and  feature  of  the  pol- 
itician changed  by  the  atmosphere  he  breathes 
and  the  life  he  lives,  but  the  very  soul  and  facul- 
ties, the  minutest  springs  and  movements  of  the 
man  are  modified.  His  risings  and  settings, 
his  gait  and  gesture,  the  cast  of  his  eye  and  the 
grasp  of  his  hand,  his  garments,  his  dwellin?, 
his  walks  and  his  pauses,  are  not  only  regulated 
by  the  new  spirit  that  has  entered  into  him,  but 
the  pupil  of  the  mind's  eye  itself  becomes  so 
enlarged  or  contracted  that  it  imparts  other  and 
strange  colors  to  whatever  it  contemplates. 
The  moon,  for  example,  is  held  by  many  pains- 
taking and  worthy  people  to  be  a  round  body 


that  dispenses  light,  and  planetary  in  its  char- 
acter ;  now  suppose  a  law  to  be  enacted  by  an 
opposite  party  to  veil  the  moon  with  blankets 
in  order  to  arrest  its  action  upon  the  tides, 
which  it  might  be  alleged  is  prejudicial  to  the 
interest  of  ferry-masters  and  fishermen  ;  why, 
out  marches  our  politician  with  a  grave  face 
and  gives  the  whole  hypothesis  over  to  the  devil 
by  a  bold  assertion  that  the  moon  is  a  large 
Dutchess  county  cheese,  and  he  can  bring 
affidavit-men  who  were  in  at  the  churning. 
Rivers  flow  or  stagnate,  numbers  constitute  a 
riotous  mob  or  a  peaceful  meeting  of  citizens, 
bullion  is  heavy  or  light,  and  bank-paper  rags 
or  money,  according  to  the  prevailing  humor  of 
the  believer.  An  enactment,  which  in  its  plain 
recorded  sections  and  sub-sections  duly  ordered, 
seemed  to  him,  at  the  first  glance,  a  law  of  most 
excellent  and  wholesome  tendency,  begins,  as  the 
truth  grows  upon  him  (after  a  brief  and  busi- 
ness-like conversation  with  the  executive),  to 
expand  into  a  many-headed  hydra  that  threat- 
ens to  devour  the  union  and  all  the  little  chil- 
dren, and  the  Lord  knows  what  besides  ! 

We  will  suppose  our  politician  to  have  at- 
tained this  useful  facility  of  viewing  the  world 
and  whatever  it  inherits  of  good,  bad,  or  indif- 
ferent, through  either  end  of  the  telescope ;  the 
first  great  lesson  in  his  art  is  achieved. 

His  next  business  is  attendance  on  public 
meetings  and  places  of  resort.  Here  he  acquires 
the  politician's  vernacular,  and  becomes  familiar 
with  the  features  and  voices  of  the  leaders  and 
orators  of  his  party.  His  own  countenance 
after  a  while  comes  to  be  known,  and  by  keep- 
ing it  constantly  at  red-heat,  as  if  the  fire  of 
his  zeal  were  unquenchable,  he  begins  to  be 
reckoned  and  recognised  as  a  useful  member  of 
the  faction.  Now  a  little  judicious  fawning 
well-bestowed,  a  little  activity  opportunely  dis- 
played, and  he  will  have  emerged  from  the 
hedges  and  thickets  in  which  he  has  been  beat- 
ing without  a  prospect  of  sport,  and  lo  !  he  is 
on  the  avenue. 

If  not  a  blood-nag,  he  may,  at  least,  prove 
himself  a  good  draught-horse,  kind  in  harness, 
and  of  most  exceeding  meekness  and  steadiness 
of  gait.  Without  Romulus,  Rome  had  not 
been  built;  without  a  patron,  our  politician 
can  not  ripen.  He,  therefore,  becomes  the  fac- 
totum of  some  eminent  manager;  runs  of  er- 
rands from  meeting  to  meeting,  ward  to  ward, 
collecting  small  statistics,  popular  rumors,  and 
tap-room  gossip,  and  at  one  auspicious  Sunday, 
tarries  from  church,  and  ventures  to  indite  a 
handbill. 

This  elegant  production  (grander  than  the 
Paradise  Lost  in  the  eyes  of  its  happy  author), 
shines  out  for  a  fortnight  or  more  the  glory  (^ 
walls,  pumps,  and  fences,  until  washed  into 
oblivion  by  the  first  pelting  shower  that  falls. 
No  matter,  our  aspiring  gentleman  is  not  damp- 
ened, for  in  the  meantime  he  has  had  the  fe- 
licity of  being  named  as  one  of  a  committee  of 
five  to  retire  from  one  of  the  lesser  assemblies 
of  the  ward,  to  draft  resolutions  "  expressive  of 


."5» 


POLITICAL   LIFE. 


321 


the  sense  of  the  meeting."  This  is  certainly 
one  of  the  most  trying  tasks  that  could  be  im- 
posed on  the  wit  of  man.  Here  has  been  a 
gathering  of  some  two  hundred  individuals, 
who  for  more  than  an  hour  have  had  their  noses 
in  the  direction  of  a  sallow-faced  gentleman,  in 
dim  spectacles,  who  has  been  stultifying  them 
with  a  prescription  compounded  of  one  third 
newspaper,  one  third  scripture  illustration,  and 
the  balance  general  slang ;  and  now,  forsooth, 
as  if  it  were  the  pleasantest  thing  in  the  world, 
five  plain-witted  gentlemen  are  detailed  from 
the  mass  to  express  the  "  sense  of  the  meeting," 
in  twelve  sonorous  paragraphs,  very  appro- 
priately headed  "  Resolutions,"  to  denote  the 
mortal  agony  and  determination  with  which 
they  were  brought  forth. 

The  next  labor  of  the  politician,  and  the 
next  indication  of  his  progress  in  the  regards 
of  his  party,  is  the  appointment  to  carry  a  con- 
spicuous banner  in  a  public  procession.  From 
this  time  forth  he  is  acknowledged  as  a  full  lay- 
brother  of  the  order,  useful,  zealous,  and  un- 
flinching ;  although  it  must  be  confessed,  that 
the  banner-staff  pressed  with  such  force  on  the 
gastric  region,  on  this  first  public  trial,  as  to 
impair  the  poor  man's  digestion  for  more  than 
a  week.  Unflinching,  did  we  say  ?  Wo  betide 
the  poor  rascal  if  he  should  draw  back  or  be- 
tray the  slightest  symptom  of  reluctance,  though 
he  were  called  on  to  swallow  a  provision  bag 
lined  with  Jack  Cade,  Tom  Paine,  and  the  im- 
mortal Pantagiuel  himself.  Pleasanter  employ- 
ment is,  however,  just  now  furnished  for  his 
appetite,  for,  as  a  particular  favor,  he  is  en- 
dowed by  one  of  bis  patronising  friends,  with  a 
ticket  of  admission  to  a  grand  barbecue  or  fes- 
tival, and  there  it  is  that  he  takes  another  step 
in  political  life,  and  offers  a  volunteer  toast,  in 
his  own  name. 

He  may  now  be  regarded  as  a  public  man, 
but  the  emphatic  seal  is  not  yet  stamped  on  his 
character,  until  a  certain  eventful  evening  ar- 
rives. On  this  occasion  there  chances  to  be  a 
thin  attendance  at  the  ward  meeting ;  the 
candles  burn  low ;  the  older  speakers  have  been 
called  for,  but  called  in  vain ;  when  a  small, 
round  man,  with  a  face  as  pale  as  ashes,  is 
seen  struggling  through  the  crowd  at  one  corner 
of  the  room.  To  the  astonishment,  the  utter 
and  entire  petrifaction  of  almost  every  man  in 
the  audience,  he  makes  his  way  to  the  platform, 
dismisses  his  hat,  and  ascends,  and  as  true  as 
water  flows  and  working-beams  vibrate,  he 
stretches  out  his  arm  and  begins  to  deliver  a 
speech ;  an  actual  speech,  full  of  live  similes, 
earthquakes,  battles,  banners,  and  tornadoes, 
not  to  mention  a  mixed  metaphor  of  a  leviathan, 
or  some  such  monster,  riding  through  the  land, 
like  the  illustrious  Lafayette,  in  a  triumphal 
barouche. 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  effort,  the  meeting 
very  rationally  considering  that  the  orator  has 
had  his  turn,  try  their  own  lungs  in  three  over- 
whelming cheers,  every  one  of  which  sounds, 
in  the  ears  of  our  politician,  like  the  general 

'*•    ■    ^ 


shout  of  a  nation  of  freemen,  hailing  their  de- 
liverer. 

The  full  glory  of  his  career  now  breaks  upon 
him ;  there  is  nothing  which  he  can  not  achieve 
by  the  power  of  his  eloquence ;  he  has  but  to 
lift  up  his  voice,  and  the  highest  station  heart 
could  desire  is  his.  In  the  meantime,  how- 
ever, to  keep  in  practice,  and  to  prevent  his 
oratory  from  running  to  waste,  he  is  despatched 
into  New  Jersey  or  Connecticut,  during  a 
warmly-contested  election,  to  cheer  up  the 
hearts  of  the  faithful ;  and  since  the  last  comet, 
no  such  luminary  has  crossed  their  horizon, 
dashing  hither  and  thither,  brandishing  his 
arms  aloft,  and  shouting  « Freedom,"  at  the 
top  of  his  lungs,  as  if  he  expected  to  produce 
by  the  clamor  an  actual  aerial  descent  of  the 
goddess  from  the  clouds  for  the  express  purpose 
of  carrying  the  then  pending  contest. 

Who  can  deny  services  like  these  or  doubt 
their  value  ?  The  period  has  at  length  arrived 
for  rewarding  this  assiduous  and  laborious 
member  of  the  party.  He  has  plied  his  cane  at 
public  meetings,  he  has  supported  banners,  he 
has  contrived  handbills  and  penned  resolutions, 
he  has  spoken,  he  has  shouted  in  the  cause,  and 
he  is  made  an  alderman  ! 

Ubiquity  has  now  become  an  important  attri- 
bute of  our  political  Hercules.  He  must  be 
seen  everywhere ;  heard  of  everywhere ;  must 
be  known  as  a  getter-up  of  theatrical  benefits 
and  charity  balls,  and  a  puller-down  of  public 
abuses  and  overgrown  monopolies.  At  steam- 
boat landings,  at  the  departure  of  packets,  on 
aU  festival  occasions,  whether  Hibernian  fid- 
dlings,  or  steamship  entertainments,  he  must 
be  there ;  like  Dr.  Faustus,  the  fiend  would 
tear  him  if  he  failed  the  hour.  He  staggers 
under  a  pressure  of  engagements,  and  seems 
laboring  with  some  spasmodic  affection,  which 
perpetually  lifts  his  right  arm  and  contracts  the 
fingers  of  the  hand  corresponding  to  the  grasp 
of  salutation. 

In  this  way  his  voice  becomes  at  length  as 
familiar  as  the  toll  of  the  town-clock  ;  his  per- 
son is  recognised  like  the  town-hall  itself,  and 
the  poor  man's  hand  is  as  much  "  frequented'* 
as  the  open  thoroughfare  of  the  same.  This 
accomplishes  his  purpose ;  his  name  is  known 
and  talked  of,  and  although  in  these  innumer- 
able places  he  has  never  said  nor  done  one 
memorable  thing  or  single  act,  that,  taken  by 
itself,  would  be  considered  of  the  slightest  mo- 
ment, yet  so  thoroughly  are  the  public  blinded 
by  this  perpetual  whirl  and  motion,  appearance 
and  reappearance,  in  the  form  of  toast  or  senti- 
ment, song,  speech,  or  resolution,  that  this 
empty-pated  puff-ball,  is,  in  the  course  of  time, 
regarded  as  an  able,  popular,  and  influential 
character. 

With  ubiquity,  assurance,  broad-faced,  bound- 
less, and  invincible,  is  a  necessary  attendant. 
How  meek  a  man  is  our  juggler !  How  patient- 
ly he  bears  all  the  burdens  men  can  lay  upon 
him  !  With  how  swift  an  assumption  does  he 
accept  the  utmost  duties  that  can  be  imposed  ! 


322 


SELECTIONS  FROM.  ARCTURUS. 


No  matter  how  arduous,  liow  high,  how  low, 
how  deep  the  labor  that  is  suggested,  he  will 
undertake  it  all.  On  all  committees,  whether 
financial,  military,  civil,  or  charitable,  you  can 
not  balk  him.  That  problem  in  alms-giving, 
in  science,  literature,  or  gastronomy,  can  not  be 
contrived  so  tough  that  he  will  not  solve  it. 
He  would  gravely  set  about  squaring  a  circle,  or 
calculating  the  longitude,  if  called  upon,  with- 
out for  a  moment  entertaining  the  thought  of 
advancing  his  own  want  of  knowledge  or  fit- 
ness as  a  reasonable  plea  for  declining  to  act. 
No  !  no  !  all  is  fish  that  comes  to  his  net,  and 
goes  to  make  up  the  grand  chowder  of  his  po- 
litical reputation.  What  matters  it  to  him 
whether  he  makes  his  progress  by  a  fair, 
straight-forward,  honest  head-wind,  or  if  his 
sail  catches  every  little  trifling  flaw,  side  cur- 
rent, and  gust  of  air — though  he  be  constantly 
required  to  shift  the  helm,  to  veer,  to  tack,  to 
beat  up  and  down,  to  box  the  compass,  to  ride 
on  the  "  hog's  back,''  to  divide  "  hen  and  chick- 
ens," as  long  as  he  can  keep  from  the  perdition 
of  the  "  Frying  Pan  I" 

It  is  now,  for  a  time,  a  question  whether  this 
man  shall  continue  to  rise  in  his  profession,  or 
whether  he  is  doomed  to  linger  in  a  dull  and 
tedious  mediocrity  for  the  remainder  of  his 
natural  life ;  in  other  words,  whether  he  shall 
be  allowed  to  play  the  demagogue  and  people's 
man  on  a  large  scale,  or  whether  he  is  to  be 
confined  entirely  to  the  purlieus  of  the  city,  the 
arena  of  the  taproom  and  porterhouse. 

At  first,  we  think  we  discover  in  him  a  down- 
ward tendency ;  but  look  again,  and  lo !  the 
creature  is  as  busy  as  a  polypus  in  summer, 
stretching  out  a  hand  hore  and  a  hand  there, 
and  still  another  there,  and  so  effectually  de- 
voting his  office  and  his  leisure  to  his  own  pur- 
poses, that  he  has  no  sooner  ceased  to  be  an 
alderman  for  the  city,  than  he  has  become  a 
member  of  congress  for  the  nation  ;  at  which, 
it  is  true,  his  simple-minded  old  friends  in  the 
country  are  vastly  astonished,  never  dreaming 
that  the  man  "  had  it  in  him,"  and  ignorant  as 
their  own  unshorn  lambs  of  the  machinery  by 
which  the  deficiency  of  natural  organs  was  in- 
geniously supplied. 

He  has  now  attained  an  age  and  station 
which  requires  that  some  extraordinary  develop- 
ment of  his  greatness  should  be  made.  Shall 
it  exhibit  itself  in  th«  shape  of  a  "  Dinner  to 
Mr.  Whiflf" — the  presentation  of  "  two  silver 
goblets  and  a  punch  apparatus,"  or  shall  it 
come  in  the  more  imposing  form  of  a  "  visit" 
to  the  northern,  southern,  or  western  states,  as 
it  may  happen  ? 

The  select  friends  of  the  great  man — in  other 
words,  the  proprietors  of  Mr.  Whilf,  the  poli- 
tician, in  fee-simple,  and  who  take  upon  them- 
selves to  play  off  the  puppet  for  such  purposes 
as  they  may  think  convenient  and  proper — 
have  fixed,  we  will  suppose,  upon  the  «  visit," 
as  aflfording  material  of  the  most  comprehensive 
kind.  Now  the  trumpets  begin  to  blow ;  ban- 
ners are  unfurled,  and  by  dint  of  skilful  para- 


graphs  and  the  assumption  of  an  immense  in- 
terest in  the  slightest  movements  of  Mr.  Whifi, 
on  the  part  of  certain  operatives  or  "  wire- 
workers,"  the  nation,  or  a  considerable  portion 
of  it,  is  thrown  into  a  state  of  intense  and  most 
uncomfortable  excitement.  It  is  announced, 
with  the  utmost  solemnity,  in  a  morning  paper, 
that  Mr.  Whiflf  lodged  the  night  before  last  in 
Tompkinsville ;  and  such  was  the  anxiety  to 
get  a  glimpse  of  his  person  and  listen  to  his 
well-known  eloquence,  that  the  large  room  of 
the  largest  public  house  was  converted  into 
lodgings  to  furnish  accommodations  for  the  thou- 
sands, who  retired  to  their  couches  highly  de- 
lighted and  soothed  by  the  effects  of  his  ora- 
tory ! 

The  afternoon  journal,  not  to  be  outdone  in 
this  grand  overture  of  trumpets,  makes  its  ap- 
pearance with  a  chubby  news-boy  at  the  head 
of  its  columns,  waving  a  fragment  of  pocket- 
handkerchief,  with  "  Postscript !"  worked  on  in 
large  type,  and  divulges  the  astounding  fact, 
that  "just  as  our  informant  was  leaving,  Mr. 
Whiff"  had  put  his  foot  on  board  the  <  Adeline 
Elmira,'  for  the  purpose  of  crossing  Smith's 
Ferry  for  Tomtown,  on  the  other  side,  which  he 
was  expected  to  reach  in  about  twenty  minutea 
from  the  time  of  embarkation !" 

Thus  by  devoting  a  daily  column  to  the  say- 
ings and  doings  of  Mr.  WhiflT,  and  by  emphasi- 
zing his  most  trifling  acts  and  adventures,  the 
blood  of  the  populace  is  set  on  fire,  and  at  last 
Mr.  Whiff"  arrives.  Here  is  a  pretty  tumult ! 
A  compact  mob,  like  another  Argus,  apparently 
all  eyes,  presses  toward  the  wharf,  and  the  very 
moment  the  great  man  lands,  he  is  snatched 
from  his  feet  and  hurried  into  an  open  carriage, 
about  which  another  crowd  is  gathered  to  stare 
at  the  illustrious,  just  escaped,  as  it  were  out 
of  the  belly  of  the  sea-monster  at  the  landing. 
Now  ensues  a  scene  in  which  the  politician 
plays  the  leading  character,  with  a  swarm  of 
citizens  at  his  skirts  by  way  of  supernumeraries 
and  subordinates.  Mr.  Peter  Whiff",  standing 
erect  in  his  carriage  (with  a  tail  dragging  be- 
hind of  which  the  joints  are  hacks,  coaches, 
light  wagons,  sulkeys,  and  milk-carts),  advan- 
ces through  the  main  streets,  bowing  gracious- 
ly to  such  heads  and  faces  as  may  present  them- 
selves from  balconies,  house-tops,  and  areas. 
On  floats  the  triumphal  procession,  and  sundry 
little  short-legged  gentlemen  make  it  their  busi- 
ness to  ply  their  paddles  ahead  of  the  carriage 
of  Mr.  Whiflf,  and  to  cast  frequent  glances  of 
profound  reverence  and  enthusiasm  toward  the 
person  of  that  distinguished  gentleman.  An 
old  lady,  a  devout  admirer  of  great  men,  stands 
against  the  park  railing,  with  a  pocket-glass  at 
her  eye  surveying  the  outlines  of  Mr.  WhiflT's 
person,  and  satisfying  herself  of  the  actual 
outward  dimensions  of  that  wonderful  indi- 
vidual— of  whom  she  has  heard  so  much,  and 
knows  so  little. 

Every  now  and  then  as  he  passes,  some  win- 
dow, some  roof,  or  church  vestibule,  goes  into 
a  spasm,  the  most  marked  symptoms  of  which 


A    »^ 


POLITICAL  LIFE. 


323 


are  a  violent  wavinp;  of  black  beaver  hats,  and       In  the  first  place,  a  radical  unfitness  in  the 


a  deep  guttural  noise,  emitted  from  the  throat. 
Meantime  the  hero  takes  snuff  and  waves  liis 
pocket-handkerchief  enchantingly,  relievini? 
himself  at  times,  however,  by  susttiining  his 
coat-skirts  by  the  aid  of  his  two  hands  thrust 
underneath  the  same ;  about  this  posture  there 
is  always  an  air  of  coolness  and  dignity  which 
has  its  effect  Avith  the  populace.  He  at  length 
reaches  the  public  house,  his  destined  quarters ; 
is  hurried  up  the  steps,  thrust  out  of  a  window, 
and  although  the  poor  man's  throat  is  almost  a 
turnpike  of  dust,  and  his  lungs  in  scarcely  bet- 
ter condition  than  a  blacksmith's  bellows  out 
of  use  for  a  twelvemonth,  he  must  make  a 
speech. 

At  the  conclusion  another  ecstacy  perv-ades 
the  mob;  the  great  man  withdraws,  is  fed, 
watered,  and  put  to  bed,  like  the  great  South 
American  Lama.  The  next  day  he  is  roused 
at  daylight,  or  thereabout,  by  a  committee  of 
citizens,  and  from  that  moment  till  the  going 
down  of  the  sun  he  is  put  steadily  to  the  pleas^ 
ant  torture  of  having  his  whole  body  shaken, 
his  joints  disturbed,  and  his  tongue  unhinged, 
by  incessant  graspings,  welcomes,  and  saluta- 
tions. A  second  day  he  is  transported  from 
place  to  place,  halls  of  science,  town  halls, 
lecture  rooms,  repositories,  theatres,  and  public 
buildings,  squares,  wharfs,  and  cemeteries, 
until  he  almost  covets  a  snug  property  in  one 
of  the  last,  where  he  would  doubtless  lie  very 
quiet  and  easy,  unless  there  happened  to  be  a 
"  wire-worker,"  or  committee-man,  in  the  next 
grave.  A  third  day,  and  there  is  no  pause  ;  a 
new  round  of  objects  demands  his  attention,  the 
neighboring  villages,  the  almshouse,  peniten- 
tiaries, and  what  not,  are  to  be  visited ;  and 
visited  they  are,  and  at  each  and  every  of  these 
Mr.  Whiff  disembogues  a  speech :  in  fact, 
wherever  he  goes,  like  a  public  fountain,  he  is 
one  ceaseless  spout,  spout,  spout !  and  like  that 
too,  whatever  he  utters  falls  back  into  the 
original  basin,  and  is  redelivered  over  and  over 
again. 

The  public  sympathies  have  by  this  time 
been  taxed  to  the  utmost,  and  the  capabilities 
of  Mr.  Whiff's  constitution  so  thoroughly  test- 
ed, that  "  his  duties  at  Washington,"  or  "  ur- 
gent business  at  home,"  calls  him  away,  and 
the  town  is  again  allowed  to  relapse  into  a 
comparatively  calm  and  temperate  condition. 
The  rocket  has  exploded ;  we  have  seen  all  the 
brilliancy  it  could  display,  and  can  afford  to  be 
content  until  the  state  pyrotechnists  shall  be 
pleased  to  "  let  off"  another. 

We  have  thus  compounded  the  character  of 
a  politician  by  the  synthetic  process ;  and  now, 
in  pursuance  of  the  more  ordinary  line  of  our 
duty,  let  us  for  a  moment  apply  the  analytical, 
and  take  in  pieces  the  puppet  we  have  con- 
structed— in  order  that  we  may  learn  what  pro- 
portion the  wood,  hay,  and  stubble,  bear  to 
each  other  in  the  machine,  and  also  by  what 
springs  it  is  set  in  motion. 
What  then  do  we  discover  ? 


man  for  the  part  he  has  assumed ;  an  entire 
unconsciousness  of  the  requirements  and  duties 
of  the  character.  In  him  we  discern  no  primal 
sympathy  with  mankind,  which  urges  him  into 
the  vocation  ;  no  strong,  stem  sense  of  the 
wants,  capacities,  and  rights,  of  the  race  whose 
champion  he  proposes  to  enact.  What  to  him 
are  the  people  ?  Painted  faces,  shadows,  auto- 
mata— anything  rather  than  beings  full  to  over- 
flowing, of  passions,  sensibilities,  convictions — 
creatures  with  hearts  in  their  bosoms,  and  heads 
whose  only  deficiency  lies  in  an  inability  to  dis- 
cern the  nothingness  of  such  as  pretend  to  serve 
and  guide  them. 

With  this  moral  incapacity,  exists  an  intel- 
lectual one  quite  as  broad  and  startling.  Past 
ages  have  not  been  his  study ;  Sidney  nor  Ad- 
ams, nor  the  constellation  that  lives  and  shines 
in  history,  have  furnished  for  him  the  lustre  in 
which  great  minds  love  to  walk  and  meditate. 
What  knows  he  of  the  past  ?  The  utmost  re- 
trospection of  his  memory  is  to  the  date  of  some 
war,  some  junto  or  coalition,  which  shall  serve 
him  as  a  topic  of  partisan  declamation.  Of  the 
present  ?  Not  the  spirit  that  moves  and  ani- 
mates the  masses  of  mankind,  and  makes  itself 
visible  and  audible  in  amended  charters,  re- 
claimed rights,  and  disfranchised  despotisms. 
No  !  with  him  the  chronicle  of  the  hour  is  suf- 
ficient for  the  hour. 

The  nearest  gazette  can  instruct  him  in  the 
latest  party  triumph ;  in  the  proceedings  of  the 
last  grand  convention,  assembled  to  nominate 
some  cipher  or  other  to  an  office  of  trust  and 
authority ;  and  teach  him  to  calculate  the 
chances  of  obtaining  a  snug  sinecure  in  the 
event  of  his  election.  While  others  are  bat 
tling  and  dying  under  the  true  flag  of  their 
country  for  the  privileges  of  men,  he  prefers  to 
march  in  some  street-procession,  under  a  more 
peaceful,  a  less  perilous  emblem. 

We  would  not  have  him  fight ;  but  we  would 
have  him  enter  upon  the  business  of  statesman 
and  legislator  with  a  knowledge,  a  feeling 
knowledge,  of  the  great  sacrifices  others  are 
elsewhere  making  to  achieve  rights  and  insti- 
tutions which  he  is  called  on  to  perpetuate  and 
secure.  We  would  have  him  consecrate  him- 
self to  the  service  of  the  state  by  a  baptism  no- 
bler than  that  of  the  brewhpuse ;  by  a  life  in- 
cluding less  effort  to  drown  the  divine  calling 
of  the  patriot  in  the  clamor  of  trumpets,  the  roU 
of  vacant  drums,  and  the  idle  shouts  of  multi- 
tudes. 

Again,  this  man's  little  regard  for  the  people 
is  shown  in  the  peculiar  mode  of  progression 
which  he  adopts.  Instead  of  being  advanced 
by  the  spontaneous  popular  will,  he  moves  for- 
ward on  a  frame-work  of  caucuses  and  com- 
mittees, on  which  he  stands  as  dexterously  bal- 
anced as  the  best  posture-master  of  them  all. 
He  does  not  fight  his  battles  in  the  naked  anc 
real  strength  of  the  popular  cause,  but  prefer? 
to  wage  a  war  of  junto  with  junto;  to  plot  am 
counterplot  in  committee,  and  to  represent  thi 


324 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


mass,  in  all  his  political  movements,  by  a  fig- 
ure of  speech.  The  result  is  as  might  be  ex- 
pected ;  he  moves  up  this  wooden  staircase,  pre- 
carious scaffolding,  step  by  step,  and,  from  a 
mere  groundling,  comes  in  time  to  be  master 
of  the  house,  wilhout  a  solitary  tittle  to  justify 
his  occupancy;  without,  in  fact,  the  real  re- 
gards of  the  nation.  But  wo  betide  him,  if  one 
day  a  blast  should  arise  when  he  thinks  not, 
and,  rushing  against  the  frail  fabric  of  his  for- 
tunes, sweep  them  away  into  utter  and  irre- 
versible oblivion. 

The  selfish  insincerity  of  this  character  is 
again  betrayed  in  the  false  and  sounding  style 
of  his  declamation.  His  oratory  is  vague,  hol- 
low, and  purposeless;  full  of  tropes,  figures, 
and  apostrophes,  but  wanting  in  genuine  ear- 
nestness and  truth.  He  is  the  noisiest  of  the 
worshippers,  but  he  is  not  on  that  account 
more  of  a  believer  in  the  worship.  Instead  of 
the  plain,  manly  directness  which  becomes  one 
who  is  uttering  truths  deep  as  life,  and  on 
which  much  of  the  happiness  of  life  depends, 
he  converts  his  discourse  into  a  sort  of  operatic 
rehearsal,  in  which  all  the  quavers,  flourishes, 
and  variations  of  the  language,  are  attempted. 
Or,  on  the  other  hand,  he  bursts  upon  us  in  a 
tropical  exuberance  of  flowers^  sun-beams, 
and  prattling  waters ;  concluding,  perhaps, 
with  a  terrific  tornado,  or  volcanic  outbreak. 
His  heart  is  not  there,  and  all  that  he  conjures 
up  is  fantastical,  unreal,  and  out  of  place.  His 
written  productions  partake  of  the  same  grand 
element  of  insincerity ;  they  are  loud,  sonorous, 
and  empty ;  full  of  Johnsonian  gravity  and  in- 
digenous no-meaning. 

Another  pernicious  ingredient  in  the  politi- 
cian we  have  attempted  to  delineate,  is  a  hun- 
ger and  thirst  for  office ;  not  a  desire  to  hold 
office  because  office  must  be  held,  or  from  an 
absolute  avarice  of  the  emoluments  of  place, 
but  a  passion  for  office  for  the  sake  of  office,  an 
affection  for  the  petty  consequence,  the  brief 
authority,  with  which  it  is  clothed  by  his  own 
imagination,  and  the  misjudging  people  by 
whom  he  is  surrounded. 

The  holders  of  office  resemble,  in  our  hum- 
ble judgment,  the  holders  of  the  carriage  box- 
seat  ;  exalted  above  us,  it  is  true ;  endowed 
with  certain  badges  of  authority,  the  whip,  reins, 
and  coachman's  hat ;  but  acting  throughout  in 
our  behalf,  and  for  our  convenience,  although 
certain  dullards  along  the  road  may  choose  to  re- 
gard them  as  the  very  miracles  and  patterns  of 
humanity,  the  envy  of  taverns,  the  glory  of 
bar-rooms,  the  wonder  and  delight  of  large  pub- 
lic-houses. 

These  gentlemen  seem  to  regard  themselves 
as  enjoying  an  exclusive  prescriptive  right  to 
places  of  trust  and  profit ;  and  we  are  almost 
satisfied  that  anatomical  investigation  would 
discover  a  conformation  of  body  peculiarly  suit- 
ed to  the  occupancy  of  aldermen's  chairs  and 
clerk's  cushions. 

It  is  a  fact  that  will  bear  scrutiny,  we  think, 
that  there  are  thousands  in  the  United  States 


who  prefer  the  wages  of  office  to  the  rewards 
of  regular  industry,  and  who  would  render  twice 
the  amount  of  labor  for  one  dollar  of  govern- 
ment pay,  which  would  be  required  to  produce 
the  same  return  in  the  ordinary  course  of  trade. 
They  feel  that  they  are  resting  under  the  shad- 
ow of  the  government  wings ;  that,  let  what 
will  happen,  the  quarter's  salary  will  arrive  in 
due  season,  and  that  their  sole  responsibility  and 
duty  are  to  toil  blindly  on,  heeding  nothing,  anx- 
ious for  nothing  but  the  predominance  of  the 
party-i)]anet  that  sustains  them  in  their  place. 

To  do  justice,  however,  to  the  character  we 
have  described,  it  must  be  confessed  that  there 
is  less  of  this  greed  for  salary  than  might  be  ex- 
pected; though  he  does  not  fail,  in  the  long 
run  to  discover  some  Pactolian  stream  that  can 
be  diverted  into  his  own  treasury,  in  the  shape 
of  perquisite,  commission  on  avenues,  or  other 
honorary  job.  He,  therefore,  like  others,  at 
last  associates  office  with  the  happiest  inci- 
dents of  his  life.  The  setting  up  of  a  new  car- 
riage from  the  proceeds,  the  erection  of  a  more 
stylish  dwelling-house,  or  the  giving  of  his  first 
grand  entertainment,  with  new  brass  lamps, 
and  mulatto  waiters  to  match. 

To  all  these  radical  errors  and  deficiencies 
is  to  be  added  another  circumstance  of  some 
moment.  The  multiplicity  of  objects  in  which 
he  is  obliged  to  feel  or  feign  an  interest,  and 
the  diversities  of  character  he  is  expected  to 
sympathize  with,  as  a  man  of  the  people,  tend 
to  dissipate  the  elements  of  his  own  natural 
character,  and  to  destroy  its  original  bias.  No 
single  feeling  in  his  breast,  no  faculty  or  qual- 
ity, save  an  all-absorbing  tact,  has  time  to 
ripen  or  mature,  and  his  whole  nature  is  over- 
run with  a  growth  of  noxious,  distorted,  and  un- 
wholesome objects.  A  few  of  the  primary  in- 
stincts may  maintain  their  place,  but  the  integ- 
rity, the  truth  and  beauty,  which  belong  to  a 
nature  nobly  and  courageously  developed,  are 
not  there. 

Better  would  it  have  been  for  him  had  he  de- 
voted his  life  to  the  contrivance  of  a  mill-wheel, 
or  the  production  of  a  single  excellent  specimen 
of  timothy  or  asparagus ;  for  then  there  would 
have  been  something  like  honesty  in  the  man, 
an  enthusiasm  true  and  unaffected,  and  a  vein 
of  thought  which  might  have  been  relied  on  as 
genuine  and  pure. 

Forgetting  entirely  the  claims  of  nature  and 
the  commands  of  conscience,  he  leads  a  life  of 
manoeuvre,  duplicity,  and  stratagem.  He  is  the 
slave  of  time  and  chance.  An  error  of  saluta- 
tion ;  a  solecism  of  opinion ;  a  single  false  step 
in  the  grand  train  of  political  plotting,  frights 
him  more  than  the  bugbears  of  conscience  or 
the  alarms  of  reason.  He  lives  in  a  wheel  of 
destiny,  where  a  moment's  pause,  a  hair-breadth 
deviation,  would  destroy  him.  He  has  leased 
out  his  life  to  clowns  and  quidnuncs,  and  he 
has  no  more  choice  of  action  or  locomotion 
than  the  sultan  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  bloody- 
minded  janissaries.  His  life  is  therefore  false, 
hollow,  and  servile.    There  is  sufficient  of  ex- 


MR.  JAMES  GRANT. 


325 


ternal  gilding  to  dazzle  the  multitude,  and  to 
achieve  mere  worldly  success ;  but  the  heart  is 
wiser  than  the  head,  and  there  he  fails.  After 
all,  the  world  and  the  world's  affections  are  not 
with  him.  He  serves  a  purpose ;  he  can  ride 
his  stage  like  the  sorriest  hackney  of  them  all; 
and  then  he  is  taken  from  the  harness  and  suc- 
ceeded by  a  jade  as  poor  and  wretched,  but  just 
as  serviceable.  In  time  he  may  live  to  be  turn- 
ed upon  the  common,  and  when  his  hour  arrives 
he  drops  into  a  cold,  cheerless,  and  unapplaud- 
ed  grave. 

The  true  statesman,  with  nature's  stamp  of 
supremacy  on  every  action,  ascends  from  the 
midst  of  the  people  by  slow  degrees,  and  attains 
his  zenith  of  power  and  splendor  through  a  long 
tract  of  diligent  and  steady  labor. 

He  begins  with  no  ostentatious  parade  of 
banners  or  bustle  of  zeal  in  the  popular  cause. 
He  plants  his  first  steps  on  the  foundation-prin- 
ciples of  government ;  reaches  forth  his  arms 
to  such  branches  and  buttresses  as  history  and 
humanity  may  furnish ;  and,  by  a  slow  prog- 
ress, succeeds  at  last  in  scaling  a  height  from 
which  he  may  look  forth  on  the  kingdoms  of 
the  earth,  and  learn  how  the  world  is  governed. 
In  this  pursuit  no  petty  spirit  of  partisanship  is 
engendered ;  the  small  pomp  of  personal  conse- 
quence is  abashed. 

Deaf  to  the  idle  tumult  of  the  hour,  he  hears 
the  loud  cry  of  despairing  nations  ;  the  voices 
of  the  prison-house  ;  the  sundering  of  fetters, 
strong  as  death ;  the  eager  welcome  of  dawn- 
ing light ;  and,  as  God  is  with  them,  the  shout 
of  enfranchisement  and  deliverance.  His  soul 
shoots  along  the  axis  of  the  earth,  to  the  north 
and  to  the  south,  and  either  ocean  only  arrests 
its  eager  sympathies. 

But  are  the  interests  of  his  own  day  and  na- 
tion forgotten  in  this  wide  survey  of  past  and 
present?  No;  rather  remembered  the  more, 
and  served  the  more  truly.  From  a  mind  preg- 
nant with  whatever  other  times  and  other  peo- 
ple have  done  or  suffered  in  the  great  cause 
of  human  happiness,  spring  the  guarded  rights, 
the  enlightened  welfare,  of  the  country  that  he 
calls  his  own.  The  fiercer  the  assault,  the 
more  secret  the  breach  made  elsewhere  against 
the  immunities  of  mankind,  the  steadier  the  de- 
fence, the  more  sagacious  the  protection  of  the 
same  privileges  at  home.  On  all  occasions,  on 
every  imminent  emergency,  he  is  prepared  to 
justify  the  principles  of  his  faith,  and  to  give  a 
new  sanction  to  the  institutions  under  which 
he  dwells.  He  lives  in  the  eye  of  Truth  and 
Liberty.  He  shall  descend  to  his  grave  with  the 
tears  and  blessings  of  mankind. 


MR.  JAMES  GRANT.* 
Mr.  James  Grant,  the  celebrated  British 
author,    stands    about    five-feet-three    in    his 

*  Portraits  of  Public  Characters.  By  the  author  of 
"  The  Great  Metropolis  ;"  "  Random  Recollections  of 
the  Lords  and  Commons,"  &c.,  «fec.  Saunders  &  Otley : 
London,  1840. 


Stockings;  on  reflection,  we  should  perhaps 
say  five-feet-four.  His  breadth  across  the  shoul- 
ders is  not  more  than  ordinary  ;  but  we  trust 
we  shall  not  be  regarded  as  trespassing  on  del- 
icacy, in  making  known  a  fact  of  considerable 
importance,  namely,  that  he  has  a  singularly 
well-developed  pair  of  legs.  We  are  not  aware 
that  Mr.  Grant  has  ever  been  esteemed  by  any- 
body as,  strictly  speaking,  a  colossus  ;  but,  as 
will  be  observed  from  the  remark  we  have  just 
made,  his  claims  to  be  regarded  as  such  are  by 
no  means  slight.  The  story,  therefore,  of  Mr. 
Grant's  having  kicked  an  Irish  porter  through 
one  of  the  upper  windows  of  Westminster  Ab- 
bey, although  needing  confirmation,  is  physio- 
logically possible. 

Mr.  Grant  commenced  life,  as  we  are  in- 
formed— having  no  personal  knowledge  of  this 
fact,  we  can  not  be  so  positive  in  the  statement 
as  we  might  otherwise  have  been — as  a  tapster 
at  the  Cock  and  Bull,  Cheapside  ;  from  which 
situation  he  rose,  in  due  course  of  time,  to  be 
head  waiter  at  the  Gas  and  Bellows,  Strand ; 
and  finally,  having  been  discovered  one  day  by 
the  editor  of  one  of  the  leading  London  jour- 
nals, writing  out  an  account  of  a  fight  between 
the  barmaid  and  cook  of  the  Bellows,  on  one  of 
the  parlor-windows  with  a  magnificent  quartz 
crystal,  he  was  immediately  taken  into  service 
as  a  reporter,  and  employed  to  furnish  nightly 
descriptions  of  the  various  rencontres  in  the 
house  of  lords,  between  honorable  gentlemen 
on  the  subject  of  the  Reform  bill.  We  unfor- 
tunately have  it  not  in  our  power  to  state  at 
this  moment  whether  he  occupied  a  place  in 
the  left-hand  gallery,  to  the  right  of  the  speak- 
er's chair,  or  on  the  left  hand  of  the  speaker, 
in  the  right  gallery ;  our  impression  is  it  was 
the  lefli-right.  A  curious  story  is  told  illustra- 
tive of  this  part  of  Mr.  Grant's  career,  which, 
although  not  of  the  slightest  earthly  importance, 
may  be  worth  repeating  here.  It  is  said  that 
a  pet  donkey  belonging  to  a  coalheaver  in  a 
neighboring  street,  was  in  the  habit  of  watch- 
ing the  messenger  who  was  sent  from  the  office 
of  the  journal  in  question,  to  receive  such  sup- 
plies of  the  night's  reports  as  Mr.  Grant  might 
be  prepared  to  furnish.  Just  as  he  turned  the 
corner  leading  to  the  door  of  St.  Stephen's,  the 
donkey,  fixing  his  eye  steadily  on  the  editor's 
messenger,  would  start  off  at  a  smart  gallop, 
and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  reach  the  door  sev- 
eral seconds  before  the  messenger,  and  would 
immediately  commence  setting  up  a  portentous 
bray,  as  if  to  give  notice  to  Mr.  Grant  that 
more  "  copy,"  as  it  is  technically  styled,  was 
needed.  This  summons,  we  need  hardly  add, 
Mr.  Grant  at  all  times  cheerfully  answered; 
coming  out  at  each  call  with  a  large  roll  of 
manuscript  report,  and  placing  it  smilingly  in 
the  messenger's  hand. 

With  regard  to  Mr.  Grant's  personal  habits, 
we  have  it  fortunately  in  our  power  to  be  very 
particular.  In  the  morning,  having  first  washed, 
shaved,  and  breakfasted,  he  grasps  his  cane 
and  salUes  forth ;  his  first  call  is  on  the  val«t 


326 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


of  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  and,  hav- 
ing ascertained  to  his  entire  satisfaction  that 
his  Grace  had  a  tranquil  night  of  it,  that  he 
has  already  risen,  and  is  engaged  in  answering 
his  correspondents  in  a  blue  dimity  morning- 
gown,  Mr.  Grant  bids  the  valet  good-morn- 
ing, and  descends  the  steps.  His  next  busi- 
ness is  to  trip  up  a  one-legged  beggar,  and 
•while  apologizing  for  the  accident,  and  admin- 
istering alms,  he  draws  from  him  an  accurate 
account  of  the  various  impostures  practised  by 
the  metropolitan  mendicants  on  the  unwary, 
by  the  way  of  forged  letters,  calls  on  behalf  of 
the  daughters  of  deceased  naval  officers,  and 
applications  for  the  relief  of  sick  widows  with 
seven  small  children,  of  which  two  are  always 
at  the  breast.  Mr.  Grant  then,  in  all  probabil- 
ity, takes  a  pot  of  small-beer  at  the  nearest 
tavern ;  and  seeing  just  at  that  moment  the 
coach  of  Lord  Brougham  entering  town,  with  a 
vacant  place  on  the  box,  he  invites  himself  to  a 
ride,  and,  ascending  by  means  of  the  ordinary 
leather  straps,  he  takes  a  seat  by  the  side  of 
his  lordship's  coachman,  and  enters  into  a 
very  pleasant  gossipping  conversation  with  that 
functionary,  in  the  course  of  which  he  learns  a 
vast  deal  about  the  characteristic  habits  of  his 
lordship ;  among  others,  a  peculiarity  his  lord- 
ship has  of  winking  at  his  footman  when  off 
duty,  and  of  indulging  himself  in  throwing  mi- 
raculous somersets  backward  and  forward  over 
the  top  of  the  coach,  whenever  it  has  occasion 
to  stand  still  for  more  than  a  couple  of  minutes 
at  a  time.  Before  leaving  his  elevated  friend,  Mr. 
Grant  probably  extorts  from  him  a  promise  that 
if  his  lordship  should  chance  to  drop  a  wig 
in  the  course  of  any  of  these  surprising  gym- 
nastic exercises,  to  bring  it  straightway  to  him 
at  the  office  of  the  London  Journal,  of  which 
Mr.  Grant  is  editor,  and  receive  half-a-crown 
for  his  pains. 

But  Sunday  is  by  all  odds  the  busiest  day 
with  Mr.  Grant.  From  morning  till  night  he 
is  on  the  move;  popping  his  head  in  at  Mr. 
Croly's  church  in  time  to  hear  that  distinguish- 
ed orator  announce  his  text ;  hurrying  away  to 
hear  Mr.  Fox,  the  Unitarian  clergyman's,  first- 
ly ;  the  Rev.  Mr.  Melvill's,  secondly  or  thirdly ; 
the  Hon.  and  Rev.  Baptist  Noel's,  fourthly ; 
and  so  on  through  all  the  divines  of  the  metrop- 
olis. It  is  said  there  is  not  a  man  in  London 
who  performs  a  more  laborious  sabbath-day's 
work  than  Mr.  Grant,  including  even  the  cler- 
gymen who  preach  three  times,  and  the  gentle- 
men who  sing  base  in  the  various  metropolitan 
churches. 

By  the  way,  we  should  not  forget  to  mention 
here  that  this  gentleman  is  the  author  of  "  Ran- 
dom Recollections  of  the  House  of  Lords,"  in  1 
vol.,  post  octavo ;  "  Random  do.  Commons," 
do.,  do. ;  two  series  of  "  The  Great  Metropo- 
lis," two  vols,  each ;  "  The  Metropolitan  Pul- 
iiit,"  in  we  forget  how  many  volumes ;  "  Sketch- 
es of  London,"  1  vol.,  octavo,  with  cuts  ;  and 


some  other  works,  one  of  which,  «  Portraits  of 
Public  Characters,"  in  2  vols.,  is,  we  believe, 
just  out.  It  is  not  positively  known  whether 
Mr.  Grant  has  ever  written  poetry  (these  works 
being  all  in  prose),  but,  it  is  supposed,  if  he 
should  ever  undertake  poetry,  it  would  be 
his  object  to  rival  Sir  Richard  Blackmore ;  and 
by  many  it  is  considered,  should  he  make 
the  attempt,  that  he  would  be  successful. 

The  intellectual  characteristics  of  Mr.  Grant 
are  easily  made  out.  His  style,  although,  per- 
haps, it  can  not  be  said  to  be  equal  to  that  of 
Mr.  Jeffrey  or  the  Hon.  Babington  Macauley, 
in  brilliancy,  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable of  the  present  day.  There  seems  to 
be  in  this  distinguished  gentleman's  mind,  if 
we  may  venture  upon  so  bold  a  phrase,  a  sort 
of  circumambiency,  which  leads  him  to  beat 
about  his  subject,  keeping,  in  the  meantime,  at 
a  due  distance  from  it ;  much,  as  our  readers 
may  have  observed,  as  one  of  the  horses  on 
sale  at  Tattersall's  dances  round  the  jockey, 
who  holds  a  rein  and  whip  in  his  hand,  look- 
ing at  him  with  great  earnestness  and  gravity, 
but  taking  heed,  meanwhile,  to  keep  very  re- 
spectfully out  of  his  reach.  That  this  is  ow- 
ing to  a  peculiar  conformation  of  intellect  on 
the  part  of  Mr.  Grant,  we  are  satisfied ;  but 
nothing  could  be  happier  than  this  singular 
style  for  the  class  of  subjects  he  has  chosen, 
being  chiefly  distinguished  statesmen,  mighty 
divines,  and  gigantic  bibliopoles ;  to  use  a 
significant  phrase  which  Mr.  Hume  occasion- 
ally employs  in  the  course  of  one  of  his  eco- 
nomical speeches,  "  It's  just  the  thing." 

Nothing  could  be  more  artful  than  Mr. 
Grant's  narrative  of  what  he  has  seen  ;  and  we 
are  satisfied  if  it  should  ever  be  his  good  or 
evil  fortune  to  meet  with  a  dog  Cerberus,  we 
should  immediately  have  three  graphic  biog- 
raphies from  his  pen,  one  for  each  head ;  and 
the  same  of  a  hundred-headed  hydra,  if  he 
should  happen  to  fall  in  with  one ;  a  life  for 
each  head,  or  one  tremendous  life  in  a  hundred 
volumes.  Mr.  Grant's  pictures  are  all  full- 
lengths  ;  and  although  he  can  not  be  said  to  be 
strictly  rhetorical  in  his  manner,  yet  there  are 
very  few  divines  who  can  equal  him  in  subdi- 
visions, in  dwelling  skilfully  on  a  topic,  and  in 
going  back  to  it  after  it  is  entirely  exhausted. 
In  fact,  we  are  pretty  well  convinced,  although 
we  have  no  positive  information  on  the  subject, 
unless  our  moral  conviction  that  such  is  the 
case  can  be  so  considered,  that  Mr.  Grant's 
habits  of  writing  are  like  those  of  our  country- 
man, Mr.  Willis,  whom  he  describes  in  his 
latest  production  as  follows :  "  He  does  not 
take  nor  require  time  to  think,  when  engaged 
in  his  literary  avocations.  Ideas  crowd  so  fast 
upon  him,  his  perception  of  the  best  points  in 
his  subjects  is  so  ready,  that  the  moment  he 
takes  his  pen  in  hand  he  starts  off  at  a  railroad- 
rate,  and  never  slackens  his  pace  until  he  be- 
comes physically  exhausted." 


THE  SOLEMN  VENDUE. 


327 


THE  SOLEMN  VENDUE. 

Mr.  Abraham  Sable  was  in  town  a  short 
time  since,  for  the  purpose  of  selling  a  few 
vaults  in  Christ  church  churchyard,  Tarrytown. 
There  is  «  snug  lying"  there,  I  will  warrant, 
almost  as  snug  as  in  the  abbey,  and  our  melan- 
choly-minded friend  did  well  to  bring  them  to 
the  New  York  market,  where  purchasers  must 
be  found,  if  anywhere.  Think  but  of  those  who 
want  graves,  and  you  will  know  whether  there 
should  be  bidders  for  his  commodity.  First, 
there  are  all  the  weary,  whose  hope  in  life  has 
perished ;  the  suiter  that  sought  love,  and  found 
tears,  anguish,  dark,  dreary  nights,  and  long, 
melancholy,  purposeless  days ;  the  friend,  whose 
close  companion  of  many  dear,  dear  hours,  has 
fallen  from  him  with  a  cold  look,  and  unforgiv- 
ing eye,  and  a  hand  close  shut  to  his  expectant 
grasp,  like  stone ;  the  merchant,  whose  last 
ship  has  gone  down,  far  off',  with  all  her  freight- 
age in  the  cruel  Indian  ocean ;  and  the  poor 
lone  mother,  whose  only  son  sunk  in  that  same 
ship,  in  the  gloomy  sea,  and  whose  heart  begins 
to  break  over  the  thought  that  her  home  is  des- 
olate for  ever.     Here  is  a  desire  for  graves  ! 

There  are  other  chapmen  for  the  occasion ; 
the  poor  politician,  by  whom  opportunity  has 
swept  and  left  him  on  the  shore,  officeless,  re- 
morseful, moping  evermore,  wi>h  hands  thrust  in 
his  pockets,  and  eyes  that  wander  from  face  to 
face  bereft  of  the  old  smile,  the  urgent  greeting 
look,  that  begged  for  a  remembrance  at  the  No- 
vember ides. 

There  is  another  who  would  seek  his  grave 
as  familiarly  as  his  own  chamber  in  the  night, 
who  would  make  his  couch  there  as  cheerfully 
as  under  his  own  roof-tree,  one  who  would 
stretch  in  the  dark  shadow  of  the  vault,  as  read- 
ily as  under  the  canopy  of  a  green  tree,  or  a 
bright  cloud  in  summer ;  for  him  whose  fair  re- 
nown is  soiled  and  mildewed  to  the  world — for 
him  a  cheap  family-vault  would  be  a  home- 
stead, indeed,  a  quiet  retiring-room,  into  which 
he  could  step  and  fall  asleep  from  the  slanders 
and  evil  tongues  of  men.  Bid  high  for  the 
grave  !  for  it  is  a  desirable  property,  a  habita- 
tion that  can  shelter  us  from  the  harshest  storm 
that  ever  yet  blew  over  the  earth.  Let  us  buy 
graves  early  !  for  he  that  dies  without  this  great 
provision  is  poor — poorer  than  the  neediest  beg- 
gar, and  must  have  the  last  charity  dealt  to 
him,  the  mightiest.  But  who  shall  sell  graves  ? 
Who  is  powerful  enough  to  deal  in  this  wonder- 
ful ware — this  concluding  and  imperishable 
merchandise  ?  It  seems  as  if  an  angel,  and  no 
inferior  one,  should  descend  in  our  midst  and 
put  to  sale  this  great  commodity. 

«  Who  bids  ?  Who  bids,  for  this  fine  vault, 
with  accommodations  complete — dug  in  the 
choicest  clay,  with  eight  steps  descending,  and 
a  warranted  door  of  iron  ?  Comfortable  tene- 
ment, secure,  silent,  and  rare.  No  arrest,  no 
service  of  process,  can  come  there.  No  judge's 
voice,  no  marshal's  truncheon,  no  oppressor's 
rod.    Who  bids  ?  who  bids  ?    You  of  the  slip- 


pered  shank  and  hollow  cheek — it  is  yours — 
for  you  have  already  taken  possession  with 
one  foot  planted  on  your  new  estate.  Another, 
larger,  ampler,  more  spacious — for  a  more  com- 
modious tenant.  Apoplectic  mortal !  I  have 
your  bid — it  is  a  good  one,  and  well  thought  of, 
for  next  week  you  shall  enter  upon  your  pur- 
chase. A  third  !  Why  do  you  draw  back  ?  Will 
none  in  this  great  crowd  try  for  a  third  ?  Ah  ! 
there  is  a  modest  chapman :  pale,  thought-sick 
youth — you  must  drop,  drop  with  others,  and 
elders — this  measures  you  to  an  inch,  and  the 
deed  will  be  made  out  to-morrow,  before  the 
sun  sets." 

This  would  be  an  attentive  auditory,  I  think, 
a  respectful  and  silent  throng  of  purchasers, 
and  the  competition  wondrously  timid  and  ac- 
commodating. Neighbor  would  nod  off"  the  bar- 
gain from  his  own  head  to  neighbor,  and  the 
solemn  salesman  would  lift  up  his  voice  alone 
in  the  streets  of  Babel. 

There  is  also  a  choice  of  graves.  Who 
bids  ?  who  bids  ?  Here  is  a  damp,  cold  vault, 
laid  in  a  hard  soil,  with  perpetual  drops  oozing 
through  upon  the  coffin;  lay  there  the  dull- 
hearted  miser,  in  whose  breast  no  kindly  af- 
fection took  root,  and  where  hope,  charity, 
love  of  neighbors,  kindred,  and  children,  with- 
ered away  in  the  chill  region  of  self-seeking 
and  love  of  gain. 

Yonder  the  spade  has  done  its  work  in  a 
cheerful  slope,  on  which  the  sun  smiles  through 
three  quarters  of  the  long  summer  day ;  it  is  a 
fitting  burial-place  for  the  good  man,  whose 
eye,  like  this  pleasant  upland,  loved  to  look 
forth  on  scenes  of  peace,  quietness,  and  con- 
tent, and  to  lend  to  them  a  new  beauty  and  joy 
borrowed  from  itself. 

Here,  where  the  grave  strikes  deep  amid 
the  gnarled  roots  of  this  great  oak  forest,  that 
contends  manfully  with  wind  and  tempest,  and 
holds  stout  fast  of  the  earth,  hither  bring  the  bier 
of  the  towering  son  of  power,  whose  renown  was 
immovably  established,  and  whose  fair  head 
lifted  itself  high  up  toward  heaven  without  fear, 
or  rather,  with  great  rejoicing  and  delight.  Un- 
der this  evergreen  turf,  crowned  with  early 
flowers  in  spring,  with  long-lingering  snow- 
drops in  the  ungenial  time,  the  great  river  ever 
murmuring  by,  and  the  distant  mountain  stretch- 
ing its  shadow  over  the  water  till  it  falls  on  this 
selected  spot  of  earth,  here  lay  the  poet,  in  the 
midst  of  glorious  sights  and  sounds  and  odors, 
of  which  he  is  a  part  now,  and  was  once  a 
partaker. 

Who  shall  have  this  grave  ?  Who  bids  ? 
Who  bids  for  a  sepulchre  that  frowns  upon  us 
fearfully  like  this  ?  Adders'  nests,  newts,  and 
ground-moles  beneath — long,  hoary,  moss-clad 
trunks  midway — sombre  birds  of  omen,  the  evil- 
boding  crow,  and  the  grim,  selfish  owl,  above  : 
who  seeks  to  lie  there  ?  Ah  !  it  is  that  black- 
haired  man,  with  blood-spots  on  his  wrist,  and 
an  unquiet  devil  in  his  eye ;  it  is  his  ;  and  he 
longs  for  it,  for  he  is  a  murderer  that  cowers 
and  trembles  in  the  broad  face  of  light.    Hurry 


328 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


him  to  his  grave,  and  bless  him.  Be  quick  with 
the  obsequies,  for  he  gasps  in  the  pure  air  of 
day.  Tarry  not ;  for  Jesus'  sake  tarry  not 
with  tressels  and  biers,  sable  hangings  and 
hearses,  for  he  yearns  for  his  couch,  as  the  child 
yearns  for  his  cradle,  or  the  wild  beast  pants 
for  its  den.  Hide  him  !  hide  him  swiftly  in 
the  earth ! — going,  gone  !  That  bid  passed  like 
an  arrow,  and  a  readier  chapman  one  could  not 
desire. 

Whom  shall  we  lay  here,  in  this  desolate, 
chamber,  built  in  a  blasted  soil,  on  the  banks 
of  a  dry  channel,  over  which  withered  trees 
stretch  their  dead  arms,  and  in  the  top  of  one 
of  them  lies  the  skeleton  of  an  eagle,  with  his 
wings  drooping  over  the  sides  of  his  nest,  struck 
dead  by  irresistible  lightning  ?  Whose  grave 
is  this  ?  Thine,  old  Indian  chief !  Apparel 
his  heroic  old  corse  in  its  feathers,  its  buffalo- 
robe,  and  its  wampum-belt,  and  lay  it  down  in 
this  region  of  gloom  and  barrenness  ;  a  kindred 
home  for  a  kindred  spirit. 

This  is  a  sweet  tomb  in  this  delicious  vale, 
smothered,  as  it  were,  in  excess  of  roses,  violets, 
and  golden  buttercups;  a  gentle  wind  sighs 
along  its  roof  and  makes  apt  music  for  the 
slumbering  tenant  beneath.  Birds  of  pleasant 
plumage  and  tender  song  haunt  here,  and  a 
field-lark  hath  built  its  emblematic  nest  (from 
which  it  soars  so  steadily  and  cheerfully  to 
heaven)  at  the  very  mouth  of  the  grave.  A 
choice  tenant  must  inhabit  so  choice  a  tomb. 
It  is  that  pale  maiden,  on  whose  cheek  a  faint 
bloom  lingers  amid  a  fast  triumphing  paleness, 
as  a  little  tinge  of  summer  colors,  oftentimes, 
the  icy  skirt  of  February,  retreating  and  return- 
ing ever  and  anon.  Lay  that  gentle  lady  gen- 
tly down  !  She  was  deserted  in  her  prime,  and 
carries  a  broken  heart,  meekly  and  mildly,  to 
her  appointed  home. 

Far  beyond,  where  poison  henbane,  and 
hemlock,  and  deadly  aconite,  with  creepers  of 
noxious  quality — ^just  where  that  skull  of  a  cop- 
per-snake peeps  from  the  earth,  find  a  suitable 
burial  for  witch  and  Sorceress,  and  compounder 
of  fatal  drugs.  The  adder  will  creep  to  her 
grave,  and  the  black  raven  flap  his  wings  over 
it  in  triumph,  for  powers  of  evil,  whether  of 
water  or  air,  are  kinsfolk  and  connexions. 

Bury  the  boatman  by  the  shore,  and  the  as- 
tronomer on  the  mountain ;  the  warrior  lay  by 
the  side  of  the  cataract,  whose  din  mimics  a 
mighty  battle,  the  clashing  of  shields,  the  bray- 
ing of  trumpets,  and  the  shock  of  foaming  car- 
nage. 

For  the  sons  of  doubt,  whose  lives  were 
swift  and  dark  with  turbid  thoughts,  find  a  sep- 
ulture on  the  banks  of  gloomy  currents  that 
have  their  well-springs  in  cold,  icy  hills,  and 
their  ending  in  wide,  illimitable,  restless  seas. 

Bury  the  quiet  man  in  valleys,  and  the 
children  of  strife  in  the  storm-swept  plain,  or  in 
the  heart  of  cities,  where  they  shall  be  tram- 
pled on  by  friend  and  enemy,  and  have  no  quiet 
nor  rest  even  in  the  grave. 

Bury  children  in   gardens  and  scented  or- 


chards ;  aged  people  and  grandsires,  in  lone 
woods,  to  which  their  age  is  kindred ;  and  on 
the  heirs  of  fame,  the  kindlers  of  high  thoughts, 
friends  of  the  oppressed,  deliverers  of  nations, 
bestow  the  whole  wide  earth,  with  its  moun- 
tains and  valleys,  lakes  and  running  streams, 
and  echoing  cliffs,  as  a  tomb,  a  monument,  and 
a  memorial. 


CITIZENSHIP. 


The  colossal  event  of  October  was  the  ex- 
plosion of  the  grand  political  fraud-mine*  at 
the  almshouse  in  the  presence  of  his  honor  the 
Recorder,  and  the  city  District  Attorney.  No 
incident  of  the  kind  has,  within  our  memory, 
created  so  general  and  earnest  a  commotion 
among  the  members  of  all  parties,  as  well  as 
among  the  community  of  less  excitable  citizens, 
who  belong  to  none.  Whether  this  was  a 
high  court  of  preliminary  inquiry,  convened 
for  great  and  solemn  purposes  ;  or  whether  it 
was  a  mere  congress  and  junto  of  partisans  for 
sinister  objects,  we  shall  not  inquire. 

Certain  leading  questions  of  less  doubtful 
character  have  become  involved  in  the  chief 
subject,  and  of  these  we  shall  speak  freely,  and 
as  every  right-minded  American  would  desire 
to  have  us  speak. 

The  first,  and  most  striking,  is  the  evidence 
this  case  furnishes  of  the  readiness  of  the  com- 
munity to  fall  off  into  parties  and  party  divis- 
ions on  any  matter  that  may  be  presented. 
Now,  as  we  humbly  regard  it,  neither  party  is 
to  be  considered  as  the  exclusive  friend  and 
champion  of  truth.  As  far  as  our  humble 
observation  extends,  neither  is  to  be  held  as 
the  immaculate  and  single  advocate  of  just- 
ice. Goodness  and  right  do  not  inhabit  so 
clearly  on  this  or  that  side  of  an  accurate, 
straight  line,  drawn  by  party  wisdom  or  party 
honor.  Oh  no !  Truth  is  diffused  more  like 
the  atmosphere,  and  pervading  all  regions  and 
things,  preserves  the  general  soundness  and 
purity  of  the  world  ;  it  does  not  lie  heaped  up 
in  masses,  or  gathered  in  overwhelming  trea- 
sures within  the  camp  of  any  chieftain  or  com- 
pany of  political  knights-errant.  The  strong, 
wholesale  clamor,  therefore,  for  or  against  any 
measure  or  act,  is  unwise  and  false  to  a  sound 
general  principle ;  a  qualified  and  restrained 
advocacy  or  opposition  lurks  in  the  constitution 
of  mankind,  and  in  the  very  nature  of  things. 

Party  divisions,  can  not,  and,  perhaps,  should 
not  be  abolished  ;  but  there  must  arise  in  the 
progress  of  events,  questions  far  above  all  such 
sectarian  and  narrow  feelings;  questions  affect- 
ing the  foundation  of  government,  and  the  very 
stability  of  all  institutions.  The  purity  of 
elections  is  with  us  just  such  a  question,  and 
demands  a  generous    abandonment  of  party 

*The  introduction  of  voters  from  Philadelphia  at 
the  election  in  New  York,  in  large  numbers,  and  by 
contract. 


CITIZENSHIP. 


329 


views,  and  a  bold  and  prompt  declaration  in 
behalf  of  good  principle,  wherever  it  may  show 
itself.  A  clear,  integral,  unquestionable  ex- 
pression of  the  popular  will  and  meaning,  is 
with  the  present  frame  of  government  to  be 
desired,  furthered,  prayed  for  above  all  civil 
blessings.  Let  the  nation  speak  out ;  and  ac- 
cursed be  he  that  counterfeits,  intercepts,  or 
misinterprets  its  true  manly  tones.  Be  a  brand 
indelible  as  life  upon  him  that  lends  himself 
forthright,  or  by  indirection,  to  corrupt  the 
great  franchise.  Let  him  stand  in  the  midst 
of  the  community,  like  the  first  murderer,  as 
one  who  would  strike  at  the  life  of  first  prin- 
ciples, the  scoff,  the  utter  contempt  and  loath- 
ing of  all  men.  On  his  tomb  be  inscribed  the 
national  malediction  in  the  bitterest  and  brief- 
est words  that  national  wisdom  and  indignation 
can  frame  !  Let  no  man  who  regards  his  own 
fair  fame,  or  the  fair  fame  and  tranquillity  of 
his  children,  palter  with  this  Abaddon  of 
political  life ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  let  no 
ready  accuser  or  convenient  judge  lay  the  charge 
of  such  countenance  lightly  on  any  man's  head ! 
Nor  let  a  considerate  and  all-accomplishing 
people,  urge  on  or  assuage  the  clamor  further 
than  the  strictest  ends  of  true  justice  require. 

Resolution  and  prudence  should  be  our  coun- 
sel in  such  emergencies  5  and,  judging  with 
tranquillity,  we  should  condemn  and  punish 
with  terrible  directness. 

Regarding  a  single  incident  of  citizenship — 
a  great  and  noble  incident  it  is  true — with 
these  feelings,  we  can  not  but  regard  citizen- 
ship itself  as  a  high  privilege,  and  one  which 
should  not  be  frivolously  conferred  or  assumed. 
To  be  an  American  citizen  is  to  be  a  free  man, 
not  merely  as  far  as  bonds  and  captivity  are 
concerned,  but  to  enjoy  a  noble  liberty  of 
thought  and  feeling,  unfettered  by  the  old  and 
customary  restraints  of  more  cumbrous  forms 
of  government.  His  thoughts  have  no  wall  of 
circumvallation  built  up  from  immemorial 
times  to  overshadow  and  hedge  in  their  liberal 
range.  Life  is  thrown  open  to  him  as  a  fair 
untrodden  field,  on  which  to  enter,  with  what- 
ever implements  of  wisdom,  sagacity,  fore- 
thought, truth,  and  fortitude,  God  and  nature 
have  granted  him.  He  is  more  sovereign  than 
the  highest  sovereignty  of  all  old  empires; 
having  a  mind  unawed  by  past  traditions, 
and  cheered  to  its  duty  by  every  hope  in  the 
1?  future ;  resting,  as  it  were,  on  the  broad  hill 
I  side  of  nature,  and  looking  forth,  in  the  eye  of 
I  the  sun,  on  whatever  presents  itself,  with  true 
I  natural  impulses,  and  with  a  just  regard  to  the 
f  actual  relations  of  objects.  It  is  not  necessary, 
that  is  to  say,  it  is  not  inherent  in  his  condition, 
that  he  should  adopt  unwise  or  disproportioned 

t  views  of  art,  of  God,  of  society,  nor,  in  fact, 
of  any  truth  or  set  of  truths. 

«'  He  sees,  as  from  a  tower,  the  end  of  all." 

He  feels,  or  he  should  feel,  called  on  to  exem- 
plify humanity,  and  to  render  to  the  world  the 


true  reading  and  solution  of  many  vexed  prob- 
lems in  government  and  social  life.  He  sits  at 
the  plain  table  of  uncorrupted  truth ;  before 
him  lies  the  map  of  human  action,  unbroken 
by  the  track  of  previous  adventurers,  or  mark- 
ed with  conjectural  shoals  and  soundings,  the 
sunlight  falls  clear  upon  it,  and  the  fresh  air 
of  heaven  breathes  on  him  its  true  inspiration. 
Is  not  this  a  task  and  service  sufl[iciently  great, 
noble,  and  momentous,  to  be  placed  in  any 
man's  hand  ?  And  would  you  not  suppose 
that  a  little  culture,  a  little  glimmering  of  civi- 
lization, and  some  faint  approaches  to  a  manly 
demeanor,  were  needed  in  him  who  presents 
himself  as  an  expounder  and  illustrator  of 
these  new  truths  ? 

How  much  would  it  ask  to  perform  these  ser- 
vices of  American  citizenship  well  and  truly  ! 
What  wise  research,  what  profound  sagacity, 
and  steady  temper  of  soul ! 

Attend  our  court  of  naturalization  a  day  or  two 
in  advance  of  any  coming  election,  and  see  how 
nobly,  with  what  a  terrible  striving  toward  this 
ideal  standard  of  citizenship,  these  requisitions 
are  met !  If  philosophy  has  cast  her  robe,  and 
taken  in  its  stead  a  most  inviting  and  frag- 
mentary apparel  of  foul  linen  and  broken  fus- 
tian ;  if  manhood  and  civilization  have  deserted 
broad  brows  and  intelligent  features,  and  taken 
up  their  abode  in  uncultured  heads  and  carbun- 
cled  faces,  then  is  our  county  court  indeed  the 
porch  and  vestibule  of  truth — the  very  gate  of 
the  republican  heaven. 

What  glorious  elements  of  citizenship  lie  im- 
bedded in  the  rude  nature  of  this  man  !  What 
cunning  and  earnest  sympathies  must  this  Baeo- 
tian  enjoy  with  Plato,  the  founder  of  republics — 
with  Harrington — with  Hampden  that  lived, 
with  Sidney  that  died,  for  the  establishment  of 
free  institutions  !  Something,  assuredly,  of  the 
heroic  valor  that  battled  it  with  the  tyrant  at  the 
defile  of  Thermopolae,  beams  in  his  eye  ;  some- 
thing of  the  manly  fortitude  that  defended 
Breed's  hill,  certainly  betrays  itself  in  the  strong 
lines  of  his  hard  countenance.  What  Hancock 
sacrificed,  what  Franklin  fabled,  what  Jeffer- 
son counselled,  what  triumphant  George  Wash- 
ington achieved,  must  be  known  to  him.  Swifl 
indeed  is  our  new-born  American  gentleman's 
apprehension  of  what  truth  and  duty  require  at 
his  hands  in  this  new  country,  where  his  lot  is 
now  for  ever  cast.  With  a  steady  hand,  and 
well-assured  of  the  solemn  enterprise  in  which 
he  is  embarking  all  that  he  has  of  manhood,  of 
hope,  and  hope  of  happiness,  does  he  aflSx  his 
name — or,  more  likely,  the  dignified  sign- 
manual  of  his  "  mark,"  to  the  oath  that  severs 
him  for  ever  from  all  old-world  allegiances,  and 
binds  him  sternly  to  the  charter  under  which  he 
has  preferred  to  dwell. 

Do  we  despise  the  poor,  the  unlearned,  or 
the  humble,  because  we  hold  this  language  ? 
God  forbid  !  Is  it  our  wish  that  honest-hearted 
manhood,  apparelled,  it  may  be,  in  rags,  and 
held  low  and  cheap  in  the  world's  esteem,  should, 
for  any  reason  whatever,  be  robbed  of  its  suf- 


330 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


^age,  and  made  to  keep  its  peace  in  the  pres- 
ence of  power,  or  wealth,  or  hereditary  scorn  ? 
God  and  all  his  good  angels  forbid  !  But  we 
do  desire,  as  fervently  as  we  can  desire  any- 
thing, that  American  citizenship  shall  not  be 
cheapened  ;  and  that  it  may  not  be,  we  would 
hold  our  countrymen  everywhere  to  a  strict  ac- 
countability, not  only  to  themselves,  but  to  their 
posterity,  for  all  acts  by  which  it  may  be  en- 
dangered or  diminished.  If  no  better  barrier 
can  be  raised  for  its  protection,  let  us  adhere 
religiously  to  the  letter  and  the  truth  of  the 
standard  at  present  established  by  law.  When 
these  ill-omened  candidates  for  investiture  with 
the  citizen's  robe  present  themselves,  let  them 
be  placed  by  the  side  of  the  measure  known  to 
the  polity  of  our  government,  and  let  us  learn 
■whether  they  reach  the  mark  or  tower  above 
it.  Call  into  court,  in  the  full  face  of  day,  on 
every  occasion  of  creating  an  American  citizen, 
some  substantial,  judicious,  and  true  witness, 
who  can  swear,  with  a  conscience  awake  to 
the  service  it  is  engaged  in,  that  the  catechu- 
men there  present  has  "  behaved  himself  for 
five  years  last  past,  as  a  man  of  good  moral 
character,  attached  to  the  principles  of  the  Con- 
stitution of  the  United  States,  and  well  disposed 
to  the  good  order  and  happiness  of  the  same." 

The  testifying  oath,  as  is  well  known,  is  ta- 
ken, in  many  cases,  by  some  staunch  affidavit- 
maker,  for  groups  of  half-a-dozen  or  a  dozen 
applicants  at  a  time.  This  creature  is  gener- 
ally a  miserable  electioneering  agent,  the  tool 
of  some  party  or  other,  and  who  swears  him- 
self through  all  that  is  required  of  him  with 
the  steady  action  of  a  hardened  hackney.  Ex- 
tensive and  discriminating  indeed  would  be  his 
acquaintance  with  men,  if  he  could,  in  all  these 
instances,  furnish  the  nice  testimony  required 
by  law.  Familiar,  in  truth,  to  a  degree  almost 
miraculous,  with  the  actings  and  doings,  the 
noonday  and  midnight  paths  of  obscure,  dark, 
and  unnoticed  creatures,  must  this  steady-swear- 
ing gentleman  be,  to  give  his  "  Amen"  to  the 
clerk's  voice  as  he  recites  this  portion  of  the 
oath. 

But  still  more  marvellous  must  be  his  insight 
into  the  metaphysical  operations  of  the  candi- 
date, and  in  close  communion  for  many  days 
and  many  nights  must  these  two  worthies  have 
dwelt,  ere,  we  should  think,  its  concluding 
sanction  could  be  safely  echoed. 

Ay  !  here  is  a  thick,  dull,  reckless  fellow  of 
a  naturalization  agent,  infinitely  better  read  in 
the  paltriest  party  journal  of  the  day,  than  in 
any  work  of  higher  morality,  who  takes  upon 
himself  to  affirm,  under  the  solemn  requisitions 
of  an  oath  in  open  court,  that  another  thick, 
dull,  reckless  fellow  of  an  applicant  for  natu- 
ralisation is,  forsooth,  "  attached  to  the  principles 
of  the   Constitution  of  the  United  States !   and 

WELL  DISPOSED  TO  THE  GOOD  ORDER  AND  HAP- 
PINESS OF  THE  SAME  !" 

The  whole  picture,  as  it  presents  itself  to 
our  mind,  is  too  broad  and  Hogarthian  to  excite 
any  feelings  but,  on  the  one  hand,  of  hearty 


mirth,  or,  on  the  other,  of  deep  detestation  and 
lament. 

The  individual  who  volunteers  to  testify  to 
these  nice  questions  of  opinion  and  practice,  is, 
ten  chances  to  one,  the  nightly  frequenter  of  a 
common  taproom,  where  his  accurate  estimate 
of  the  character  of  his  friend  has  been  formed 
over  occasional  pots  of  cheap  beer;  and  the 
conviction  of  his  attachment  to  constitutional 
principles,  doubtless  wrought  in  sundry  lucid 
and  logical  discussions  of  the  favorite  text  from 
the  Declaration  of  Independence,  that  all  men 
are  born  free  and  equal,  particularly  the  two 
gentlemen  in  question. 

To  say  of  any  man,  that  he  was,  of  a  truth, 
attached  to  the  noble  principles  of  our  consti- 
tution, and  well  disposed  to  the  good  order  and 
happiness  of  these  United  States,  knowing  tru- 
ly how  much  was  required  for  the  good  order 
and  happiness  of  such  a  government,  would  be 
to  pronounce  his  highest  eulogy.  For  an  Amer- 
ican, born  on  the  soil,  reared  amid  usages  and 
habitudes  that  are  daily  lessons  to  his  young 
understanding,  and  taught  by  all  that  he  sees, 
hears,  or  dreams,  something  of  the  character  of 
the  government  of  which  he  is  a  pledged  sup- 
porter, an  enlightened  good  sense  effects  much, 
if  not  all,  of  what  a  foreigner  must  acquire  by 
patient  research,  by  anxious  questioning,  and 
by  years  of  strenuous  devotion  to  the  spirit  of 
free  institutions.  Let  him  not,  therefore,  take 
upon  himself  lightly  the  pi'oud  character  of 
American  citizen  ;  let  him  not  dare  to  become 
a  legislator  for  twenty-six  sovereignties,  to  sit 
in  the  grand  councils  of  free,  thoughtful  men, 
bearing  a  large  portion  of  the  world's  hopes 
and  fears  upon  them,  without  a  grave  prepara- 
tion for  the  duty  !  Curses,  both  loud  and  deep, 
must  wait  on  him  and  his,  if  by  any  inefficiency 
or  violence  or  mischance  of  theirs,  the  world's 
great  hope  should  be  obscured  or  blighted  :  and 
let  us,  the  native  and  natural  owners  and  de- 
fenders of  the  soil,  take  heed  that  by  no  weak 
or  idle  or  misplaced  philanthropy  of  ours  the 
same  evil  issue  be  not  wrought,  and  that  the 
malediction,  with  double  and  fearful  force,  fall 
not  on  us ! 


EVERY  FOURTH  YEAR. 

It  is  pretty  well  known  all  over  the  world  by 
this  time,  we  imagine,  that  the  American 
people  indulge  themselves  every  four  years 
with  a  national  entertainment  on  a  very  grand 
scale.  The  chief  figures  in  the  divertisement 
are  two  gentlemen  "  natural-born  citizens,  who 
have  attained  to  the  age  of  thirty-five  years, 
and  been  fourteen  years  residents  within  the 
United  States,"  who  kindly  offer  themselves  as 
objects  of  playful  abuse,  elegant  invective, 
satiral  dissection,  and  such  other  intellecttial 
pastimes  as  their  fellow-citizens  may  think 
proper  to  engage  in  at  their  exclusive  risk  and 
expense.   This  leads,  of  course,  to  many  happy 


EVERY  FOURTH  YEAR. 


381 


biographical  sketches  of  the  two  gentlemen, 
many  delicate  investigations  into  varions  parts 
and  passages  of  recent  Jiistory.  It  is  therefore 
now  regarded  as  a  question  pretty  well  settled, 
that  a  candidate  for  the  office  of  president  of 
the  United  States,  must  be  not  only  a  gentleman 
of  eminent  civil  capacity,  but  also  one  holding 
in  perfect  contempt  tlie  ordinary  ease,  comfort, 
and  peace  of  mind,  that  citizens  of  a  less  noble 
temperament  are  supposed  to  seek  after. 

All  the  actions,  traits,  peculiarities,  and  char- 
acteristic features  of  his  past  life,  are  as  mat- 
ter of  course  brought  to  light  and  examined 
with  a  truly  Cuvierian  scrutiny  and  caution ; 
the  shank-bone  of  the  political  mammoth  meets 
with  the  same  attention  as  the  great  spinal 
column  ;  and  in  a  due  state  of  preservation  and 
dissection,  he  its  presented  to  the  public ;  having 
first,  however,  undergone  a  grand  inquest  at 
Baltimore  or  Harrisburgh,  where  ten  score  and 
ninety  coroners  a  side  have  passed  upon  the 
illustrious  subject.  Being  thus  formally  invest- 
ed with  a  candidateship,  our  mammoth  poli- 
tician strides  forth  into  the  field  of  controversy, 
and  playfully  swinging  his  trunk  this  way  and 
that,  and  discharging  its  contents,  covers  the 
land  in  every  quarter  with  huge  epistolary  blots 
and  great  patches  of  financial  or  other  tempo- 
rary disquisition. 

Now  commences  the  strife  of  giants  ;  Anak 
to  Anak,  and  as  in  the  conflict  of  Milton's 
angels,  the  very  foundations  of  the  earth  are 
removed  to  famish  ammunition  for  the  mighty 
battle.  Against  the  person  of  the  one  combat- 
ant is  discharged  a  long  and  fierce  cannonade 
of  cutting  charges  of  recent  misconduct;  while 
the  other  finds  himself  suddenly  smitten,  and 
actually  reeling  under  the  force  of  a  ton-weight 
of  decayed  pamphlets,  whirled  about  his  ears 
by  the  sturdy  arm  of  some  committee  or  junto. 
The  one  is  incontinently  fetched  a  blow  on  the 
ear  with  a  portentuous  file  of  some  forgotten 
"  Advertiser"  or  "  Advocate  ;"  and  the  other, 
as  summarily,  has  all  the  wind  knocked  from  his 
body  politic  by  the  clenched  fist  of  an  old  cam- 
paigner or  veteran  reminiscent. 

On  all  possible  questions  are  the  candidates' 
opinions  demanded;  on  all  possible  questions 
are  answers  given.  Letter  follows  letter  in  the 
columns  of  the  public  journals,  like  peal  on 
peal  through  a  sultry  tropical  sky. 

A  general  uncovering  of  abuses,  corruptions, 
and  enormities  of  either  party,  takes  place,  and 
the  whole  country  is  filled  with  the  outcry  of 
exposed  culprits,  and  the  odor  of  governmental 
gangrenes.  The  land  swarms  with  declarants 
and'affidavit-makers.  The  office-holders  stand 
to  their  arms  !  and  the  office-seekers  set  up  an 
astounding  cry  of  siege  and  onslaught. 

Miraculous  changes  of  opinion  are  announced 
in  the  newspapers,  and  the  names  of  twenty, 
thirty,  or  forty  recusants  to  the  administration 
in  power  are  every  now  and  then  published 
like  so  many  certificates  to  the  efficacy  of  a  new 
pill  or  patent  nostrum,  or  the  hand  of  a  testator 


set  to  some  solemn  instrument,  by  which  the 
whole  power  and  patronage  of  the  government 
are  conveyed  to  the  only  lawful  legatees  and 
jdescendants,  the  party  then  out  of  power.  Can- 
vasses are  taken  in  steamboats  and  stage- 
coaches, at  church-raisings  and  baby-christen- 
ings, by  which  the  fate  of  the  dominant  party 
is  held  to  be  conclusively  settled  by  majorities 
almost  too  great  to  be  recorded  and  accredited. 
The  age  of  hurly-burly  and  universal  oratory 
has  actually  set  in,  and  from  every  conceivable 
vantage-ground,  the  general  deluge  is  loosened 
and  descends  upon  the  people  in  a  long,  copious, 
unintermitting  flood  for  more  than  forty  days 
and  forty  nights. 

A  contest  like  our  recent  general  election  we 
imagine  was  never  seen  nor  known  before  in 
this  or  any  other  country.  Fifteen  millions  of 
people  (for  we  hold  that  wives  and  children 
are  implicated  in  all  the  acts  of  husband  and 
father,  and  do,  in  the  eye  of  law  and  truth, 
whatever  is  done  by  their  principals),  hurrying 
to  and  fro  in  wagons,  stage-coaches,  and  steam- 
ers ;  lengthening  out  in  bannered  processions, 
or  packing  themselves  close  in  dense  auditories 
and  masses  ;  silent  as  death  or  the  calm  mid- 
land sea  under  the  breath  of  some  potent 
speaker,  or  bursting  again  into  shouts  and 
multitudinous  choral  songs  of  political  faith  or 
political  triumph.  What  eye  has  before  seen 
spectacles  like  these  ?  Night  marches  by  torch- 
light ;  pilgrimages  by  land  and  water,  from 
every  point  of  the  compass,  every  whither; 
cities  roaring  like  dens  of  lions,  with  a  conflict 
of  many  voices ;  inoflensive  dorps  and  villages, 
rudely  taken  by  the  collar  as  it  were,  and  rous- 
ed into  states  of  huge  activity  and  immense 
bustle  by  delegations  and  committees  from  more 
stirring  places  ;  to  what  tends  all  this  ?  Simply 
to  the  calm,  clear  enunciation  of  the  popular 
will.  These  were  but  the  preliminary  triumphs 
of  that  peaceful  conqueror  and  arbiter,  the 
ballot-box.  By  startling  auspices  like  these 
was  the  approach  of  that  little  ark  of  our  civil 
faith  proclaimed  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  such  dem- 
onstrations, and  in  a  conflict  stormier  than 
our  history  had  ever  known,  was  it  placed  high 
and  supreme,  above  all  dishonor,  where  God 
grant  it  may  rest  through  all  future  times  ! 

Six  months  or  more  before  the  momentous 
event — to  speak  more  particularly  of  its  inci- 
dents— painters,  printers,  engravers,  were  kept 
busily  at  work  in  furnishing  ensigns  of  the 
most  gorgeous  colors,  placards  of  an  unrivalled 
magnitude  of  text,  and  badges  of  the  greatest 
possible  plausibility  for  house-tops,  fences,  and 
button-holes.  The  whole  intellectual  activity 
— the  literature  of  the  country,  for  the  time, 
seemed  to  take  a  political  form.  Epics  yielded 
to  long  narrative  speeches  ;  elegies  were  super- 
seded  by  dolorous  articles  on  hard  times  in  the 
newspapers;  Tom  Moore  was  forgotten  amid 
the  sweeter  melodies  of  "Tippecanoe  and 
Tyler  too ;"  mathematical  science  was  concen- 
trated on  the  framing  of  election  returns ;  and 


332 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


biography  assumed  the  form  of  very  lifelike 
and  racy  sketches  of  the  characters  of  the  va- 
rious candidates  for  office. 

But  more  particularly  was  great  industry  dis^ 
played  in  the  department  of  song-writing.  So 
melodious  an  era  was  probably  never  before 
known  in  the  whole  history  of  the  world.  The 
ballad  of  old  Bishop  Percy,  the  lay  of  the  Min- 
nessingers,  the  rondeau,  the  ode  of  Pindar  and 
Dryden,  were  completely  eclipsed  by  the  race  of 
improvising  minstrels  that  suddenly  sprung  into 
existence  in  every  quarter  of  the  land.  Im- 
promptu was  the  rule  of  composition,  and  the 
bards  chanted  whatever  the  gods  inspired  on 
the  spur  of  the  occasion.  They  did  not  weary 
themselves  with  preliminary  studies,  with  curry- 
combing  Pegasus,  and  training  and  caparison- 
ing him,  with  great  show  and  outlay  of  labor, 
for  the  Parnassian  journey.  Not  they  !  On 
the  contrary,  they  stood  up  right  manfully  on 
the  first  barrel  that  presented,  and  proceeded 
instantly  to  do  the  task  allotted.  They  did  not 
cudgel  their  skulls  for  fine  conceits  or  high- 
flying fancies ;  the  first  word  that  came  was  as 
good  as  Homer  or  Tyrtaeus,  and  they  chanted 
on,  singing  and  composing  in  a  breath ;  and  if 
what  they  uttered  fell  into  metre,  so  much  the 
better ;  if  not,  a  thousand  or  two  good  bellow- 
ing voices  roared  the  chorus  through  trium- 
phantly, and  bore  it  beyond  criticism. 

Among  other  things  worthy  of  note,  the  prin- 
ciple of  association  seemed  during  the  recent 
canvass  to  have  suddenly  acquired  an  astonishing 
force.  The  ordinary  political  gatherings  and  com- 
mittees could  not  satisfy  the  gregarious  propen- 
sity. Every  possible  kind  of  club  was  formed. 
A  fraternal,  a  family  feeling  sprung  up  among 
politicians,  and  they  were  no  longer  to  be  seen 
singly,  but  always  in  troops  and  herds  of  hun- 
dreds or  thousands.  Among  these,  visits  were 
passed  in  a  truly  excellent  social  spirit ;  New 
York  making  a  journey  of  a  hundred  miles  to 
interchange  salutations  with  Dutchess  county ; 
and  gentlemen  assembling  under  the  delicate 
designation  of  "  Butt-Enders''  in  Brooklyn  or 
Williamsburgh,  exposing  their  exquisite  per- 
sons to  the  fatigues  of  a  ride  of  twenty  miles  or 
more  to  their  brethren  on  the  island,  the  "  Mol- 
ly-hogs" of  Patchogue. 

The  democratic  tendency  of  the  times  was 
humorously  betrayed  in  the  ornithological  and 
other  designations  which  these  clubs,  in  their 
baptismal  fervor,  saw  fit  to  take  to  themselves. 
Leaving  the  national  bird,  the  eagle  (who  may 
be  supposed  to  have  not  a  few  aristocratic  and 
monarchical  qualities),  in  the  clear  upper  air, 
they  assumed,  as  the  most  hideous  emblem  they 
could  fix  upon,  the  great,  stupid  staring  owl, 
the  Strix  Cunicularia^  or  burrowing  owl  of 
Bonaparte,  and  under  his  characteristic  auspi- 
ces, filled  the  night  with  their  dreadful  screech- 
es and  uproar.  Rivalling  these  in  happiness 
of  title  were  the  gentlemen  of  the  hycena  club, 
who  gave  the  world  to  understand,  by  this  des- 
ignation, that  the  fury  and  savageness  of  their 
partisanship  were  by  no  means  to  be  called  in 


question.  Then  there  were  the  civilized  and 
Christian  worthies,  who,  laboring  untfer  a  ter- 
rible propensity  to  employ  their  lungs,  and  who, 
taking  pleasure  in  affrighting  quiet  citizens  by 
the  strength  of  their  clamors,  carried  on  their 
trade  under  the  style  and  appellation  of  Roar- 
ers. To  these  are  to  be  added  Unionists, 
Faugh-Ballagh  boys,  the  political  hussars  of  the 
rank  and  file,  Tips,  North-benders,  and  a  legion 
more  of  rare,  curious,  and  felicitous  description. 
For  a  time  the  community  seemed  to  have 
lapsed  into  the  barbarism  of  the  original  inheri- 
tors of  the  soil,  and  to  be  striving  to  restore, 
for  a  season,  the  old  Indian  divisions  into  tribes 
of  every  possible,  bloody,  and  ferocious  desig- 
nation. Some  even  had  their  war-whoop  in 
true  Indian  style,  and  could  give  it  with  a  truth 
and  energy  which  satisfied  all  Al^ithin  hearing, 
of  their  genuine  claim  to  the  savage  and  barba- 
rian character  they  had  playfully  assumed. 
Others,  as  we  have  elsewhere  hinted,  chanted 
heathen  and  outlandish  ditties,  with  an  effect, 
which  a  Mohawk  or  Seminole  melodist  might 
have  pined  to  rival. 

Let  no  man  suppose,  from  this  light  and 
cheerful  view  of  the  subject,  that  we  regard 
the  recent  contest  with  any  other  feelings  than 
such  as  deep  reverence  and  respectful  con- 
sideration prompt.  We  look  upon  a  general 
election  like  that  through  which  we  have  just 
passed,  as  the  great  act  of  national  supremacy. 
We  listen  to  its  verdict  as  to  the  voice  of  a  na- 
tion by  no  means  feeble,  by  no  means  dishonor- 
ed, by  no  means  impaired  or  cast  down.  We 
take  heed  of  it  as  the  high  periodical  trial  of 
the  constitutional  strength  and  the  popular  in- 
telligence. No  event  is — no  event  can  be  to 
us,  and  to  all  Americans,  nor  in  truth,  rightly 
understood,  to  all  the  world,  of  graver  import 
than  this.  Here  is  the  earthquake  incident  to 
your  boasted  foundations ;  the  quadrennial 
spasm  that  shall  test  the  sinew  and  heart  of 
your  apparent  vigor.  Let  us  then,  we  implore 
you,  so  gird  ourselves  as  to  approach  these 
grand  recurring  incidents  with  increased  hope 
and  faith,  with  increased  means  of  encounter 
and  triumph.  From  each  conflict  with  this 
eventful  occasion,  let  us  come  forth  unbroken 
in  strength,  by  all  means  ;  schooled,  if  it  may 
be,  how  to  avoid  certain  errors  in  its  conduct, 
certain  lapses  from  the  spirit  that  should  be 
with  us  before  we  enter  upon  it,  and  during  its 
continuance.  If  possible,  let  the  people,  the 
mass  and  general  people,  be  so  elevated  as  not 
to  need  appeals  to  the  eye  or  the  appetite ;  nor 
to  require  enticing  emblems  or  taking  devices 
to  fix  their  faith  in  this  party  or  that.  Let  us 
bring  our  political  strifes  more  and  more  to  the 
broad  tests  of  truth  ;  to  expositions  of  principle, 
and  to  appeals  to  the  sound  hearts  of  enlighten- 
ed thinkers.  This  can  not  be  done  at  once.  It 
can  not  be  effected  to-day  nor  to-morrow. 

We  do  not  take  it  upon  ourselves  to  say  that 
all  emblems  and  devices  are  to  be  condemned 
and  denounced  as  mere  springs  and  impostures. 
Good  hearts  and  true  have  been  fired,  at  memor- 


\ 


EVERY  FOURTH  YEAR. 


333 


able  times,  to  noble  actions,  by  the  sight  of 
stars,  or  crescents,  or  meteors,  floating  over 
them  ;  by  the  hovering  wings  of  emblematical 
eagles,  or  the  bronzed  rage  of  visionary  lions. 

By  the  peculiar  power  of  the  imagination, 
such  symbols  are  made  to  represent,  in  heroic 
brevity,  the  faith,  the  valor,  the  achievements, 
the  whole  glowing  features  of  one's  native 
land.  With  gathered  force,  all  that  she  has 
done,  perilled,  or  suffered,  enters  his  warm 
heart,  and  stimulates  him  to  put  forth  the  best 
of  his  strength  and  manhood.  Symbols  are  there- 
fore needed,  in  a  peculiar  crisis,  where  much  is 
to  be  wrought  at  the  instant,  or  where  the  mind 
requires  to  be  raised  into  a  condition  of  more 
than  ordinary  intensity  and  force.  But  civil  gov- 
ernment is  no  such  aflfair ;  that  is,  in  a  great 
measure,  a  matter  of  plain  sense  and  deliberate 
procedure.  Calm  and  unimpassioned  understand- 
ings are  required  to  construe  constitutions,  to 
examine  and  discuss  questions  of  administra- 
tion, and  to  scrutinize  and  compare  the  char- 
acters of  candidates  for  office.  No  heroic  ar- 
dor is  needed  in  the  performance  of  these  plain 
duties.  There  is  no  sudden,  instantaneous  ef- 
fect to  be  produced,  which  calls  for  direct,  daz- 
zling appeals  to  the  eye  or  the  ear.  Time  does 
not  press ;  months  may  be  taken  to  form  opin- 
ions, and  months  more  to  act  upon  them.  The 
enemy  does  not  stand  before  you  to  be  cut 
down  or  borne  over  by  one  sweep  of  sabres,  or 
a  single  charge  of  cavalry.  He  is  to  be  reach- 
ed at  a  great  distance  and  by  circuitous  ap- 
proaches. He  is  to  be  conquered  by  delay, 
which  matures  opinion;  and  to  be  wrought 
upon  by  peaceful  spells,  speaking  to  him,  rea- 
soning with  him  from  the  little  aulic  chamber 
of  the  ballot. 

It  is  fair  matter  of  question  whether  too 
much  is  not  staked  on  this  single  cast  for  the 
presidency. 

Was  it  intended  by  the  framers  of  our  con- 
stitution that  such  extraordinary  overwhelming 
prominence  should  be  given  to  the  executive 
office  ?  That  it  should  be  made  the  object  of 
intense  hope,  of  agonizing  apprehension,  as  it 
now  is  ?  On  the  contrary,  if  we  read  aright 
the  policy  of  the  founders  of  this  government, 
it  was  meant  that  the  whole  federal  administra- 
tion should  advance  in  a  line,  occupying  an 
equal  share  of  the  public  jealousy  and  the 
popular  regards.  Events  have  in  some  degree 
wrested  this  purpose  aside  ;  the  personal  char- 
acter of  some  of  our  chief  magistrates,  and  in 
other  cases,  the  incidents  of  their  time,  have 
caused  the  general  eye  to  be  fixed  with  too 
great  anxiety  on  this  single  office,  and  to  asso- 
ciate with  its  doings  the  whole  conduct  of 
government.  The  president  of  the  United 
States  is  not,  should  not  be  the  government  of  the 
United  States.  It  is  folly  and  madness  so  to  re- 
gard him  ;  it  is  treason  and  sacrilege  for  him  so 
to  regard  himself.  On  this  point  the  public  mind 
has  taken  a  false  bias  for  several  years  past, 


and  with  monomaniac  violence  to  truth,  has 
wrought  innumerable  evils  by  neglecting  the 
claims  of  the  other  elements  of  government  on 
their  attention.  Standing  singly  as  he  does, 
the  president  will  at  all  times  attract  a  large 
share  of  observation  and  notice  ;  but  alone,  un- 
supported or  discountenanced  by  other  authori- 
ties, his  power  for  evil  is  comparatively  slight 
and  superficial.  He  can  cast  arrows  of  desola- 
tion into  the  land ;  but  these  failing,  the  nerve 
that  impels  them  home  is  utterly  wanting,  and 
they  fall  harmless  in  the  midst  of  the  people. 
As  recently  administered  and  regarded,  the 
presidential  arm  is  clothed  with  thunder,  and 
whatever  bolt  is  shot  forth  rattles  and  blazes 
through  the  whole  length  of  the  land,  scatter- 
ing dismay,  confusion,  and  ruin.  In  a  tranquil 
and  regulated  view  of  this  office,  these  things 
could  not  be. 

The  presidency  of  these  United  States  is  cer- 
tainly a  glittering  mark ;  a  grand  epoch  in  any 
man's  career  to  become  an  historical  person- 
age, in  the  same  noble  line  with  Washington 
and  Adams.  But  is  not  the  ambition  of  our 
greatest  intellects  too  much  directed  to  this 
point  ?  Is  not  this  office  regarded  too  much  as 
the  only  supreme  station  of  honor  and  renown  ? 
To  be  chief  magistrate  of  twenty-six  sovereign 
states  is  a  noble  pre-eminence ;  but  is  it  nothing 
to  be  chief  Thinker,  chief  Teacher,  or  chief 
Poet  of  the  same  union  ?  Are  arms  and  civil 
power  to  wrest  away  for  ever,  from  majestic 
learning,  from  passionate  truth,  from  climbing 
philosophy,  the  crown  and  laurels  of  the  earth  ? 
We  trust  not.  The  sword  protects,  the  trun- 
cheon sustains  our  chartered  privileges  as  com- 
munities ;  but  deeper  into  the  nature  of  man, 
and  with  a  more  potent  and  fruitful  energy, 
does  the  voice  of  the  uninaugurated  thinker 
pierce.  He  labors  at  the  foundations  of  hu- 
manity ;  and  there  discovers  hope  and  6harity, 
fancy  full  of  earnest  dreams  that  foreshadow 
truth,  faith  in  man,  reverence,  and  divine  aspi- 
rations, without  which  all  government  and  so- 
cial administration  would  straightway  crumble 
into  chaos  and  barbarous  disorder. 

There  are  other  pinnacles  besides  the  capi- 
tolian,  which  we  desire  to  see  occupied.  Office 
and  power  dazzle  the  world  for  a  season,  and 
shake  it  with  their  loud  chariot  wheels ;  but 
they  pass  away,  and  the  still  small  voice  of  the 
printed  thought,  then  unheeded,  breaks  forth 
on  the  after  age  with  an  almost  supernatural 
clearness  and  force  of  utterance.  The  states- 
man is  pursued  by  shouting  and  tumultuous 
multitudes ;  while  the  poor  scholar  (the  mas- 
ter and  tyrant  of  his  destiny)  is  strolling  in 
some  far-oflf  silent  field  with  a  single  friend. 
The  next  generation,  perhaps  the  very  next 
year,  right  comes  into  possession  of  his  own, 
and  while  thousands  hang  on  every  breath  of 
the  poet,  the  poor  politician  is  gone  into  the 
the  land  of  forgetfulness,  accompanied  only  by 
the  shadow  of  his  renown. 


3^ 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURtJS. 


THE  FIELD  DEATH. 

Little  Tom  Hubble  was  a  miserable  wretch, 
a  poor,  beggarly  scamp,  and  might  as  well  have 
been,  for  all  the  provision  this  world  made  for  him 
in  the  way  of  food,  raiment,  and  lodging,  a  little 
shivering  cherub  on  one  of  the  tombstones,  in 
the  Gowannus  churchyard.  It  is  true,  Tom  en- 
joyed the  reputation  of  living  with  a  flourishing 
old  grandfather,  who  thought  all  the  world  of 
Tom,  and  who  was  supposed  to  do  nothing  else 
all  day  but  contrive  projects  how  he  should  live 
on  pudding  and  poultry,  be  clad  in  fine  linen" 
and  exquisite  broadcloth,  and  lie  down  in  soft 
beds,  with  the  echo  of  pleasant  stories,  narra- 
ted for  his  special  benefit,  lingering  in  his  ear 
to  sooth  his  slumbers.  Tom,  however,  who 
had  a  way  of  seeing  things  that  was  peculiar  to 
himself,  was  pretty  well  convinced  that  what 
he  discovered  regularly,  three  times  a  day,  on 
a  little  pine  table  in  the  corner  of  a  small  back 
kitchen,  was  a  veritable  dish  of  black  scraps  of 
bread,  with  two  or  three  dry  beans  straggling 
about  among  them  ;  that  the  apparel  in  which 
lie  was  allowed  to  endue  his  paltry  limbs  when- 
ever he  went  abroad,  was,  to  be  sure,  a  sort  of 
gala  dress,  made  up  of  motley  fragments  of  the 
old  gentleman's  cast-off  garments,  in  various 
stages  of  antiquity  and  decay — but  that  his  ac- 
tual, in-door,  daily  garments,  consisted  of  a  lit- 
tle more  than  a  small  carter's  frock,  a  straw 
hat  in  a  state  of  decline,  and  a  pair  of  high 
boots  that  served  for  stockings,  pantaloons,  and 
leggins. 

Besides  all  this,  Tom  was  either  so  wonder- 
fully acute  or  so  miserably  stupid,  as  to  discern  in 
the  couch  on  which  these  same  limbs,  so  ignomin- 
iously  treated  in  broad  day,  were  stretched  at 
night,  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  pallet  of 
hard  straw,  in  a  little  cockloft,  with  a  bag  of 
musty  bran  by  way  of  a  pillow. 

Notwithstanding  all  these  little  circumstan- 
ces, Tom's  grandfather  was  accounted  and  held 
by  all  Gowannus  to  be  a  large-souled,  spirited  old 
gentleman,  who  knew  what  became  his  dignity  as 
the  oldest  inhabitant  and  freeholder  of  that  re- 
spectable village  as  well  as  any  man,  although 
he  did  indulge  in  one  or  two  trifling  eccentrici- 
ties, which,  if  they  had  been  known  to  the  said 
townspeople,  might  have  materially  abated  their 
respect;  one  of  which  was,  that  the  old  gentle- 
man professed  to  obtain  his  household  supplies 
from  sundry  friends  of  his  who  were  in  that  line 
of  business  in  town,  and  who  chose  to  show  the 
intensity  of  their  aflfection  for  him  in  this  sub- 
stantial way  ;  whereas,  the  truth  was,  and  this 
the  old  gentleman  knew  perfectly  well,  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  stealing  over  to  the  city  when  he 
would  be  least  missed,  and  purchasing,  at  very 
low  rates  and  from  very  low  traders,  cheap  ar- 
ticles in  a  somewhat  decayed  and  questionable 
state  of  preservation.  The  other  singularity 
which  tended  to  blind  the  sagacious  burghers, 
was  a  habit  of  his  (as  in  the  case  of  poor  Tom), 
of  never  presenting  himself  in  public  unless  in 
full  costume,  and  of  a  very  picturesque  and  im- 


posing character ;  consisting  of  a  venerable 
white  broadbrim,  a  reverend,  wide-skirted,  blue 
coat,  with  silver  buttons,  smallclothes  of  an  ex- 
cellent quality,  polished  top-boots,  and  an  em- 
phatic cane,  with  a  head  as  white  and  bald  as 
that  of  the  old  grandfather  himself. 

Although  it  will  be  seen  from  this  that  the 
astute  commonalty  and  gentry  of  Gowannus 
were  in  the  way  of  being  slightly  deluded  and 
overreached,  yet  was  Tom  Hubble  inclined  to 
look  upon  it  all  as  a  pleasant  little  entertain- 
ment, with  undress  rehearsals  in  the  old  house, 
and  performances  in  the  open  air — with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  spare  diet,  and  that  he  thought 
hadn't  the  slightest  perceptible  flavor  of  humor 
in  it,  but,  on  the  contrarj',  was  to  be  held  as 
extremely  dull,  barren,  and  unsatisfactory. 

With  some  such  reflections  passing  through 
his  mind,  Tom  sat  one  morning  at  his  little 
pine  table,  endeavoring  to  enliven  his  diy  meal 
with  a  few  grains  of  salt  that  he  had  brought 
in  his  pocket  from  an  old  fisherman  acquaintance 
of  his,  upon  his  scattered  beans,  when  he  was 
suddenly  roused  by  the  old  gentleman's  shout- 
ing in  his  ear,  in  a  very  obstreperous  voice  : — 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  about,  boy  ! — put 
ting  salt  on  your  beans  ?" 

"  Yes,  this  is  salt — I  believe,"  said  Tom, 
timidly. 

"  Are  j'ou  sure  it's  salt — you  young  rascal  ?" 
roared  the  old  gentleman.  "  Isn't  it  rock-crj-stal 
powdered,  or  white  sand,  or  something  of  that 
sort  ?  Come,  you  had  better  make  it  out  one 
of  these  two." 

"  It's  salt — nothing  but  common  table-salt," 
reiterated  poor  Tom  Hubble. 

"  Nothing  but  common  table-salt  ! — you 
thriftless  young  vagabond ;  you  talk  of  it  as 
familiarly  as  if  you  had  seen  it  every  day  of 
your  life.  You'll  be  the  ruin  of  me  yet,  with 
your  extravagant  ways — I  know  you  will !" 

"  No,  I  won't,  grandfather,"  said  Tom,  with 
some  slight  hesitation,  as  if  the  boldness  of  the 
old  man's  prediction  had  made  him  a  partial 
believer  in  what  he  propounded. 

"  Yes,  you  will — don't  tell  me  you  won't," 
said  the  cross-grained  old  gentleman.  "  None 
of  your  won'ts,  and  shan'ts,  and  don'ts,  and 
mustn'ts,  with  me.  Your  day's  over  in  this 
house,  so  you  may  get  out  as  soon  as  you 
choose." 

Tom  stole  a  glance  at  his  grandfather,  and 
then  shivered  a  little;  then  he  took  up  a  crust 
in  his  fingers,  shivered  a  little  more,  dropped 
his  crust,  and  stole  another  glance;  scarcely 
knowing  where  he  was,  or  what  he  Avas  doing. 

"  I  say  you  may  get  out  of  the  house  !"  shout- 
ed the  grandfather.  "  Isn't  that  plain  Saxon 
English  ?  Get  you  gone ;  you  have  devoured 
my  substance  long  enough  !" 

Without  allowing  Tom  any  great  length  of 
time  to  ponder  on  the  true  intei-pretation  to  be 
given  to  these  passages,  the  old  man  stepped 
forward,  kicked  over  the  little  pine  table,  scat- 
tering the  contents  of  the  dish  far  and  wide 
over  the  floor ;  seized  Tom  himself  by  the  col- 


THE  FIELD  DEATH. 


335 


lar,  and  dragging  him  throngli  the  outer  room, 
pushed  him  swiftly  into  the  street.  He  then 
rapidly  closed  the  door,  turned  a  bolt,  and  took 
his  station  at  a  window  which  looked  out  upon 
poor  Tom  Hubble,  and  watched  the  further 
pleasure  of  that  forlorn  youth.  Poor  Tom's 
first  motion,  on  finding  himself  landed  in  the 
street,  was  to  turn  about  and  make  a  survey  of 
the  edifice,  from  which  it  was  his  impression, 
although  he  was  not  sure  of  it,  he  had  just  been 
summarily  ejected.  True  enough,  there  it  stood, 
the  same  dilapidated,  discolored  old  building, 
with  which  he  had  been  familiar  so  many  years. 
Yes,  and  there  in  the  old  window  was  displayed 
a  full-length  illustration  that  satisfied  him  his 
construction  of  the  text  could  not  be  far  amiss. 
The  truth,  then,  was,  he  had  been  turned  out 
of  his  grandfather's  house  in  open  day,  and  there 
stood  his  grandfather,  muttering  curses,  and 
raising  his  hands  to  heaven  in  imprecations  of 
trouble  and  disaster  upon  his  poor,  weak,  child- 
ish head  ;  and  what  should  he  do  ? 

Tom's  first  inclination  was  to  go  and  drown 
himself  in  a  dreary  pool,  that  stood  in  a  cluster 
of  hemlocks,  beyond  the  hill ;  then  he  thought 
he  would  like  to  fly  with  the  wind  into  remote 
places,  deserts,  and  wildernesses,  where  he 
should  be  all  alone,  and  never  see  again  the 
cruel  face  of  that  old  grandsire  of  his.  He  end- 
ed by  rambling  away,  like  one  bewildered,  he 
knew  not  whither,  only  getting  farther  and  far- 
ther from  the  village  at  each  step,  and  sadden- 
ing as  he  walked.  Now  and  then  he  paused  a 
moment,  thinking  that  he  had  better  go  back, 
and  falling  on  his  knees  before  the  old  man,  beg 
his  forgiveness  with  clasped  hands  and  weep- 
ing eyes — he  knew  not  for  what — and  find  shel- 
ter once  more  under  the  old  roof,  and  try  to  be 
happy  in  spite  of  cares,  and  crosses,  and  spare 
meals ;  but  as  he  gained  the  brow  of  the  up- 
land, the  good  resolution  strengthening  mo- 
mently within  him,  he  ventured  to  look  back  at 
the  old  homestead  (the  bower  of  his  boyhood), 
and  there  he  discovered,  through  tears  that  al- 
most blinded  him,  his  old  grandfather  still  stand- 
ing, rigid  as  a  statue,  in  the  window,  his  bald 
head  uncovered,  and  his  hands  uplifted  in  the 
same  fixed  attitude  of  malediction  and  menace. 
This  decided  him,  and  he  wandered  on.  He 
reached  a  sunny  little  meadow  beyond  the  brow, 
and  there  he  sat  down,  and,  in  spite  of  his  sor- 
rows, could  not  fail  to  take  note  of  the  little 
creatures  at  his  feet ;  in  truth,  never  were  they 
more  dear  to  Tom  than  now  that  he  was  desert- 
ed of  all  the  world.  The  high-vaulting  grass- 
hopper was  foremost,  cutting  all  sorts  of  capers 
in  the  air ;  the  solemn  cricket  was  faring  to  and 
fro  in  his  black  cloak,  like  a  friar  full  of  er- 
rands, through  all  his  little  parish  of  greenland  ; 
toads — yes,  toads,  as  airy  and  fantastic  as 
clowns  at  the  circus,  were  caprioling  about  in 
their  spotted  jackets  ;  and  large  bullfrogs, 
emerging  from  the  spring,  came  shambling  up 
the  slope,  and  with  their  great  eyes  stared  at 
poor  Tom,  as  if  they  felt  very  anxious  to  know 
what  it  was  that  troubled  him. 


Thus  he  straggled  about  all  day,  in  a  kind  of 
wild  dream,  made  up  partly  of  gloomy  images 
of  the  village  life  he  had  fled,  and  partly  of 
pleasanter  fancies  drawn  from  what  was  about 
him.  His  little  heart  warmed  toward  every 
fair  object  that  he  saw,  and  he  scarcely  passed 
a  tree  greener  than  others  without  feeling  what 
happiness  there  was  in  this  world  ;  and  then, 
again,  as  the  shadow  of  old  sorrows  fell  upon 
him,  it  grew  as  cold  and  dreary  as  a  stone. 
Night  was  coming  on  fast ;  Tom  had  had  no 
food  all  that  day;  but  shelter  from  the  chill  air 
and  the  bleak  winds  he  must  have,  and  accord- 
ingly, after  due  thought  and  pondering,  he  made 
his  way  with  some  difficulty  into  a  piece  of  dark 
woods,  far  off"  to  the  southeast ;  and,  embower- 
ing himself  in  a  thick  shade  of  bushes,  he  sought 
rest  for  his  little,  weary  limbs. 

All  that  night  he  lay  in  the  wood,  slumbering 
a  little  at  times,  and  then  starting  up  at  sight 
of  strange  objects  that  haunted  his  dreams ;  in 
truth  the  whole  region.seemed,  to  fanciful  little 
Tom,  to  be  full  of  all  sorts  of  wonderful  spec- 
tacles and  singular  noises.  At  one  time  he 
thought  he  heard  a  lion's  roar,  away  off"  in  a 
dismal  corner  that  he  recollected  passmg,  and 
which,  now  that  he  bethought  himself,  might 
have  been  a  veritable  lion's  lair;  and  then  he 
imagined  that  he  discovered  up  in  the  twilight 
gloom  of  the  tree-tops,  great  birds  of  evil  omen 
brooding  and  hovering  about,  and  ready  to 
pounce  on  him  with  their  hungry  talons.  About 
midnight,  however,  he  was  wakened  by  steps 
passing  lightly  by,  and  looking  forth  from  his 
covert,  he  discovered  a  coffin  borne  on  poles  by 
two  men,  who  seemed  dejected  as  he  could 
gather  from  their  bowed  heads  and  slow  steps, 
and  to  be  bearing  a  bui-den  that  was  heavy  to 
their  hearts,  although  light  enough  it  might  be 
to  their  mere  manly  strength.  They  seemed, 
too,  to  have  come  from  a  great  distance,  and  to 
have  had  a  gloomy  midnight  march  upon  the 
highwaj',  for  the  coffin  was  covered  with  dust, 
and  wet  with  dew. 

"  This  poor  child  is  dead,"  said  one  of  them, 
as  they  passed,  "  and  thanks  to  God  for  it  f 
Her  dwelling-place  was  full  of  strifes,  and 
gloom,  and  sadness  ;  but  her  grave  shall  be,  I 
promise  you,  one  after  her  own  heart !" 

"  Do  you  think  we  are  pursued  ?"  asked  the 
other. 

"Not  at  all;  not  at  all!"  he  answered 
promptly.  "  He  dare  not  do  that !  it  would  be 
too  great  a  peril  even  for  him  to  meet  a  brother 
in  this  lone  wood,  by  the  side  of  her  coffin." 

"  Did  she  die,  then,  of  a  broken  heart,  as 
people  say  ?  are  5'ou  sure  of  that  ?" 

"  Come  with  me  to-morrow,  after  she  is  laid 
safely  in  the  earth,"  he  answered,  "  and  I  will 
show  you  the  little  window  out  of  which  the 
poor  girl  used  to  lean  when  it  was  breaking, 
and  I'll  point  to  the  grass  underneath  it,  where 
her  warm  young  tears  (God  make  them  fruitful 
of  remorse  to  him  !)  fell,  and  ask  you  whether 
it  is  not  greener,  and  taller,  and  darker  too, 
than  any  that   grows  near  the  spot."    The 


336 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


young  man  laid  down  his  end  of  the  bier  for  a 
moment,  turned  his  back  upon  his  companion, 
and  wrung  his  hands  convulsively  together.  It 
was  for  a  moment  only,  and  resuming  his  bur- 
den they  hurried  on. 

This  seemed  to  be  a  timely  lesson  preached 
to  poor  little  Tom,  and  one  that  taught  him 
how,  when  the  great  world  is  slumbering  in 
cities  and  hamlets,  when  church-towers,  and 
mighty  squares  and  thoroughfares  are  asleep, 
there  is  sometimes  a  deep,  restless  sadness  in 
the  heart  of  obscure  places,  and  that  men  are 
tossed,  and  vexed,  and  tormented  with  wrongs 
that  would  keep  the  world  awake,  if  it  but 
knew  of  them. 

Tom  felt  that  he  was  not  alone,  even  in  that 
dark  thicket — which  he  had  deemed  impervious 
to  the  track  of  man — but  that  other  hearts 
were  bleeding  with  his,  and  that  time  was 
bringing  on  the  funeral  company,  and  the  train 
of  mourners  as  well  there  as  he  could  in  the 
open  fields  in  broad  day,  or  through  the  village- 
street  on  sabbath  afternoons. 

When  day  dawned  it  wakened  through  the 
wood  many  cheerful  melodies,  that  had  slept 
there  all  night  long,  and  which,  had  they  but 
spoken  in  the  darkness  and  gloom,  would  have 
sounded  like  angels'  voices  to  the  poor  boy ;  but ! 
were  now  in  the  broad  day  no  comfort  whatever  | 
to  him.  I 

He  crept  forth  from  his  lodging  as  cheerless  ; 
as  child  well  could  be ;  nothing  moving  in  his 
mind  but  a  vague  desire  of  returning  to  the 
village,  and  making  good  the  name  he  must 
have  lost  by  his  flight,  by  casting  himself  at 
the  very  door-stone  of  his  stern  old  grandfather, 
and  imploring  him  to  come  forth  and  take  his 
life,  for  charity's  sake.  With  this  sharp 
anguish  at  his  heart,  the  boy  stood  on  the  brow 
above  Gowannus,  looking  at  times  to  the  great 
city  beyond  the  river,  and  wondering  if  in  all 
its  mighty  throng  there  was  one  poor  wretch  a? 
sad,  as  hungered,  and  disconsolate  as  he. 

By  slow,  uncertain,  timorous  steps,  he  wound 
his  way  down  the  slope,  and  found  himself,  now 
that  the  morning  had  grown  into  a  full  bright 
day,  standing  in  an  open  field  or  common  in  the 
very  centre  of  of  the  village. 

Tom's  return,  quiet  and  sad  as  it  was,  seem- 
ed to  set  the  little  place  beside  itself;  for  he 
had  no  sooner  planted  a  foot  on  the  village 
ground  than  the  whole  region  was  in  an  uproar. 
Heads  were  thrust  from  windows,  moping  and 
mowing  and  making  faces  of  disdain  and  anger 
at  him  ;  fingers  were  pointed  from  every  direc- 
tion toward  his  unhappy  person,  and  even  the 
village  children,  who  should  have  felt  for  little 
Tom's  cares  and  troubles  as  if  they  had  been 
their  own,  formed  themselves  into  a  mob  and 
commenced  pelting  him  at  a  distance,  with 
stones  and  dirt. 

Tom  was  no  saint,  at  least  no  Saint  Stephen, 
to  submit  meekly  to  this  species  of  martyrdom, 
and  might  have  avenged  himself  to  his  heart's 
content  on  this  detachment  of  his  enemies,  had 


not  his  turning  about  to  do  so,  always  produced 
a  very  sudden  and  ignominious  dispersion  of 
the  small  gentry,  who  fled  pell-mell,  crying  out 
that  Tom — ugly  Tom  was  after  them.  To  be 
sure  there*  was  a  single  cheerful  ray  in  this 
gloomy  hour  of  Tom's  trial,  for  as  he  stood,  the 
centre  of  all  these  angry  eyes  and  this  shower 
of  contumely,  a  poor  old  fisherman,  a  sort  of 
crony  of  his,  came  up  and  accosted  him  with  an 
open  hand,  but  having  business  somewhere  or 
other  not  to  be  neglected,  he  was  compelled  to 
hurry  away,  and  to  leave  the  little  suflerer  alone, 
with  the  cold  blood  rippling  about  his  heart, 
like  a  tide  at  sea. 

After  a  while  the  fierce  eyes  were  drawn  in, 
the  admonitory  heads  ceased  to  wag,  and  the 
school-bell  called  the  little  scholars  away,  and 
Tom,  weary  and  sad,  and  riveted  as  it  were  to 
the  spot,  sat  down  on  a  stone,  a  sort  of  horse- 
block, and  tried  to  think  over  the  unlucky 
chances  of  the  day,  and  to  sound  his  own  little 
heart  to  learn  from  it  how  he  had  borne  him- 
self in  his  troubles ;  whether  as  a  true-hearted 
noble  boy,  or  as  a  sad  fear-naught  and  scape- 
gallows.  He  found  nothing  there  that  reproach- 
ed him  very  sharply ;  and  then  he  looked  about 
him  to  see  whether  natural  objects,  such  as  the 
sky,  the  earth,  and  the  great  bay,  gave  note  of 
any  sudden  change,  which  might  have  driven 
men  out  of  their  wits,  to  treat  him  thus. 

The  earth  seemed  as  green  and  fresh  as  ever ; 
the  little  knolls  looked  as  cheerful,  and  the 
little  nooks  and  valleys  as  calm  and  shady. 
The  sky  had  certainly  lost  none  of  its  bright- 
ness, but  stood  there  as  blue,  as  serene,  and 
immovable,  as  it  did  the  first  time  he  looked  up 
to  it ;  and  there  lay  the  glorious  bay,  as  proud, 
as  hospitable,  as  inviting  to  great  ships,  as  on 
the  first  day  it  smiled  on  the  Half-moon  of 
Heinrich  Hudson.  He  did  not  know  that  the 
old  man  had  caused  the  town  to  believe  how 
that  vile  oflf-shoot  of  his,  Tom  Hubble,  had 
smitten  him,  his  old  grandsire,  and  spat  upon 
him,  and  fled  from  him  with  curses  and  fiendish 
looks,  like  a  little  wretch  as  he  was.  This 
Tom  did  not  know,  and  so  he  sat  there  an 
image  of  silent  despair,  in  the  midst  of  all  the 
life  and  bustle  of  noonday,  plunged  in  deep 
thought;  when  a  tall  figure,  unobserved  by 
him,  glided  from  an  old  dwelling  behind,  and 
stealing  on  him  unawares,  its  arm  was  stretch- 
ed over  his  shoulder,  and  ere  he  could  do  more 
than  discover,  in  the  shadow  that  fell  before 
him,  one  which  he  knew,  from  its  often  before 
having  stealthily  marred  his  boyish  sports  and 
pleasures — a  knife  had  struck  deep  into  his  un- 
quiet little  heart,  and  given  it  rest  at  once  and 
forever.  Unooticed  by  any,  the  figure  glided 
back. 

Tom's  head  declined  upon  his  knees  without 
a  gasp  or  groan ;  and  in  that  posture  the  poor 
boy's  corpse  remained  through  two  hours  o( 
high  noon,  neglected  by  all,  and  unapproached. 
The  grandfather  had  so  darkened  the  boy's 
character,  that  not  a  soul  would  draw  near  to 


THE  FIELD  DEATH. 


337 


the  stone  where  he  had  been  sitting  quite  as 
desolate,  but  not  as  haughty  and  vindictive,  as 
the  sea-eagle  on  his  rock. 

At  length,  as  night  began  to  fall,  and  the 
business  of  the  day  to  pause,  attention  was 
again  turned  toward  the  wicked  boy;  as  he 
was  watched  for  a  long  time,  and  not  discover- 
ed to  stir  limb  or  muscle,  censures  of  his  obsti- 
nacy and  dreadful  temper  grew  louder  and 
louder,  until  the  whole  village  was  fairly  em- 
barked in  a  swelling  chorus  of  invective  and 
indignation. 

But  when  some  one,  more  compassionate  or 
observant  than  others,  suggested  that  he  might 
be  dead  of  very  shame  and  grief,  or  perhaps  of 
hunger,  the  village  was  perfectly  astounded, 
and  lifting  up  its  pious  hands,  cried  out  that  he 
dared  not  do  it ;  it  would  be  too  much  for  even 
him.  The  dissenter  who  had  evoked  all  this 
clamor,  by  the  audacity  of  his  suggestions,  now 
advised  them  to  go  and  see,  and  as  much  as 
gave  out,  that  if  he — a  sort  of  professional 
watcher  at  sick-beds  in  the  neighborhood — 
knew  a  dead  body  from  a  live  one,  Tom  Hubble 
was  as  ready  for  a  shroud  as  any  man,  woman, 
or  child  at  present  in  that  village.  Pricked 
and  stimulated  by  the  ironical  observations  of 
this  gentleman,  three  or  four  formed  themselves 
into  a  delegation,  and  waited  upon  poor  Tom, 
and  found  him,  true  enough,  as  void  of  life  as 
an  assistant-preacher  or  an  tinfeed  attorney; 
much  to  their  confusion  and  wonder.  Every- 
body was  shocked  and  smitten  aghast  with  hor- 
ror and  amazement,  and  Tom  Hubble's  charac- 
ter advanced  steadily  in  value  as  the  wonder 
grew. 

"  How  could  it  have  happened  !  at  noonday, 
in  our  most  public  street,  with  a  hundred  eyes 
upon  him  !" 

Here  was  wonderment  sufficient  for  half  a 
dozen  good  sized  villages  ;  and  Gowannus  made 
the  most  of  it. 

The  village  was,  in  truth,  stunned  and  be- 
wildered ;  and  somewhat  touched  at  heart  too, 
notwithstanding  its  pragmatical  conduct  toward 
poor  Tom  when  living.  His  good  qualities 
came  up  freshly  into  many  a  memory;  and 
little  acts  of  charity — of  kind  consideration  for 
poor  creatures — even  the  little  thefts  and  pil- 
ferings  from  his  grandfather's  store,  to  be  be- 
stowed on  houseless,  foodless  wretches,  pleaded 
in  behalf  of  the  boy's  corse,  and  began  to 
gather  about  it  something  of  a  romantic  and 
generous  interest. 

Some  even,  now  that  they  remembered  all 
that  he  had  been,  and  the  cruel  death  he  had 
died,  with  that  red  gash  in  his  bosom,  wept 
tears  that  fell  upon  his  cold  heart,  and  the  now 
colder  stone  on  which,  they  now  first  unavail- 
ingly  called  to  mind,  he  had  sat  for  hours  that 
day,  unprotected  and  forlorn.  But  who  was 
poor  Tom  Hubble's  murderer  ?  Where  was  he 
— with  such  lightness  of  foot,  and  skill  of  hand, 
and  strength  of  hate,  as  to  have  plunged  the 
knife  into  a  young  boy's  heart,  at  broad  noon- 
dig,  unseen — ^yea,  even  unsuspected?     The 


news  must  be  given  to  his  poor  old  grandfather ; 
and  will  it  not  break  his  heart,  much  cause  of 
displeasure  as  he  may  think  he  should  harbor 
against  poor  Tom  ? 

Some  one  was  despatched  to  the  old  man's 
house;  and  knocked  loudly,  but  no  answer; 
nor  to  a  second,  nor  a  third  knock;  and  the 
messenger,  therefore,  made  his  way  into  the 
house  of  himself. 

The  first  room  was  empty ;  but  in  a  back 
closet  or  pantry,  removed  from  the  tumult  and 
noises  of  the  street,  he  discovered  the  old 
grandfather  bent  over  a  dark  chest,  and  plying 
his  fingers  with  the  utmost  speed,  in  counting 
gold  and  silver  coin,  which  he  dropped  into  the 
chest  with  gloating  eyes,  and  a  jingle  that 
seemed  to  make  his  heart  jump. 

Without  heeding  the  addition  to  his  company, 
the  old  man  kept  on  counting  with  great  ra- 
pidity and  earnestness,  and  muttering  to  him- 
self, until  the  messenger  touched  him  upon  the 
shoulder,  and  whispered  in  his  ear  that  Tom 
Hubble  was  dead ! 

"  What  say  you  ?"  cried  the  old  man  staring 
about  him,  like  one  in  a  dream,  "  Tom  Hubble, 
my  little,  darling  grandson,  Tom  Hubble,  dead  ! 
It  can't  be.  You  are  practising  on  me.  When 
did  he  die  ?    Where  ?    How  ?" 

To  these  questions,  the  messenger  could,  of 
course,  return  none  but  vague  and  unsatisfac- 
tory answers ;  at  which  the  old  man  seemed 
very  wroth  and  furious  ;  glaring  upon  him  with 
wild  eyes,  and  appearing  to  regard  him  as  an 
idle  intruder  upon  his  privacy.  Renewing  the 
questions  in  a  louder  and  more  preremptory 
voice,  and  receiving  the  same  replies,  he  seized 
the  unlucky  messenger,  and,  with  little  ado, 
thrust  him  forth  from  the  house. 

The  messenger  had  scarcely  returned  to  the 
group  gathered  about  the  body  of  Tom  Hubble, 
when  the  old  grandfather  was  descried  moving 
down  upon  them  with  great  strides ;  bearing  in 
his  hand  an  uplifted  stick,  and  menacing  them 
at  a  distance  with  extreme  violence. 

As  he  drew  nearer,  they  retreated  from  the 
spot,  and  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  corse,  as  it  lay 
stretched  upon  the  rock,  with  the  great  red 
gash  gaping  in  its  breast.  For  a  moment,  the 
old  man  paused  and  looked  wildly  round,  and 
then  he  went  and  sat  submissively  down  by  the 
side  of  the  corse,  and  took  its  head  in  his  lap, 
as  if  he  would  call  it  back  to  life  with  cares- 
ses and  mournful  smiles.  He  sat  ia  this  way 
for  more  than  an  hour ;  the  villagers  standing 
back  and  gazing  on  the  spectacle  with  wonder 
and  pity.  He  then  drew  off  his  old'  wide-skii't- 
ed  coat,  cast  it  upon  the  boy's  dead  limbs,  and 
staggered  like  one  blind  or  in  a  bewildering 
dream,  back  to  his  dwelling. 

For  a  long  time  the  old  man's  house  was  still 
and  noiseless  as  death  itself;  the  crowd  had 
gathered  again  about  the  fatal  spot,  when  he 
was  discovered  reaching  forth  from  an  upper 
window  of  his  dwelling,  and  fastening  against 
its  walls  the  dead  boy's  carter's  frock,  and 
presently,  above  it,  the  old  melancholy  straw 


338 


SELECTIONS  FEOM  ARCTURUS. 


hat.  He  then  brought  forth  from  within,  a 
decayed  old  saddle,  with  a  pair  of  rusty 
stirrups,  and  hung  them  above  the  window  on 
a  wooden  hook ;  one  by  one  he  thus  produced 
every  dilapidated,  mouldy,  and  ruinous  imple- 
ment that  had  laid  rotting  and  mouldering  in 
corners  and  closets  for  half  a  century,  and  fixed 
it  against  the  wall,  until  the  whole  house-side 
was  covered,  like  some  ancient  temple,  with 
testimonies  of  famine,  close-pinchins  thrift,  and 
lean  beggary.  Inside  out,  of  a  truth,  was  the 
old  house  turned,  and  every  one  looked  on, 
wondering  where  this  phantasy  would  end. 
This  display  completed  with  dangling  ox-chains 
and  rusted  horse-shoes,  there  was  a  pause  until 
the  old  man  was  again  seen  emerging  upon  the 
roof,  shouldering  an  old  square  table,  and  fixing 
it  on  its  centre,  as  for  his  evening  meal ;  pres- 
ently, scant  provisions  followed,  and,  having 
first  planted  a  reel  on  another  corner  of  the 
house-top,  he  sat  down,  in  view  of  all  Gowan- 
nus  to  despatch  his  thrifty. fare.  Neglecting 
this  employment,"  he  would  every  now  and  then 
start  up ;  at  one  time  busying  himself  with 
great  industry  in  going  through  the  mimicr}^  of 
reeling  off  yarn  and  winding  it  in  ima<?inary 
balls ;  at  another,  carefully  shading  his  eyes 
and  looking  steadily  through  the  Narrows  for  a 
long  time,  as  if  on  a  search  for  some  ship  in 
which  he  had  a  special  interest.  In  this  way, 
as  long  as  he  could  be  seen,  the  old  man  pass- 
ed from  freak  to  freak ;  and  when  night  came 
on  he  might  be  discovered  for  a  long  time, 
stalking  back  and  forth,  like  an  evil  spirit, 
through  the  gloom,  and  filling  the  whole  region 
•where  he  walked  with  an  indescribable  dread 
and  wonder. 

During  all  that  nisjht  watchers  sat  by  the 
■poor  boy's  corse,  which  lay  upon  the  rock  rigid 
and  motionless.  The  night-dews  fell  upon 
them  thick  and  fast,  but  they  watched  on, 
knowing  how  sacred  a  charge  was  in  their 
trust,  and  feeling  how  deep  indeed,  was  the 
mystery  that  brooded  over  the  little  spot  on 
which  they  kept  their  vigils.  Perfect  stillness 
reigned  everywhere,  and  the  village  was  sepul- 
chred in  a  deep  sleep,  through  which  passed 
from  house  to  house  images  of  deadly  murder, 
stern  hands  upon  feeble  throats,  and  stealthy 
knives  i)lucking  at  the  life  of  innocent  young 
bosoms.  But  a  single  light  pierced  the  general 
gloom,  and  that  moved  restlessly  about  the 
dwelling  of  the  old  grandfather,  sometimes 
showing  itself  at  an  upper  window,  and  then 
glancing  to  and  fro  in  the  lower  chambers  of 
the  house;  then  it  would  be  interrupted  by  a 
figure  passfng  between,  which  cast  its  tall 
shadow  gloomily  over  the  spot  on  which  the 
murdered  corse  was  resting. 

The  morning  brought  no  light  to  the  mystery, 
although  it  wrought  new  changes  in  the  fan- 
tasy of  the  old  man,  and  seemed  to  waken  in 
his  brain  whatever  strange,  uncouth,  or  raging 
fancies  had  been  slumbering  there  during  the 


I  night.     The  moment  day  dawned  he  put  forth 

I  his  head  to  know  of  the  watchers  v/hether  they 

I  had  seen  a  flock  of  crows  pass  that  way ;  and 

j  if  they  should,  to  ask  them  back  to  meals  in 

I  his  name.     A  moment  after  it  was  again  forth, 

i  and   he  wished  them  in  the  Lord'§  name,  and 

-  as  they  loved  him,  to  catch  him  a  long-nosed 

:  weasel,  and  hang  it  on  a  pole  at  the  end  of  his 

I  house  to  scare  away  goblins  and  witches.  Then, 

after  getting  out  at  the  window,  and  sitting  in 

the  casement  with  his  legs  dangling  down  for 

half  an  hour  or  more,  he  would  suddenly  start 

back,   and  throwing  himself  at  full  length  on 

the  floor,  would  lie  there  as  if  in  a  torpor  for  a,. 

long  space.    In  the  mean  time  the  preparations 

for  the  boy's  funeral  proceeded,  all  in  the  open 

air,  for  among  other  freaks  the  old  man  had 

denied   it  entrance,  standing  at  his  door  and 

raising  his  hands  with  a  wild  look  against  the 

bearers ;    but  when  it  was  laid   cleanly   and 

silently  on  the  bier,  and  was  ready  to  be  borne 

to  the  grave,  he  rushed  I'brth,  and  seizing  one 

end  of  the  tressels,  vowed  that  he  would  carry 

the  child  to  his  burial. 

All  along  the  way  some  mad  antic  or  other 
escaped  him,  which  would  seem  to  denote  that 
his  brain  had  been  shattered  by  the  poor  boy's 
dreadful  death ;  none  venturing  to  cross  hift^ 
wildness,  withheld  either  by  fear  or  reverence; 
of  his  sorrowful  age.  At  one  time  he  would 
arrest  the  procession  in  mid  career,  and  stay  it 
till  he  could  pluck  up  long  blue  grass  and 
bunches  of  field  clover  to  cast  upon  the 
coffin;  and  then  clutching  it  up,  he  would 
hurry  forward  at  such  a  pace  as  to  throw 
the  whole  train  into  disorder  and  strange  con- 
fusion. 

When  at  length  they  had  reached  the  grave, 
the  old  man,  dropping  his  end  of  the  burden 
with  such  suddenness  as  to  nearly  overturn  the 
coffin,  stepped  hastily  forward,  and  bidding  the 
diggers  stand  aside,  struck  the  spade  deep  in 
the  earth,  and  plying  it  swiftly,  soon  finished  it 
to  its  very  bottom. 

This  done,  he  drew  back ;  and  the  attendants 
who  had  stood  apart  regarding  him  in  wonder 
and  surprise,  approached  and  lowered  the  coffin 
gently  to  its  appointed  place,  which'was  scarce 
accomplished,  when  the  old  man  again  step- 
ped swiftly  forward  and  cast  a  huge  stone  down 
into  the  grave;  giving  them  to  understand  that 
it  was  an  anchor  which  would  steady  the  coffin 
in  the  earth  until  judgment-day,  when  it  would 
surely  have  its  doom.  The  grave  was  speedily 
filled,  the  turf  duly  levelled,  and  the  companj', 
saddened  and  amazed  at  all  they  had  seen,  turn- 
ed away,  leaving  the  grandfather  standing  hard 
by  alone. 

The  last  time  they  looked  back  from  the 
highway,  they  discovered  the  old  man  walking 
rapidly  to  and  fro  along  the  grave,  and  stamp- 
ing at  times  with  savage  fury  on  the  earth,  ag 
if  he  regarded  the  poor  boy  buried  there  as  his 
deadliest  foe !  * 


THE  SCHOOL-FUND. 


339 


THE  SCHOOL-FUND. 

Looking  directly  at  the  heart  of  the  subject, 
we  must  frankly  confess,  that  no  question  of 
greater  moment  has  arisen  among  us  than  the 
recent  application  of  the  Roman  church  for  a 
portion  of  the  joint  school-fund  of  this  state  and 
city,  for  the  use  of  eight  Catholic  schools,  gov- 
erned according  to  the  creed  and  discipline  of 
that  religious  body.  The  petitions  for  this  pur- 
pose have  been  addressed  to  our  city  council  ; 
have  been  discussed  and  argued  before  them  at 
great  length ;  and  now  that  the  case  is  fully 
before  us,  the  grounds  of  this  remarkable  ap- 
plication seem  to  be  these  : 

First ;  a  want  of  confidence  on  the  part  of 
the  petitioners  in  the  Public  School  Society  of 
this  city,  and  in  their  mode  of  conducting  the 
business  of  education  in  the  schools  in  their 
charge. 

Secondly ;  a  desire  to  procure  from  the  mu- 
nicipal government,  an  appropriation  of  funds 
for  the  support  of  schools  for  the  education  of 
Catholic  children,  who  could  not  be  conscien- 
tiously intrusted  to  the  teaching  of  the  common 
schools  now  in  use. 

The  want  of  confidence  in  the  School  Society 
is  enforced  by  charges  of  incompetency ;  treach- 
ery in  the  performance  of  their  trust ;  "  caus- 
ing the  pupils  to  become  untractable,  disobedi- 
ent, and  even  contemptuous,  toward  their  pa- 
rents— unwilling  to  learn  anything  of  religion 
— as  if  they  had  become  illuminated,  and  could 
receive  all  the  knowledge  of  religion  necessary 
for  them,  by  instinct  or  inspiration." 

A  further  topic  under  this  prominent  head, 
appears  to  consist  in  the  regret  of  the  petition- 
ers that  there  is  no  means  of  ascertaining  to 
what  extent  the  teachers  in  the  schools  of  the  so- 
ciety carried  out  the  views  of  their  principals,  on 
the  importance  of  conveying  '*  early  religious 
instruction"  (which  the  petitioners  modestly 
represent  as  heretical  and  infidel)  to  the  sus- 
ceptible minds  of  the  children.  That  is  to  say, 
as  we  understand  it,  the  petitioners  feel  quite 
competent,  in  one  of  their  accusations,  to  de- 
cide as  to  the  minutest  results  of  the  instruc- 
tion given  in  common  schools  ;  namely,  that  it 
fabricates  fanatics,  zealots,  and  little  Lutheran 
^  dogmatists  ;  and  in  another,  immediately  at  its 
heel,  and  just  as  open  to  inspection,  they  are 
stone-blind,  and  capable  only  of  giving  utter- 
ance to  a  very  profound  inuendo.  The  pe- 
titioners had  the  good  fortune  to  hit  upon  anoth- 
er capital  topic  of  declamation,  and  we  blame 
them  for  not  making  more  of  it. 
,  It  is  suggested  that  the  common  school  sys- 

tem is  a  dreadful  thing  for  the  children  of  the 
poor ;  yea,  it  is  artfully  contrived,  the  petit  ion - 
^  ers  believe,  to  deprive  them  of  the  benefits  of 
*  education  !  The  poor,  therefore,  as  the  peti- 
tioners very  ingenuously  argue,  naturally  and 
deservedly,  withdraw  all  confidence  from  it. 
What  a  gold-mine  is  this  that  we  have  struck  up- 
on in  the  very  centre  of  Zahara,  the  very  last 
place  in  the  world  where  one  would  be  looking 


for  ingots  and  solid  wedges  of  the  precious  met- 
al !  How  this  argument  in  behalf  of  the  poor — 
the  children  of  the  poor — rings  on  the  tongue  ! 
It  has  the  true  jingle,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of 
that ;  and  we  are  surprised  that  Messieurs,  the 
petitioners,  have  not  displayed  mo^-e  activity  in 
circulating  it.  Holding  ourselves  subject  to 
their  supreme  displeasure,  as  clippers  of  true 
coin,  we  must  state  a  fact  or  two  as  to  this 
very  remarkable  withdrawal  of  the  confidence 
of  the  poor. 

The  whole  number  of  children  between  five 
and  sixteen  in  the  state  of  New  York,  in  1837, 
was  five  hundred  and  thirty-nine  thousand  sev- 
en hundred  and  thirty  seven ;  and  the  number 
instructed,  five  hundred  and  twenty-eight  thou- 
sand nine  hundred  and  thirteen  ;  leaving  a  mere 
fraction  of  a  fiftieth  or  sixtieth  uninstructed 
throughout  the  whole  state*  Coming  nearer  to 
the  question,  we  find  that  of  sixteen  thousand 
children  taught  at  the  public  schools  in  this 
city,  one  thousa;id  four  hundred  and  eighty- 
eight,  or  about  one  tenth,  are  the  children  of 
laborers  ;  one  thousand  four  hundred  and  sixty- 
one,  or  nearly  another  tenth,  are  the  children 
of  widows ;  nine  hundred  and  fortj^-five,  shoe- 
makers ;  five  hundred  and  two,  cabinet-makers ; 
four  hundred  and  sixteen,  masons ;  five  hun- 
dred and  seventy-nine,  tailors ;  four  hundred 
and  ninety-three,  blacksmiths ;  while  of  clergy- 
men there  are  but  thirteen  ;  of  doctors,  forty- 
four  ;  lawyers,  twenty-five ;  and  sundry  per- 
sonages who  see  fit  in  census-tables,  tax-gath 
erers'  books,  and  subscription-lists,  to  return 
themselves  gentlemen,  are  responsible  for  twenty 
six.  These  figures  convey,  we  trust,  a  quiet 
rebuke  to  the  petitioners,  which  should  not  be 
lost  on  them,  unless  they  are  determined  to  be 
deaf  to  the  despotic  voice  of  simple  addition. 

We  come  now  to  the  second  topic — the  teach- 
ing of  the  children  of  the  petitioners  can  not  be 
conscientiously  intrusted  to  the  common  schools. 
This  charge  is  of  the  true  Janus  complexion  ; 
at  one  time  it  is  alleged  that  the  common 
schools  are  infidel,  utterly  void  of  religion  ;  at 
another,  they  are  ultra-Protestant ;  now  Janus 
wheedles  us  with  the  great  length  and  demure- 
ness  of  his  Quaker  or  Presbyterian  physiogno- 
my ;  and  then  he  alarms  and  terrifies  us  horri- 
bly by  the  distortions  and  grimaces  of  his  hard, 
unbelieving  countenance.  Shifting  and  turn- 
ing, and  winding  itself  out  of  this  syllogism  in- 
to that ;  taking  now  one  disguise,  and  now 
another,  we  confess  we  can  discover  in  the 
whole  of  this  application,  nothing  but  a  zeal- 
ous, obstinate,  and  persevering  purpose  of  using 
the  public  money  for  the  furtherance  of  a  cer- 
tain class  of  religious  tenets,  and  the  advance- 
men  by  the  most  strenuous  agency,  of  the  inter- 
ests of  an  ecclesiastical  corporation.  It  is,  or 
appears  to  be,  their  conviction,  that  there  can 
be,  and  their  determination  that  there  shall  be, 
no  schools  without  distinct  religious  beliefs— 
without  their  creed,  their  paternoster,  their 
surplice,  and  their  basins  of  holy  water. 

There  is  a  class  of  people,  we  are  aware,  to 


t 


340 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


whose  imaginations  man  can  never  present 
himself  without  his  prayer-book,  his  collection 
of  psalms,  and  his  Sunday  hat.  It  is  impossi- 
ble for  them,  by  an  unfortunate  law  of  their 
nature,  to  contemplate  him  in  any  other  than 
his  strictly  religious  and  pew-holding  character. 
This,  it  seems  to  us,  is  narrow  and  unjust. 
There  is  a  world  outside  of  the  walls  of  the 
sanctuary.  There  are  many  acts  into  which 
religion  does  not,  can  not  enter.  There  can 
be  no  doctrinal  truth  in  the  structure  of  a  clock 
— though  it  may  moralize  as  wisely  as  the  best 
homilist  of  them  all ;  and  but  a  slight  portion 
of  evangelical  spirit  in  a  pair  of  honest  house- 
hold bellows,  for  instance,  although  its  lungs 
may  blow  as  round  a  blast  as  any  divine  in  the 
land.  There  is  no  such  thing  known  among 
the  plain,  homely  people  of  every-day  life,  as 
Catholic  carpenters,  or  Presbyterian  bottlers  of 
beer,  or  Swedenborgian  makers  of  windmills. 
One  of  Dr.  Nott's  stoves  would  dispense,  we 
imagine,  no  more  heat  to  an  heretical  Roman- 
ist, fire-deserving  though  his  sins  might  be, 
than  to  a  sturdy  and  conscientious  Congrega- 
tionalist  of  the  true  orthodox  complexion  ;  nor 
do  we  think  that  Professor  Olmsted's  patent 
would  exhibit  a  greater  alacrity  in  consuming 
a  dissenting  Baptist,  than  a  full  conforming 
Churchman. 

It  is  the  purpose  of  the  common  schools  to  cre- 
ate citizens  and  not  Christians.  Citizen  is  a  low- 
er degree,  it  may  be,  in  the  same  school  with 
Christian;  and  out  of  the  wise  and  just  per- 
formance of  social  duty — of  obligation  to  men 
in  communities — may  spring,  in  due  season,  the 
higher  order  of  sacred.  Christian  character. 
The  Christian  includes  the  citizen ;  but  who  is 
it  that  tells  us,  because  this  child,  this  little 
creature  of  the  public  goodness,  has  not  been 
bom  with  the  vision  of  an  angel  he  shall  not 
be  allowed  to  see  at  all ;  that  unless  his  little 
eyes  are  made  to  look  direct  down  the  optical- 
glasses  of  this  orthodoxy  or  that  orthodoxy,  he 
shall  lie  in  the  cradle  of  a  helpless  and  idle  im- 
becility all  his  life  ? 

In  this  great  question,  the  community,  im- 
bodying  itself  in  all  its  majesty  and  collected 
force,  has  a  voice  above  all  sects,  all  domina- 
tions, powers,  and  principalities.  It  demands 
for  itself  life  without  discord;  it  pleads  for 
peace,  free  from  controversies  and  schisms — 
that  the  great  heart  may  be  calm  and  serene, 
whence  issue  the  social  currents  by  which  its 
children  are  nurtured  and  sustained. 

It  is  not  pretended — there  is  no  charge  against 
the  School  Society,  as  Mr.  Hiram  Ketchum  sug- 
gests—that it  has  not  performed  the  duty  of 
furnishing  a  good,  common,  ordinary,  literary 
education — that  it  has  not  given  what  it  was 
bound  to  give — that  it  has  not  enabled  the  chil- 
dren to  read,  and  write,  and  cipher.  The  pe- 
titioners demand  more.  Their  ambition  is  not 
to  be  squared  and  measured  by  the  ambition, 
humble  and  just  though  it  be,  of  the  other  free 
citizens  of  this  state.  They  clamor  for  higher 
nutriment ;  they  stand  on  tiptoe,  above  all  their  \ 


fellow- citizens,  aspiring  to  catch  glimpses  of  a 
celestial  sapience  denied  to  the  vision  of  the 
little  scholars,  and  the  adult  trustees  of  the 
public  school.  Yea,  it  would  appear  from  one 
view  of  the  subject,  as  we  have  already  sug- 
gested, that  the  petitioners  desire  to  have  their 
peculiar  religious  tenets  taught  and  disseminated 
at  the  public  cost ;  that  they  claim  the  peculiar, 
and,  in  this  country,  extraordinary  privilege, 
of  dipping  into  the  state  treasury  for  the  sup- 
port and  furtherance  of  an  ecclesiastical  estab- 
lishment. They  knew  that  the  constitution  of  the 
land,  the  spirit  of  free  institutions,  stood  between 
them  and  their  object,  and  yet  they  push  forward 
with  all  the  vehemence  of  clamorous  memori- 
als, popular  excitements,  and  public  meetings, 
toward  il^  attainment.  Why,  then,  this  urgency 
of- petitions  ?  They  must  have  sought,  it  seems 
to  us,  one  of  two  results.  Either,  firstly,  the  sue 
cess  of  their  application,  from  the  show  of  num- 
bers by  which  it  was  countenanced,  in  the  very 
face  of  all  constitutional  objections ;  or,  sec- 
ondly, the  disruption  of  the  entire  school  sys- 
tem, not  only  here,  but  throughout  the  state,  by 
means  of  a  plausible  outcry  against  its  actual 
or  assumed  abuses.  No  false  motive  may  have 
mingled  in  the  attempts  by  which  these  results 
were  to  be  accomplished.  The  petitioners  may 
have  been  sincere,  honest,  patriotic.  That  we 
leave  with  God  and  their  own  secret  thoughts. 
For  the  wilful  violator  of  our  constitution  and 
established  liberties,  there  is  but  one  answer, 
and  that  is  to  be  had  in  the  field ;  but  we  pity, 
with  the  regard  of  a  steady  and  sincere  com- 
miseration, the  man  or  set  of  men  who  would, 
in  sober  reason,  attempt  by  any  means,  or  un- 
der any  assumption  whatever,  to  disband  the 
five  hundred  and  forty  thousand  youth  of  this 
state,  who  receive  instruction  at  the  public 
schools ;  who  could  look  calmly  on,  while  the 
heat  of  an  intolerant  zeal  was  dissolving  the 
bands  that  knit  them  together  into  one  large, 
innocent,  and  growing  company ;  and  could  see 
them  turning  sorrowfully  away  from  the  old 
district  schoolhouse,  where  some  hope,  some  lit- 
tle ambition,  had  begun  to  dawn  upon  their 
minds,  back  to  the  squalid  hut,  or  the  cheap 
farmhouse,  or  the  dark  alley,  from  which  all 
such  hope,  all  such  ambition,  must  be  hence- 
forth excluded  for  ever  !  ' 

We  hear  much  of  conscientious  scruples,  in 
this  discussion.  To  what  purpose  has  con- 
science just  now  become  nice  and  scrupulous  ? 
What  portentous  shape  hath  the  goblin  taken 
just  at  this  time  to  shake  its  delicate  fibres  ? 
Reading,  writing,  and  the  use  of  the  globes ! 
The  little  mimic  ball,  that  humbly  represents 
our  planet,  swarms  with  direful  hieroglyphics ; 
the  twenty-six  letters  have  formed  themselves 
into  a  terrible  regiment  of  black  dragoons,  and  , 
the  unpretending  school-slate,  is  one  of  the 
devil's  cards  in  this  profound  game  that  is  , 
played  to  ensnare  consciences  and  entrap  the  feet 
of  the  unwary.  We  can  not  say  that  we  feel  an  g^ 
extraordinary  respect  for  any  man  whose  consci- 
entious scruples  are  found  travelling  on  this  road  j 


THE  SCHOOL-FUND  AGAIN. 


341 


we  are  rather  inclined  to  commend  him  to  a  dark 
lantern  and  the  crutch  of  an  octogenarian. 
Daylight  and  a  swift  pace,  that  keeps  abreast 
of  social  rights,  are  no  pleasures  of  his. 

Conscience,  sitting  serenely  in  the  breast  of 
man,  sagacious  and  austere,  and  lifting  her  ter- 
iole  front  against  whatever  debases,  obscures, 
or  mars  the  soul,  inherits  a  noble  realm  of  duty 
from  which  she  can  not  be  drawn  to  do  task- 
work for  hire,  or  favor,  or  the  furtherance  of  a 
doubtful  cause.  She  inspires  scruples  that 
speak  out,  in  very  audible  tones,  against  the 
oppression  of  tyrants,  the  crafts  of  priests,  the 
violences  of  wicked  men,  and  not  against  the 
rights  and  immunities  of  humble  children,  pen- 
sioners on  our  bounty  and  justice  for  a  few 
words  of  healthful  knowledge.  Doth  conscience 
stand  in  the  portal,  rebuking  common  schools  ? 
What  is  there  in  all  their  wise  and  plain  opera- 
tions at  which  she  can  be  justly  affronted  ?  The 
common  school  recognises  a  God,  a  conscience, 
and  Savior ;  a  Being  that  holds  the  ends  of  the 
wide  universe  together;  a  tribunal  that  ar- 
raigns the  crimes  and  vices  of  men  ;  and  a  me- 
diator, pleading  and  interceding  between  the 
two.  A  Creator  and  a  judicial  spirit  within  us, 
all  men  will  admit ;  and  if  any  say  they  can 
not  take  cognizance  of  the  great  head  of  the 
Christian  church,  to  them  we  make  answer,  in 
a  merely  secular  view  of  the  case,  that  it  is 
through  the  imagination  the  heart  is  purified ; 
and  whenever  they  can  present  to  our  contem- 
plation a  nobler,  lovelier  image,  and  one  more 
likely  to  arrest  the  regards  of  a  wise  and  pure 
soul,  we  will,  if  the  sternness  of  their  exactions 
so  require,  have  our  Savior  depart  from  the 
consecrated  school-room,  and  hail  with  joy  and 
earnest  acclamation  the  advent  of  the  glorious 
substitute. 

We  are  not  the  apologists  of  the  system  of 
common  schools.  We  are  not  even  advised 
that  it  needs  apologists  or  advocates.  If  it  has 
errors  and  defects,  let  them  be  amended  and 
removed ;  but  unless  objections  to  it  more  man- 
ly, and  cogent,  and  more  consonant  to  what  has 
been  considered  the  spirit  of  American  insti- 
tutions, than  those  urged  by  the  petitioners  in 
this  ill-advised  and  unwarranted  application 
can  be  advanced,  we  say,  let  it  stand,  grounded 
as  the  pyramids.  Let  it  spread  its  wide  base 
until  it  embraces  the  utmost  verge  of  society ; 
let  Its  foundations  be  struck  deeper  and  deeper, 
until  they  shall  be  known  to  rest  on  the  great 
heart  of  the  community  ;  and  let  its  turrets  and 
its  summoning  towers  ascend  until  they  are  lost 
in  a  tranquil  sky,  objects  of  steady  admiration, 
exciting  hope,  and  cheerful  regard  to  all  people 
that  lie  in  their  shadow,  and  within  sound  of 
the  tuneful  voices  that  echo  from  their  walls  ! 


THE  SCHOOL  FUND  AGAIN. 

It  is  the  business  of  zealots  and  sectaries, 
as  all  the  world  knows,  to  be  on  the  constant 


hunt  and  look-out  for  a  vantage-ground,  for 
some  little  plot  of  the  wide  domain  of  passion 
and  prejudice,  that  may  be  reclaimed  for  pri- 
vate culture  and  advantage.  This  purpose  ia 
accomplished,  sometimes  clandestinely,  some- 
times by  creating  an  issue,  in  which  they  cause 
themselves,  by  a  melo-dramatic  dexterity  of 
posture  and  aspect,  to  be  regarded  as  maligned 
and  persecuted.  The  tactique  of  the  gentlemen 
in  question — the  humble  petitioners  for  a  por- 
tion of  the  school  fund  of  New  York — seems, 
however,  to  lie  in  the  assumption  of  a  tone  and 
attitude  of  perpetual  demand  and  requisition ; 
to  be  constantly  claiming,  and  in  no  very  feeble 
or  doubtful  tone,  some  right  or  privilege  that  is 
their  due,  and  which,  so  they  protest  and  assev- 
erate, it  is  a  burning  shame  they  are  kept  out 
of.  They  begin,  perhaps,  moderately  enough; 
they  object,  it  may  be,  at  first,  merely  to  a 
shoe-tie.  The  tie  isn't  in  very  good  taste,  it 
must  be  confessed,  and  had  better  be  altered ; 
and  so  it  is,  to  oblige  the  projector.  Then  you 
must  change  the  fashion  of  your  hat,  the  cut 
of  your  coat.  Then  they  get  a  degree  closer, 
and  require  that  you  shall  no$  wear  your  natural 
hair,  but  a  bob-wig  of  their  contrivance,  and 
for  which  they  hold  a  patent.  Next,  they  would 
liave  you  sway  your  body,  thus  and  so,  when 
you  see  a  gentleman  in  a  white  gown,  and 
hear  him  reciting  something  out  of  the  heathen. 
They  next  require  of  you  to  be  a  little  more 
guarded  in  your  language ;  not  to  make  quite 
so  free  with  your  spiritual  superiors,  and  to 
bear  in  mind  what  is  written  in  the  fathers, 
or  in  a  certain  tract  that  they  can  mention, 
concerning  the  authority  of  those  holding  from 
the  Pontiff.  Then  they  would  like  to  have  you 
conform  your  mind — an  easy  metaphysical  pro- 
cedure— to  the  received  doctrines,  dogmas,  and 
creeds  of  the  church ;  and  in  the  event  of  your 
declining  to  adjust  your  thoughts  by  the  stan- 
dards placed  before  them,  you  are  invited  out 
one  clear  sunshiny  morning  to  takg  a  ramble 
(with  a  goodly  retinue  of  attendants"and  body- 
guard at  your  heels)  to  one  of  the  public 
squares,  pronounced  a  knave  and  a  heretic  in 
the  face  of  day,  and  ere  you  can  fairly  discover 
what  it's  all  about,  they  have  given  you  over 
to  the  devil,  and  you  are  roasting  and  crackling 
in  the  flame,  as  merrily  as  a  Christmas  pig. 

How  is  this  extraordinary  consununation 
effected?  Simply  by  considering  you  as  an 
idiot,  without  a  soul  or  a  conscience ;  quietly 
setting  aside  all  j'our  common-sense  notions,  as 
surplusage  and  impertinence ;  and  by  claiming 
for  themselves  the  most  refined  sense  of  right 
and  wrong,  the  most  scrupulous  and  delicate 
moral  convictions.  It  is  an  ordinary  trick  of 
self-seekers  in  society  to  secure  to  themselves 
immunities  and  privileges,  by  professing  an 
extraordinary  squeamishness  of  stomach,  which 
relucts  at  anything  less  delicate  than  the 
bird's  rump;  a  nervous  dislike  of  draughts, 
which  embowers  them  comfortably  between 
ladies  on  a  sofa ;  a  constitutional  susceptibility 
of  vision,  which  is  offended  at  the  glare  of  nu- 


342 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


merous  lights,  and  which  carries  them  home  to 
bed  as  soon  as  the  oysters  and  game  are  out  of 
the  way.  These  gentlemen  always  labor  under 
the  heavy  affliction  of  conscientious  scruples  ; 
constitutional  impediments  to  enjoyment.  Of 
agitation,  they  make  a  religious  duty,  part  of  a 
religious  system.  By  constantly  disturbing  and 
alarming  the  community,  they  at  length  acquire, 
over  its  pursuits  and  objects,  the  influence 
which  is  conceded,  out  of  mere  weariness  and 
physical  exhaustion,  to  men  of  a  restless  and 
troubled  temperament. 

The  present  application  is  the  boldest  at- 
tempt, within  our  knowledge,  on  the  part  of  a 
religions  body,  to  interfere  with  our  municipal 
aflfairs.  The  effort  to  procure  a  portion  of  the 
common  school  fund  for  private  and  sectarian 
uses,  is  nothing  else  than  an  invasion  of  the 
educational  police,  as  it  may  be  properly  called, 
of  the  metropolis ;  an  attempt  to  break  down 
one  of  the  strongest  muniments  that  law  and 
civil  order  have  erected  in  our  midst. 

This  is,  in  all  probability,  as  resolute  an 
effort  as  ever  can  be  made  to  secure  an  appro- 
priation of  the  fund  for  improper  objects.  The 
original  petition  strikes  clearly  home  at  the 
purpose  in  view ;  it  was  supported  and  enforced 
by  some  of  their  most  ingenious  and  skilful  de- 
baters; and  emanated  from  a  body,  whose  num- 
bers authorize  them  to  say,  that  one  third  of 
the  vagrant  children,  defrauded  of  instruction 
by  the  plan  of  the  school  society,  are  theirs ; 
and  who  will,  therefore,  rest  content  with  noth- 
ing less  than  a  leonine  division  of  the  booty. 
The  fund,  the  fund  in  a  currency  of  their  own 
— they  will  even  name  the  very  marking  of  the 
bills — applied  as  they  choose  to  require — they 
will  have  or  nothing. 

Through  every  thoroughfare,  you  will  see 
hordes  of  little,  tattered,  unhatted  creatures ; 
the  very  champions  of  raggedtiess,  whose  flag- 
like garments  flutter  in  every  wind,  and  pro- 
claim the  triumph  of  a  natural  instinct  for 
streets  and  open  yards,  over  the  seductions  of 
tasks  and  school-rooms  ;  these  are  the  parishion- 
ers of  the  good  Roman  bishop,  who  vindicated 
their  condition  as  one  infinitely  above  the  arti- 
ficiality and  heathenism  of  a  public  school. 

Joyous,  rampant,  with  all  the  little  smiling 
seeds  of  heroic  viciousness,  lurking  in  their 
young  bosoms,  ready  one  day  to  bear  the  fruit 
of  the  stealthy  or  the  bloody  hand,  and  to  blos- 
som in  dark  alleys  and  by-ways,  where  crime 
patrols  day  and  night ;  this  is  a  more  pleasing 
field  of  contemplation,  than  walls  darkened 
with  alphabetic  characters,  teachers,  that,  at  a 
given  stipend,  inculcate  infinite  heresy,  without 
80  much  as  knowing  it,  with  a  comfortable  cli- 
mate, of  stoves  in  winter,  and  sunny  holydays 
between  schools,  out  of  doors  in  summer. 

"  Is  it  necessary  to  teach  infidelity  ?"  asks 
the  Right  Reverend  advocate  of  the  petitioners, 
before  the  common  council.  "  It  does  not  re- 
quire the  active  process.  To  make  an  infidel, 
what  is  it  necessary  to  do  ?  Cage  him  up  in  a 
rocm,  give  Lixu  a  secular  education,  from  the 


age  of  five  years  to  twenty-one,  and  I  ask  you 
what  he  will  come  out,  if  not  an  infidel?" 

Between  these  trowsered  and  turbaned  little 
Turks  without,  and  the  rank  and  obnoxious, 
but,  at  the  same  time,  well-taught  and  clean- 
apparelled  infidels  within,  we  admit  it  may  be 
a  sore  trial  to  choose ;  but  we  must  be  allowed 
to  confess,  with  due  deference  to  the  good 
bishop,  that  if  he  be  right  in  his  view  of  secu- 
lar education,  and  in  insisting,  that  the  state 
should  contribute  to  a  proper  religious  training 
of  her  youth  in  sects ;  we  are  forced  to  confess 
that  our  government  stands  on  no  foundation 
whatever — rather  on  a  foundation  of  rolling 
stones — and  that  the  first  tolerably  muscular 
arm  pressed  against  it,  must,  of  necessity, 
throw  it  clean  over,  and  tumble  it  among  the 
rubbish  of  decayed  states  and  mis-governed  em- 
pires. If  there  can  be  no  secular  education, 
there  can  be  no  state. 

In  sober  truth,  we  do  not  consider  it  neces- 
sary to  inquire,  at  present,  whether  religion  is 
an  essential  element  of  a  complete  and  mature 
education.  We  oppose  the  petition,  simply  on 
the  ground  that  it  seeks  to  convert  a  tax,  laid 
by  the  state  or  city  government,  to  a  religious 
and  sectarian  object. 

If  the  public  school  society,  as  is  asserted, 
were  a  monopoly ;  if  it  be  irresponsible  to  the 
people ;  if  it  fail  to  educate  the  children  of  the 
poor,  it  could  not  affect  the  view  of  the  ques- 
tion which  we  feel  bound  to  take.  All  these 
considerations  would  operate  most  powerfully 
in  procuring  a  reform  of  the  school  system  in 
this  city,  but  are  by  no  means  arguments  that 
a  corporation  (one  employing  a  public  fund  for 
religious  objects)  of  a  still  more  obnoxious 
character  should  be  erected. 

On  this  distinct  position  should  all  applica- 
tions of  the  kind  be  met.  It  seems  to  us  al- 
most waste  of  time,  to  inquire  into  the  matter 
more  nicely.  That  the  present  application  has 
been  listened  to  calmly ;  met  in  protracted  ses- 
sions of  the  city  council  and  the  state  senate, 
by  able  men,  in  careful  debate,  and  at  length 
allowed  to  become  a  question  in  nominating 
committees,  are  proofs  of  patience  and  liberal 
forbearance,  that  could  scarcely  have  been  ex- 
pected from  the  supposed  eagerness  and  haste 
of  our  American  temper. 

If  the  whole  organization  of  the  public 
school  society  is  to  be  changed,  because  it  does 
not  square  with  the  idiosyncracy  of  a  certain 
class  of  citizens — a  minority,  in  point  of  num- 
bers, a  miserable  entity  in  tax-paying  capability 
— why  should  not  our  entire  municipal  condition 
be  changed  ? 

The  Jews,  and  with  very  great  show  of  just- 
ice, too,  may  insist  on  keeping  open  shop  on 
Sunday  ;  cause  a  session  of  aldermen  to  be 
called  at  the  hall,  to  consider  some  pressing 
grievance ;  order  the  omnibuses  out  (for  one  or 
two  of  them  may  seek  to  go  a  journey  to  Chel- 
sea), and  fall  into  a  horrible  ferment  should  all 
other  citizens  decline  to  take  down  their  shut-*v. 
ters   and  proceed  to  their  avocations.     The 


THE  SCHOOL-FUND  AGAIN. 


343 


Quakers  will  at  once,  and  rightly  enough,  dis- 
band the  military  companies.  The  Cameroni- 
ans  or  Covenanters,  will  destroy  the  ballot-box- 
es and  have  no  voting  under  a  government 
which  does  not  publicly  recognise  the  Christian 
religion.  The  Seventh-day  Baptists — coming 
a  little  in  conflict,  it  must  be  admitted,  with 
their  Hebrew  brethren— will  insist  that  the  om- 
nibuses be  all  laid  up  ;  the  drivers  taken  down 
from  their  seals,  and  put  away  in  a  mow  or 
manger,  to  enjoy  their  sabbath  slumbers ;  would 
send  the  city  fathers  home  to  apparel  them- 
selves in  a  garb  suited  for  church  and  the  grave 
duties  of  the  diaconate ;  and  have  every  bow- 
window  made  close  as  a  tomb.  Nay,  further ; 
we  can  not  see  why  the  face  of  the  city  itself 
should  not  be  subjected  to  constant  changes,  to 
accord  with  the  temper  or  whim  of  any  project- 
or, if  only  sufficiently  clamorous,  whatever.  The 
conscientious  mathematician  may  demand  that 
our  public  squares  shall  all  be  laid  out  in  octa- 
gons and  rhomboids ;  the  oil-dealer,  of  an  ex- 
pansive soul,  may  suggest  the  doubling  of  the 
public  lights,  and  a  revival  of  the  exploded  cus- 
tom of  embellishing  the  mayor's  residence  with 
a  pair  of  lamps  ;  the  delicate-minded  tailor,  in- 
sist that  the  city  watchmen  shall  be  put  on  the 
patrol  in  gaiters,  and  the  latest  Parisian  curve- 
tailed  coats ;  then,  the  architect,  pricked  by 
scruples  of  conscience,  may  say  that  there  is 
no  religion  in  square  church-towers,  and  cry 
out,  with  a  lusty  throat,  for  pointed  spires,  with 
the  good  gilt  ball  and  weather-vane  at  top. 

There  is  reason,  truth,  urgency,  in  these  lat- 
ter, as  well  as  in  the  earlier  requirements ;  but, 
casting  down  the  Public  School  Society,  in 
place  of  the  old,  disorderly  pagan-breeding  or- 
ganization, what  system  is  to  be  substituted  ? 
And  how  are  the  objects  of  a  new  mission  to  be 
accomplished  ? 

They  are  "  to  be  effected  by  depriving  the 
present  system,  in  New  York,  of  its  character 
of  universality,  and  exclusiveness,  and  by  open- 
ing it  to  the  action  of  smaller  masses,  whose 
interests  and  opinions  may  be  consulted  in  their 
schools,  so  that  every  denomination  may  freely 
enjoy  its  '  religious  profession'  in  the  education 
of  its  youth."* 

The  secretary,  the  coryphaeus  of  the  new  or- 
der of  things,  would  fain  map  out  the  metropo- 
lis into  an  infinite  number  of  little  plots  and 
subdivisions,  each  with  a  characteristic  reli- 
gion and  discipline,  under  the  governance  of 
its  own  priests  and  teachers ;  here  a  little  scar- 
let patch  of  Romanists,  there  a  blue  one  of 
Presbyterians ;  a  water-tinted  subdivision  for 
the  Baptists,  a  sable  plot  for  the  African 
freeholders,  a  deep  red  and  perdition-colored 
section  for  the  favorers  of  endless  punish- 
ment. 

Now,  does  this  learned  gentleman,  does  any 

*  Report  of  the  Secretary  of  State  upon  memorials 
from  the  City  of  New  York,  respecting  the  distribution 
of  the  Common  School  moneys  in  that  city,  referred  to 
him  by  the  Senate.— Albany,  April  26,  1841. 


citizen,  of  a  taxpaying  respectability  of  under- 
standing, imagine  that  a  community  so  diverse 
and  heterogeneous,  could,  by  possibility,  hold 
together  a  twelvemonth  ?  could  last  even 
through  a  single  charter  election  ? 

There  is  no  ground  on  which  a  community 
stands  so  comfortably  together,  as  that  of  a 
common  system  of  education  for  the  mass ;  and 
whoever,  by  whatsoever  indirection,  would 
abolish  or  remove  this,  is,  in  truth,  an  enemy 
to  society,  and  virtually  proclaims  the  law  of 
his  own  will  and  interest  superior  to  the  gen- 
eral welfare. 

By  what  lines  Mr.  Spencer  proposes  to  dis- 
tinguish and  separate  his  imaginary  districts  of 
conscientious  friends  of  education,  we  are  at  a 
loss  to  conjecture.  There  are  to  be  parishes, 
nice,  charming  sections  and  sub-sections,  occu- 
pying a  certain  breadth  or  square  dimension  of 
the  metropolis,  in  which  the  nervous  advocates 
of  sectarian  instruction  are  to  enjoy  the  advan- 
tages of  the  new  system ;  to  elect  their  own 
officers  ;  to  select  their  own  teachers ;  and  to 
take  to  themselves  the  immeasurable  luxury  of 
school-books,  in  which  Ignatius  Loyola  and 
Caesar  Borghia  are,  as  is  proper,  alwajs  spoken 
of  in  respectful  terms.  But  let  us  consider,  if 
one  of  the  new  academies  dominates  over  a  cer- 
tain tract  of  city  ground,  it  draws  into  its  fold 
all  that  fall  within  its  bounds ;  but  are  we 
sure  they  will  come  ?  May  there  not  be,  now 
and  then,  a  stubborn  recusant,  a  headstrong 
Protestant,  perhaps,  in  a  Catholic  school-dio- 
cese (set  apart  by  the  most  dexterous  and  accu- 
rate survey  of  the  secretary),  who  can  not  be 
made  to  understand  exactly  why  his  child 
should  be  taught  to  believe  in  the  pope  because 
the  Romanist  is  so  delicately  conscientious  as 
to  withdraw  his  faith  from  the  old  public  school 
system.  The  Protestant  may  claim  his  right  to 
swear  by  the  public  school  society,  quite  as 
strenuously  as  his  Catholic  friend  to  invoke  the 
Virgin,  and  to  say  yea  and  nay  by  the  pater- 
noster. 

Who  shall  run  lines  for  the  secretary,  so  as 
to  bring  in  aU  that  are  of  a  mind,  and  nicely 
avoid  striking  anywhere  against  prejudices,  re- 
ligious whims,  or,  so  called,  conscientious 
scruples  ? 

"  If  that  society  had  charge  of  the  children  of 
one  denomination  only,"  says  the  secretary, 
"  there  would  be  no  difficulty.  It  is  because  it 
embraces  children  of  all  denominations,  and 
seeks  to  apply  to  them  all  a  species  of  instruc- 
tion which  is  adapted  only  to  a  part,  and  which, 
from  its  nature,  can  not  be  moulded  to  suit  the 
views  of  all,  that  it  fails,  and  ever  must  fail,  to 
give  satisfaction  on  a  subject,  of  all  others,  the 
most  vital  and  the  most  exciting." 

This  seems  to  us  involve  the  fatal  misappre- 
hension (to  call  it  by  its  best  name),  on  which 
the  application  for  a  division  of  the  fund  is> 
founded,  namely,  the  notion  that  the  Public 
School  Society  is,  or  should  be,  a  religious  cor- 
poration.   Now,  its  objects  and  purposes,  if 


344 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


•we  understand  them  at  all,  are  expressly  secu- 
lar. Other  they  could  not  be,  unless  in  direct 
contravention  of  our  whole  social  compact. 
With  such  a  view  of  their  duty,  we  could  have 
no  school  system,  either  district  or  metropoli- 
tan. The  state  can  not  know  religion,  save  in 
one  or  two  cardinal  acts  of  worship,  in  its  pub- 
lic conduct.  But  it  can  and  will  apprehend  so- 
cial necessities,  that  operate  as  links  and  liga- 
ments in  holding  the  community  together.  An 
education,  essentially  and  primarily  secular,  is 
one  of  these.  An  important  aim  in  any  system 
of  instruction  provided  by  the  state,  would  be  to 
furnish  a  mass  of  ideas — a  platform  of  general 
information — on  which  all  could  meet  in  har- 
mony, and  with  a  perfect  concordance  of  senti- 
ment and  opinion. 

That  our  government  is  republican,  would 
be  one  of  these;  that  it  is  a  government  of 
opinion,  and  not  of  superior  strength  and  force, 
another;  that  it  is  a  government  allowing  the 
widest  liberty  of  thought  and  utterance,  with- 
in the  limits  of  good  order,  is  another  and  vital 
sentiment. 

That  there  was  a  council  of  Nice  once ;  that 
Martin  Luther  bearded  the  pope  (although  an 
important  historical  circumstance)  ;  that  Cran- 
mer  was  burned ;  that  the  Geneva  model  of 
church  government  was  first  recommended  to 
the  Scotch  in  1560,  it  cares  nothing.  The  mo- 
ment it  listened  to  narratives  like  these,  it 
would  lose  its  dignity  and  character  as  a  state, 
and  would  become,  from  that  time  forth,  either 
a  religious  commonwealth,  which  is  quite 
doubtful,  or,  most  probably,  a  field  of  furious 
encounter,  in  which  bigot  would  hunt  down 
bigot,  and  sectary  fly  at  the  throat  of  sectary, 
with  all  the  spirit  and  animation  that  belong  to 
controversial  feuds. 

All  that  remains  for  the  state  to  do,  there- 
fore, is  to  waive  away,  with  a  mein  of  majestic 
rebuke,  conscious  of  the  grave  charge  intrusted 
to  her  hand,  all  that  would  fain  approach  her, 
either  in  menace  or  supplication,  for  favors 
that  conflict  with  this.  This  is  the  highest  and 
noblest  favor  she  can  confer  on  her  children. 
To  give  them  the  best,  the  purest  secular  in- 
struction in  her  power,  free  from  all  taint  of  in- 
justice or  unkindness,  toward  this  class  or  that ; 
subject,  of  course,  to  whatever  of  frailty  and 
uncertainty  in  attaining  its  objects,  is  incident 
to  whatever  is  human.  Let  her  not  be  for  a 
moment  lured  aside  from  the  great  path  of  duty 
she  is  pursuing.  Her  march  is  on  the  open 
highway;  and  however  pleasing  or  attractive 
may  be  the  pastures  of  a  selecter  and  diviner 
knowledge,  offered  to  her  view  by  the  magic 
lightt?  of  one  school  or  another  of  philosophers, 
self-seekers,  or  truly  good  Christians,  let  her 
keep  on  her  way,  moving  along  with  an  ear 
and  an  eye,  quicj^  and  apprehensive,  for  what- 
ever belongs  to  her  character  as  a  state,  but 
deaf  and  unseeing,  where  any  would  presume  to 
make  of  her  a  gatherer  of  tithes,  or  an  umpire 
between  contending  sects. 


THE  UNREST  OF  THE  AGE. 

Ours  is  the  age  of  suicide  and  mysterious 
disappearance.  Some  Jacob  May  or  other  go- 
ing forth  on  a  plain  mercantile  enterprise, 
thinks  proper,  for  his  private  sport  and  enter- 
tainment, to  hide  himself  for  a  season  from  the 
search  of  his  friends ;  puts  the  police  on  the 
look-out ;  causes  the  river  to  be  dragged  ;  cre- 
ates a  horrible  tumult  of  newspaper  para- 
graphs all  over  the  country ;  and,  finally,  turns 
up  some  quiet  morning,  walking  the  streets  of 
New  York  or  Philadelphia  as  placidly  as  if 
nothing  had  happened. 

The  truth  is,  custom  and  social  usage  sit 
hard  upon  men;  and  they  strive  to  escape 
from  them  by  every  possible  device  and  self- 
delusion.  Some  fly  off"  into  remote  countries, 
and  wander  over  deserts  and  burning  sands  to 
be  free ;  others  penetrate  into  remote  seas,  and 
sit  down  by  shores  where  the  tyranny  is  more 
tolerable  because  it  wears  a  different  garment 
and  gayer  crown.  Others  find  relief  in  wild 
speculation ;  in  schemes  for  forming  society  in- 
to parallelograms  or  rhomboids,  and  in  contri- 
ving theories  by  which  men  shall  get  along  with- 
out any  society  or  organization  whatsoever.  Oth- 
ers again,  can  not  trust  themselves  alone,  and  are 
scared  mightily  if  they  are  discovered  moving 
in  any  enterprise  without  the  approval  of  multi- 
tudes. The  restless  spirit  of  the  age  separates 
men,  on  the  one  hand,  into  units,  and  makes 
them  solitary  and  discontented ;  or  gathers  them, 
on  the  other,  into  noisy  and  tumultuous  masses, 
shouting  for  change,  reform,  and  progress.  The 
world  lives  abroad,  and  is  not  to  be  found  at 
home  oftener  than  once  a  week,  and  then  only 
if  the  weather  is  blusterous  and  turbulent  with- 
out. The  domestic  feeling — households — are  in 
B  measure  abrogated,  and  men  are  to  be  found 
at  clubs,  lectures,  conventicles,  and  other  pub- 
lic gatherings.  The  action  is  all  external  and 
superficial ;  and  the  heart  of  society,  the  pri- 
vate home,  has,  in  a  considerable  measure  lost 
its  life,  and  ceases  to  supply  the  vital  circula- 
tion which  society  so  much  needs.  The  great 
number  of  violent  deaths  proves  that  the  sooth- 
ing influences  of  home  and  kindred  are  not  felt 
as  they  should  be. 

Men  can  not  keep  hands  from  themselves. 
They  wreak  upon  their  own  persons  the 
wrongs  and  restless  violence  of  the  age,  and 
take  vengeance  with  the  summary  knife  or 
cord  on  the  disastrous  spirit  that  rules  the 
times.  The  blood  of  self-slaughter  cries  out  on 
every  hand ;  nothing,  it  would  seem,  can  arrest 
its  flowing.  Peace  and  prosperous  fortune  can 
not  stay  the  deadly  hand ;  pleading  wives  and 
children  appeal  to  it  in  vain,  and  religion  it- 
self stands  dumb  and  awe-stricken  in  presence 
of  the  ghastly  demon  of  suicide. 

Men  struggle  with  it,  and  wander  up  and 
down  streets,  and  by  the  side  of  calm  rivers, 
but  the  perturbed  spirit  will  not  rest.  The 
monster  can  not  be  foiled,  but  must  have  his  prey. 


THE  UNKEST  OF  THE  AGE. 


345 


They  fall  on  their  knees,  calling  great  God 
to  help  them  quell  the  devilish  thought ;  but  it 
triumphs  like  a  fate.  They  stagger  before  mir- 
rors and  glasses,  to  know  if  the  sight  of  a  hu- 
man countenance — even  their  own,  in  this  mo- 
ment of  terrible  delusion — can  not  shame  the 
fiend  or  scare  him  back.  The  next  moment 
his  unhappy  dupe  lies  weltering  in  blood, 
with  a  prayerbook,  perchance,  grasped  in  his 
struggling  hand,  opened  at  the  page  which 
pleads  that  we  may  be  "  spared  from  tempta- 
tion." 

Can  an  age  or  a;  country  be  right-minded 
and  true,  where  such  things  happen  ?  Is  life 
60  fearful  a  burden  in  this  land  of  ours,  that 
men  should  snatch  themselves  from  it  with 
insane  haste,  and  post  out  of  it  as  if  it  swarmed 
with  hydras  and  chimeras  ?  Is  the  sky  murk- 
ier or  the  earth  sadder  here  than  elsewhere  ? 
Have  men  weightier  cares  or  sharper  crosses 
in  this  latitude  than  in  Nova  Zembla,  or  in  the 
Friendly  islands  of  the  Pacific  ?  Of  cares  and 
crosses,  growing  necessarily  out  of  climate  or 
condition,  there  are  not ;  of  hardships  self-cre- 
ated, and  bad  passions,  idly  fomented  and  en- 
couraged, a  great  plenty.  We  are  mad  for 
money,  mad  for  office  and  empty  power. 

If  we  sought  money  eagerly  that  we  might 
scatter  it  among  the  poor  and  needy,  and  make 
of  its  idle  glitter  a  sunshine  in  dark  places, 
the  good  purpose  would  sanctify  the  pursuit, 
and  men  would  not  go  mad  and  take  their  own 
lives,  however  the  enterprise  might  end.  If  we 
sought  power  over  the  hearts  and  consciences  of 
men,  and  aimed  to  glide  into  their  thoughts  among 
genial  influences,  springing  from  a  happy  exer- 
cise of  genius  or  virtue,  it  would  be  well,  and 
the  world  would  have  good  cause  to  honor  our 
graves.  But  when  wealth,  interpreted,  means 
bond  and  mortgage  piled  on  bond  and  mortgage, 
and  an  excellent  character  at  the  bank ;  and 
power  desires  no  nobler  position  than  a  high 
stool  at  a  desk,  in  the  department  of  state,  or  a 
sounding  voice  in  the  halls  of  political  or  reli- 
gious strife — all  is  not  well ;  but,  rather,  hol- 
low, tottering,  and  unsafe,  to  him  that  ventures 
abroad. 

The  times  do  not  satisfy  the  desires  of  the 
mind.  The  literal  hardness,  the  prosaic  aus- 
terity of  the  habits  and  pursuits  of  the  age,  fur- 
nish but  little  encouragement  to  the  imagina- 
tive and  aspiring  part  of  the  soul.  Insanity, 
in  many  cases,  suicide,  and  other  terrible  acts 
of  desperation,  seem  to  us  the  rebellious  out- 
breaks of  a  nature  wronged  and  tortured  by 
the  iron  condition  in  which  it  is  placed.  Men 
know  not  what  deep,  overwhelming  injustice 
they  do  to  themselves  in  neglecting  or  disdaining 
the  imagination.  Slighted  or  kept  under,  it  proves 
the  most  deadly  foe  of  all  the  human  powers, 
and  bodies  forth  instantly,  in  vindication  of  itself, 
a  hell  gloomier  than  Dante's,  and  peopled  with 
shapes  twenty  times  more  terrible.  The  hu- 
man mind  can  not  repose  on  facts ;  nor  find 
permanent  ease  and  security  in  the  unadorned 
incidents  of  a  life  of  mere  business  or  action. 


These  are  too  definite,  too  readily  summed  up 
and  concluded.  The  round  is  easily  lun,  and 
the  limit  soon  discovered.  It  needs  something 
remote,  uncertain,  shadowy,  and  boundless, 
which  shall  operate  as  a  perpetual  stimulant  to 
our  restless  nature,  and  a  perpetual  gratifica- 
tion that  can  not  be  exhausted.  The  remedy, 
then — a  part  of  it  at  least — lies  here ;  in  fur- 
nishing occasions  of  enjoyment  to  the  imagina- 
tion, and  in  cultivating  the  arts  and  pursuits  in 
which  it  is  the  chief  element. 

Paintings,  in  which  the  ideal  world  is  shad- 
owed forth,  or  in  which  the  actual  world  is 
raised  to  the  standard  of  a  glowing  or  cheerful 
ideal,  feed  this  passion  with  its  best  sustenance. 
A  country  blessed  with  a  Raphael  and  an  Ange- 
lo,  is  of  a  happier  and  more  equable  tempera- 
ment, all  other  circumstances  conforming,  than 
one  which  has  not  a  single  great  painter,  and 
is  compelled  to  point  to  its  signboards  for  spe- 
cimens of  art.  Pictures  in  which  character  is 
exhibited  in  grotesque  or  humorous  phases,  by 
relieving  the  mind  from  the  painful  pressure  of 
rigid  and  exact  life  and  custom,  further  this 
grand  object. 

On  this  ground  can  poetry  be  «afely  vindicated 
from  all  cavil  and  opprobrium.  Poetry  sends  this 
hard,  round,  methodical  world  of  ours,  through 
the  great  void  in  which  it  moves,  trailing  be- 
hind it  a  glory  and  brightness,  full  of  hope  and 
cheerful  auguries  to  men.  The  emanation  in 
this  case  is  mightier  and  fairer  than  its  source ; 
and  we  are  taught  by  the  sublime  influences  of 
bards  and  prophets,  speaking  and  chanting  in 
noble  pages,  that  what  is  not  is  greater  than 
what  is  or  seems  to  be.  A  golden  light,  serene, 
genial,  and  blessed,  is  shbt  down  from  the 
bright  world  of  romance  and  rapturous  truth, 
in  which  we  walk  with  a  proud  consciousness 
of  a  high,  but  as  yet  unseen  destiny,  and  of 
faculties  that  yearn  after  something  better  and 
grander  than  the  planetary  crosses  of  the  pres- 
ent life. 

In  the  creation  of  character,  too,  of  a  purer 
and  more  chivalrous  cast  than  that  of  actual 
men,  literature  is  rendering  a  great  service  to 
the  world,  and  drawing  it  away  from  the  mean, 
petty  usages,  the  degrading  tricks,  and  gross 
customs  of  our  everyday  life.  In  the  contempla- 
tion of  these  romantic  portraitures,  in  the  works 
of  novelists  and  poets,  the  age  finds  relief,  and 
forgets,  for  a  time,  the  hardships  of  society,  and 
the  despotism  of  circumstances.  Even  where 
the  writer  adopts  a  contrary  course,  it  is  a  sat- 
isfaction to  the  world  to  have  a  Squeers,  or  an 
lago  gibbeted  high  before  them,  in  the  full 
length  of  their  desperate  villany.  These  are 
their  sport  and  pastime,  a  sort  of  lay  figures  to 
receive  the  heaped-up  scorn  and  contumely  of 
all  mankind.  In  either  event  the  object  is  ac- 
complished, and  the  quarrel  with  bad  fortune 
or  cursed  chance  is  for  the  time  silenced,  or 
turned  into  a  more  melodious  and  promising 
wrangle. 

Let  it  not  be  said  that  the  world's  homage  to 
men  like  Scott,  and  Dickens,  and  "Wordsworth, 


346 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


is  extravagant  or  irrational.  It  is  men  like 
these,  loboring  for  the  purposes  wejiave  attempt- 
ed to  describe,  that  preserve  the  healthful  ac- 
tion of  the  general  mind,  and  furnish  to  many 
hearts  consolations  and  solaces  that  could 
scarcely  be  found  elsewhere,  this  side  of  scrip- 
ture. The  age  can  not  do  them  too  much  hon- 
or, for  they  are  the  chief  friends  and  benefac- 
tors of  the  age. 

We  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  in  the  cultiva- 
tion of  art  and  literature  lies  the  sole  remedy 
for  the  heavy  evils  that  oppress  the  hour;  but 
in  them  we  find  many  of  our  faculties  and  pas- 
sions wisely  exercised,  which  employed  in  the 
common  businesses  and  pursuits  of  the  world, 
are  degraded,  abused,  and  misdirected,  or  im- 
perfectly engaged,  so  as  to  create  incalculable 
misery  and  crime. 

The  multitude  of  newspapers  and  new  inven- 
tions, crowded  patent-offices,  swarming  streets, 
and  thronged  rivers  and  mountain-sides,  bear 
testimony  to  the  restless  spirit  of  the  age.  The 
world  is  at  the  top  of  its  speed,  and  yet  it  in- 
dustriously plies  whip  and  spur,  as  if  it  thought 
itself  moving  at  a  snail's  pace.  The  demands 
of  trade  and  commerce  will  scarcely  account 
for  this.  There  is  an  unquiet  devil  at  the  heart 
of  the  times,  which  pricks  them  perpetually  on, 
and  makes  of  the  whole  race  a  sort  of  wander- 
ing Jewry,  doomed  to  have  no  rest  nor  pause, 
■until  the  hearse  and  the  undertaker  are  at  the 
door. 

Of  alarmists  and  preachers  of  agitation,  we 
have  sufficient ;  we  need  apostles  of  peace  and 
tranfiuillity.  It  is  necessary  that  the  heart  of 
the  age  should  be  soothed  and  calmed,  and  its 
vast  activity  turned  to  some  better  account  than 
place-hunting  and  money-piling,  the  uproar  of 
battle  and  the  mad  cries  of  trade. 

The  serene  spirit  that  lives  in  good  books, 
the  music  of  good  men's  voices,  the  quiet  shades 
of  the  sanctuary,  and  the  sabbath  stillness  of 
thoughts  above  the  age,  should  be  sometimes 
sought,  and  would  not  be  sought  in  vain.  The 
consolations  of  literature  and  truth,  imbodied  in 
paintings  and  many-colored  pages  by  the  master- 
hands  of  our  generation,  would  not  come  to  us 
•without  warning  and  encouragement,  and  we 
would  not  then  dare  to  curse  God  and  die,  be- 
cause life  seemed  to  us  without  hope,  and  void. 


OUR  ILLUSTRIOUS  PREDECESSORS. 

American  antiquities  have  of  late  become 
quite  popular.  Relics  and  memorials  found  on 
our  own  soil  are  beginning  to  be  talked  of  with 
the  same  degree  of  interest  as  if  they  had  been 
dug  up  among  the  Picts,  Pelasgians,  or  ancient 
Druids.  Native  pottery,  of  a  thousand  years 
old,  has  risen  in  the  market,  and  while  new 
temples  of  Christian  worship  are  going  up  on 
every  side  of  us,  people  begin  to  throng,  in 
imagination  at  least,  about  the  doors  of  those 


sacred  old  edifices  that  stand  on  our  southern 
and  western  border.  The  time  may  come  when 
the  Mound-builders  shall  be  used  to  point  a 
moral  or  adorn  a  tale,  as  well  as  Greek  or  Ro- 
man ;  and  if  a  railroad  should  be  struck  through 
the  heart  of  the  Alleganies  to  the  Atlantic, 
would  it  be  wonderful  if  some  tumulus  of  half 
an  acre,  superficial  measure,  should  be  trans- 
ported bodily  to  the  centre  of  Chatham-square, 
and  employed  as  a  pulpit  for  chaste  political 
harangues,  for  denunciation  or  exaltation  of 
sub-treasury,  and  the  general  discussion  of 
finance  and  default.  Mr.  Delafield  has  done 
something,  by  publishing  a  gilt-edged  quarto, 
toward  bringing  about  so  happy  a  consumma- 
tion. If  a  book  like  his,  or  Mr.  Caleb  Atwater's, 
could  have  been  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  first 
pilgrim  that  landed  on  Plymouth-rock,  we  think 
he  would  have  stared  a  little.  "  A  pretty  new 
world !"  he  would  have  said,  "  where  the  whole 
back  part  of  it  is  crumbling  and  falling  in 
pieces,  after  this  fashion  !"  Such  is,  in  fact, 
the  precise  truth  of  the  matter ;  and  busy,  ac- 
tive-minded men  are  now  engaged  in  snatching 
such  morsels  from  decay  and  utter  extirpation 
as  lie  in  their  power.  We  trust  that  they  will 
be  cheerful  and  zealous  in  their  labors,  and  not 
allow  themselves  to  be  discomposed  or  put  out 
of  countenance  by  an  occasional  draught  of  dry 
dust  or  sepulchral  ashes.  The  work  must  go 
on,  must  be  prosecuted,  until  we  are  assured 
how  those  martial  old  fellows,  those  antedilu- 
vian buck-eyes  and  hoosiers,  the  Mound-build- 
ers, carried  it  in  their  day  against  wind,  tem- 
pest, heart-ache,  and  the  "  thousand  pains  that 
flesh  is  heir  to."  Let  us  know  how  they  loved 
and  made  love,  what  grain  they  planted,  how 
light  was  furnished,  and  how  pew-rents  stood, 
so  far  toward  sunset,  a  thousand  years  ago. 
How  they  fought  we  know,  for  stout  spears, 
sharp  arrows,  and  helms  of  proof  tell  the  story, 
though  the  head  that  wore,  the  arm  that  wield- 
ed, and  the  eye  that  aimed,  are  long  ago  mould- 
ered in  the  dust.  Who  was  their  great  man  in 
their  palmiest  day  ?  Was  he,  Webster-like,  of 
huge  thews  and  sinews ;  or  did  he  steal  upon 
the  nation  in  the  dwarfish  shape  and  guise  of  a 
Van  Buren  ?  Or  were  their  politics,  their  par- 
ties and  political  divisions,  based  on  some  tomb- 
building  question  ?  whether  man's  last  lodging 
should  be  round  or  square  at  top?  with  two 
openings  or  twelve  ? 

Another  question  of  vast  importance,  in 
which  all  Pearl  street  and  half  Greenwich  has 
an  interest,  what  ware  did  they  use  ?  what 
particular  importation  of  crockery  ?  Or  were 
they  in  total  darkness,  entire  ignorance  of  din- 
ner dishes  and  tea-sets  ?  No  point  has  been 
more  thoroughly  vexed  among  the  antiquaries 
than  this ;  and  we  would  respectfully  suggest 
that  a  scholarship  be  founded  by  our  merchants 
in  that  branch  of  business,  to  be  entitled  the 
delf  or  red-pottery  scholarship,  for  the  specific 
investigation  of  this  subject.  New  patterns 
might  be  discovered,  and  trade  receive  a  fresh 
impulse  from  the  other  side  of  the  Alleganies 


m 


OUR  ILLUSTRIOUS  PREDECESSORS. 


347 


and  the  borders  of  the  Oregon.  How  was  busi- 
ness conducted  among  these  old  heathen  ?  How 
was  society  held  together  ?  Were  there  such 
things  as  clubs,  sects,  friendships,  among  that 
bookless  and  unchronicled  generation  of  men  ? 
Not  an  author  among  them,  we  are  sure ;  not 
an  editor  or  sonneteer,  who  has  left  a  "  file"  or 
a  stanza  to  enlighten  us.  Were  bonds  and 
mortgages  and  brokers  known  among  them  ? 
or  have  these  inventions  come  in  since  the 
flood  ?  We  do  trust  in  heaven  that  further  re- 
searches will  not  disclose  to  us  (at  that  early 
day  at  least),  the  existence  of  a  stock-market 
west  of  the  Ohio ;  although  we  have  a  shrewd 
suspicion  that  some  such  startling  truth  will 
come  to  light,  from  the  position  in  which  many 
bodies  are  found  on  the  banks  of  Marietta  and 
the  upper  Wabash — namely,  stretched  at  length 
under  aged  trees,  with  mouldered  ends  of  rope 
or  flax,  or  some  material  bearing  a  striking  re- 
semblance thereto,  in  close  neighborhood  with 
their  necks.  Fatal  evidences,  we  fear,  of  fancy 
gambling  and  its  logical  consequences  !  Tread- 
ing-wheels  and  stock-dealers  we  had  hoped 
were  contemporary. 

Would  the  endorsement  of  one's  name  on  the 
back  of  an  oblong  scrap  of  foolscap,  subject 
one  with  that  primitive  people  to  the  nuisance 
of  a  notary's  clerk,  subsequently  of  a  notary 
himself,  and  finally  to  that  prime  pest  and  orna- 
ment of  modern  communities,  a  practising  at- 
torney ?  This  instrument  of  torture,  the  pro- 
missory note,  is  perhaps  to  be  referred  to  the 
same  epoch  as  brokers  and  treading-mills. 

Another  point — where  did  their  ancient  legis- 
latures convene  ?  In  the  mammoth  cave,  or 
in  some  of  the  larger  mounds  ?  We  think  the 
latter  might  be  recommended  as  an  august  and 
impressive  place  of  assembling,  to  any  legisla- 
tive or  other  corporate  body.  Bones,  death's- 
heads,  grinning  skulls,  would  preach  nobly 
against  rascality,  bargaining,  and  corruption. 
No  jobs  could  be  managed  in  such  a  vicinity. 
Dead  neighbors  would  lift  up  their  bare  arms 
and  withered  palms,  to  strike  or  deprecate  bold 
or  timid  violaters  of  right  and  justice.  As  to 
the  dress  of  these  dumb  and  mummy  mound- 
builders,  can  there  be  doubt?  We  may  rest 
established  in  the  faith  that  they  did  not  wear 
swallow-tail  coats,  peaked  boots,  and  stiff"  neck- 
stocks — did  not  thrust  their  shrewd  sconces  into 
that  utter  abomination,  a  black  beaver  noggin. 
They  the  rather  flaunted  it  in  loose,  flowing 
robes,  sandals,  and  majestic  pagan  turbans  ! 

Furthermore,  did  they  enjoy  that  noble  an- 
nual festival,  a  charter  election  ?  When  mound- 
builder  rushed  against  mound-builder,  and  mum- 
my was  scurrilous  to  mummy,  that  some  little 
denizen  of  a  pothouse  might  be  alderman  oyer 
a  circuit  of  a  dozen  tumuli  (in  one  of  which 
he  should  be  stuffed  to-morrow),  and  conserve 
the  peace  against  river-rats  and  ground-moles  ? 
Perhaps  they  had  other  and  more  stirring 
amusement,  as  their  walls  and  covered  ways 
would  seem  to  indicate  a  pretty  vigilant  foe  to 
be  taken  care  of  on  the  outside ! 


Can  we  think  of  this  ancient,  solemn,  and 
buried  race  as  enjoying  parties  of  pleasure,  tea- 
gardens,  boating,  rockets,  and  other  frivolous 
divertisements  ?  Is  the  conjecture  plausible 
enough  to  impose  on  our  understanding,  that 
juvenile  mound-builders  were  in  the  habit  oC 
crowning  the  day  with  a  "  dash"  out  of  town 
in  a  box,  or  pillory  rather,  suspended  between 
two  enormous  fly-wheels,  and  careering  it  along 
the  bank  of  the  Mississippi,  or  under  some  jut- 
ting cliflf  of  Allegany,  at  the  rate  of  seventeen 
miles  an  hour,  with  a  tandem  of  bison  ? 

How  does  the  notion  strike  us  of  one  of  these 
silent  and  reserved  skeletons  strutting  a  paved 
street,  perfumed,  gloved,  and  corseted  ?  Will 
the  imagination  endure  to  think  of  a  tomb-full 
of  these  interred  and  stately  people,  starting 
up  into  a  popular  assembly,  and  shouting  their 
lungs  in  pieces  to  have  a  farthing  taken  off"  of 
beer,  or  a  smirched  bank-bill  cashed  in  copper  ? 
Can  we  conceive  of  them  rushing  about  in 
fragmentary  hats  and  dilapidated  waistcoats, 
spouting  patriotism  at  taverns,  and  asking  to  be 
paid  for  it  afterward  ? 

To  leave  their  sports  and  c6mc  to  matters  of 
a  graver  nature — much  discussion  has  occurred 
as  to  the  purpose  or  purposes  to  which  certain 
round  and  square  buildings  of  stone  within 
their  borders  were  applied.  Some  assert  that 
they  were  employed  as  watch-towers  to  keep  a 
look-out  for  an  approaching  enemy  from  the 
north  or  west ;  others  will  have  it  that  they 
were  light-houses  to  guide  navigators  over  the 
prairies ;  and  a  third  party  (of  a  more  serious 
turn  of  conjecture)  assures  us  that  they  were 
built  for  no  less  purpose  than  the  use  of  the 
reverend  clergy,  and  occupied  by  them  as  read- 
ing-desks. Their  supposed  system  of  sun-wor- 
ship, and  out-of-door  religion,  lends  some  plausi- 
bility to  this  guess.  We  believe  that  these 
towns  were  built  by  the  auctioneers,  and  were 
put  in  daily  requisition  by  them  in  their  ordinary 
course  of  business. 

They  had  auctioneers  ;  of  that  we  are  well- 
assured.  No  man  with  a  genius  for  the  busi- 
ness could  have  gone  long  without  catching  at 
the  facilities  for  its  prosecution  afforded  by  tu- 
muli, barrows,  and  stone-towers.  Standing  on 
one  of  these  at  noonday,  he  would  as  naturally 
lift  his  voice  in  the  line  of  trade  as  an  adult 
rooster  from  a  wall. 

"  How  much,  how  much  !  a  prime  yoke  ot 
bison !  Two  years  old  this  season.  Going — 
going.  Now  a  dozen  helmets ;  Sledgekopp'g 
make;  with  bucklers  and  breastplates  to  match 
— cheap — going  cheap,  to  close  the  affairs  of  a 
retired  warrior !"  This  was  on  the  day  of  sale ; 
but  how  he  managed  to  announce  his  auction, 
is  not  so  readily  imagined ;  whether  by  a  boy 
hurried  through  the  country^  on  the  back  of  a 
hackney  buffalo,  a  punchy  and  full-winded  old- 
er mound-builder,  with  a  bell  (as  in  our  modern 
Boston,  the  creature  of  yesterday),  or  by  the 
cheaper  device  of  a  flag  thrust  out  at  the  top 
of  one  of  the  towers  of  stone. 

The  glorious  wilderness  of  the  mound-build- 


348 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


ers  appeals  to  us  by  considerations  deeper  and 
tenderer  than  these.  In  this  fertile  and  flow- 
ing region,  it  is  said,  that  first  and  happiest 
garden,  the  garden  of  Eden,  once  stood.  Here 
Adam  (if  this  pleasing  conjecture  be  true)  re- 
ceived the  title-deed,  the  great  fee  of  the  earth, 
from  his  sovereign  and  paramount  Lord ;  and 
in  this  selectest  spot — one  that  should  be  con- 
secrated in  the  hearts  and  memories  of  all  the 
long  generations  of  mankind — he  first  took  by 
the  hand  the  blessed  creature,  who  made  a  para- 
dise of  all  the  earth  when  they  were  driven 
forth  beyond  their  garden-wall.  Cunning  and 
excellent  child  of  nature  !  who  could  not  bear 
the  circumscription  of  rampart  and  river,  and 
"who  would  rather  sin  and  be  free,  than  a  bliss- 
ful prisoner,  tethered  to  happiness  and  spotless 
joys !  Tread  lightly,  therefore,  on  the  fair 
fields  of  the  west;  for  you  know  not  what 
ancient  and  cherished  echoes  may  be  slumber- 
ing in  its  cliiFs  and  river-sides,  nor  how  gently 
the  fore-parents  of  us  all  are  sleeping  there  ! 


THE  FIRST  PRESIDENTIAL  DEATH.* 

Death  has  spoken  to  the  American  people 
in  a  voice  of  consequence  and  power  he  can 
not  hereafter  surpass.  He  has  spoken  from  the 
Capitol,  and  standing  amidst  the  highest  mem- 
orials of  authority  this  nation  can  know. 
There  may  not  be  in  the  voice  an  unrivalled 
depth  of  passion,  nor  a  heart-piercing  sharp- 
ness of  agony,  but  all  of  force  and  solemnity  to 
be  acquired  from  high  station,  newness  and 
splendor  of  office,  and  the  sustained  gaze  of 
many  millions  of  free  people,  sounds  in  the  ac- 
cents he  has  recently  littered.  Poets  and  men  of 
genius,  in  God's  good  time,  will  arise,  and  labor, 
and  die  a  death  that  comes  much  nearer  to 
the  heart  than  this ;  philanthropists  and  pris- 
on-searchers, like  Howard,  and  emancipators 
of  men,  will  enter  the  tomb  with  a  more  tear- 
ful train  ;  patriots,  falling  on  the  plain  amid 
foes  to  civil  liberty,  and  martyrs  dying  for  con- 
science' sake,  must  shake  the  bosom  with  a  pro- 
founder  grief. 

Nor  was  this  death  altogether  wanting  in  in- 
cidents of  an  heroic  description  ;  up  to  the  Cap- 
itol the  good  president  marched,  amid  throngs 
of  earnest  friends,  all  eager  to  grasp  his  hand 
and  cry  out "  God  bless  him !"  as  he  passed ;  the 
benisons  of  thousands  hung  upon  his  steps,  and 
he  planted  himself  in  the  chief  chair  of  state 
under  many  cheerful  auspices  and  promises  of 
good  at  hand ;  in  three-and-thirty  days  he  was 
laid  out  in  the  presidential  mansion  to  receive 
callers ;  but  no  more  to  stretch  to  them  the 
welcome  hand,  or  cheer  them  with  the  joyous 
eye.  A  month's  president — he  came  into  pow- 
er in  a  whirlwind,  which  subsided  shortly  into 
the  low-whispering  dirge  of  death. 

♦  William  Henry  Harrison,  of  Ohio,  was  inaugurated 
President  of  the  United  States  March  4,  1841,  and 
died  the  4th  of  April  following. 


When  we  call  back  to  our  imagination  the 
banners,  the  loud,  free  shouts,  the  boastful 
drums,  and  the  choral  songs  of  November,  and 
see  how  they  have  died  away  into  an  April 
mildness  of  tears,  and  shrouded  emblems,  and 
slow  mournful  marches  and  processions,  we 
learn  that  we  live  in  two  worlds  that  glide  into 
and  interchange  with  each  other.  Light  and 
shadow  never  lay  closer  side  by  side.  Assum- 
ing power  in  the  midst  of  triumph  and  accla- 
mation, our  late  chief  magistrate  laid  it  down 
in  quietude  and  a  solemn  stillness  never  to 
be  broken.  The  great  robe  of  office  changed, 
as  of  itself  and  with  miraculous  swiftness,  into 
the  silent  shroud  and  plain  bands  of  utter  peace. 
We  rejoice  that  the  good  old  man  is  gone.  The 
future  time  grows  dark  upon  the  view.  What  of 
discord,  and  war,  and  civil  confusion,  labors  in 
the  gathering  cloud,  God  only  knows.  It  was 
eminent  good  fortune,  that  he  whose  life  had 
been  happy  and  triumphant,  should  pass  out  of 
it  ere  its  peace  was  broken  by  the  sounds  of 
alien  hostility;  or,  to  a  true  spirit,  the  more 
fearful  murmurs  of  disaffection  or  distrust,  from 
his  own  countrymen  and  people. 

We  rejoice  that  he  is  dead,  inasmuch  as  this 
one  death,  high  and  lamented  as  it  is,  has  con- 
summated a  great  truth,  and  confirmed  our  faith 
in  free  institutions  and  free  men.  A  change 
which  elsewhere  often  wrenches  thrones  from 
their  foundations,  has  here  been  wrought  with 
the  silence  and  dignity  of  a  funeral  pageant. 
The  supreme  power  of  the  land  has  descended 
into  the  second  constitutional  hands — by  no  ar- 
rogant transmission  of  blood,  nor  insolent  inter- 
ference of  armed  men — without  a  pause  or  a 
murmur.  Our  faith  in  men,  our  reverence  for 
the  constitutional  charter,  have  moulted  what- 
ever spot  or  soil  they  may  have  acquired  in  any 
recent  mischances,  and,  new-fledged,  ascend 
again,  and  with  an  undoubting  eye  dare  con- 
template the  future  in  its  most  boding  and  dis- 
astrous shapes. 

Never,  we  will  venture  to  say,  never  was 
the  attachment  of  a  people  to  its  institutions 
exhibited  with  more  sense,  decorum,  and  con- 
stancy, than  in  the  present  trial ;  never  were 
the  better  elements  of  the  American  charactei 
evoked  with  greater  success,  although  the  lap- 
idafy  hand  that  called  to  the  surface  the  bright, 
new  asi)ects  and  colors,  was  cold  and  deadly. 

In  a  former  article,  illustrative  of  the  inci- 
dents of  the  recent  presidential  canvass,*  we 
had  occasion  to  speak  of  the  employment  ot 
emblems  and  devices  in  furtherance  of  political 
or  party  objects.  The  same  subject  now  arises 
with  a  less  cheerful  complexion ;  and  the  ques- 
tion at  present  is,  how  far  the  use  of  shrouded 
standards,  badges,  crapes,  and  printers'  rules, 
as  denotements  of  grief,  is  wise  and  necessary. 
There  is,  unquestionably,  a  class  of  minds- 
men  of  refined  or  imaginative  temperament — 
with  whom  they  are  not  needed,  whose  delicat<? 
sense  of  sorrow  is,  perhaps,  offended  by  th« 

*  page  330. 


THE  FIRST  PRESIDENTIAL  DEATH. 


349 


display  of  any  symbol  or  evidence  of  feeling 
whatever.  They  would  enjoy  their  grief  in  si- 
lence, and  cherish  the  dart  that  has  pierced 
their  breast,  in  secrecy  and  repose.  They  ask 
for  no  gloomy  weeds,  no  sable  hearse,  no  long 
train  of  mourners,  no  pomp  of  obsequies,  or  fu- 
neral observance.  These,  influenced  by  a  true 
delicacy  of  feeling,  perhaps,  would  not  have 
the  metropolis  defile  through  its  own  streets  in 
divisions  of  clergy,  laity,  magistracy,  and  sol- 
diery ;  with  sections  and  sub-sections,  composed 
of  ex-aldermen  and  ex-presidents,  the  horse  of 
the  deceased,  led  by  his  aged  servant,  an  urn 
shrouded  in  black,  and  twenty-six  pall-bearers, 
representing  the  twenty-six  states  of  the  Union, 
But  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  class  of 
meditative  and  thoughtful  sorrowers  for  a  pub- 
lic man  is  extremely  limited ;  and  that  it  is  for 
the  general  mind,  and  for  the  purpose  of  stamp- 
ing upon  it  a  deep  and  salutary  conviction  of 
the  bereavement,  that  these  devices  are  in- 
tended. 

The  shrouded  eagle  brings  home  the  pointed 
dart  with  double  force  to  their  bosoms ;  and  the 
golden-lettered  banner,  blotted  from  the  sun  by 
dreary  crape,  makes  thick  and  palpable  the 
sense  of  their  grief.  The  artisan,  who  would 
scarcely  trouble  himself  with  profound  reflec- 
tions that  would  justify  lamentation,  and  whose 
heart  is,  perhaps,  scarcely  alive  to  the  nice 
sensibilities  that  constantly  vibrate  and  keep 
grief  true  to  its  object,  as  he  strikes  a  blow  up- 
on the  bench  or  the  anvil  casts  his  eye  upon 
the  dark  band  that  encircles  his  arm,  and  feels, 
of  a  truth,  that  a  great  and  good  man  has  fallen. 
Keeping,  therefore,  this  side  of  quaint  and  fop- 
pish distinctions,  such  as  the  wearing  of  the 
badge  above  the  elbow  for  the  military  token  of 
grief,  and  below  it  as  the  citizen's,  we  hold  the 
influence  of  public  ceremonials  and  appropri- 
ate emblems,  justifiable  and  useful;  the  eye  is 
fixed,  the  heart  improved,  and  the  memory  kept 
fresh. 

Depressed  and  humiliated  by  an  occasion 
that  towered  too  high  for  it  to  strike  at,  we  re- 
joiced to  see  with  what  eflicacy  the  evil  spirit 
of  party  was  laid  and  made  to  hold  its  peace  for 
a  season.  Despotic,  slanderous,  Ishmael-like, 
and  brazen,  as  it  is,  it  could  not  keep  its  front 
amid  the  solemn  scene,  but  slunk  away  from 
the  fraternal  obsequies,  and  crouching  in  the 
distance,  sits  at  gaze,  ready,  we  doubt  not,  to 
re-enter  his  realm  at  the  earliest  chance.  Would 
that  he  might  be  made  there  to  inure,  a  miser- 
able exile,  an  outcast,  marplot,  and  peace- 
breaker — for  ever  and  ever.  He  has  been  no 
friend  of  ours ;  has  done  us  no  good  service, 
that  we  know  of,  for  sixty  years ;  on  the  con- 
trary, has  not  spared  pains  or  toil  to  make  us 
restless,  embittered,  and  belligerent  toward  one 
another.  Why,  therefore,  he  should  be  permit- 
ted to  put  men  together  by  the  ears,  to  harass 
and  excite  them,  from  yearVend  to  year's-end, 
and  from  Maine  to  Florida,  is  beyond  the  power 
of  plain  sense  to  comprehend.  Is  this  spirit  so 
fierce  and  barbarian  in  his  nature,  that  nothing 


but  skeleton  hands  can  smite  him  dumb,  and 
dead  men's  voices  quell  the  devil  that  rages 
within  him  ?  Is  no  appeal  sufficient  which  em- 
anates* from  quiet  firesides,  the  calm  privacy  of 
domestic  life,  past  goodness,  present  worth,  or 
future  usefulness,  that  candidates  for  office 
must  be  assailed  with  demoniac  energy  and  bit- 
terness, and  be  made  to  repent  the  day  they 
were  rash  enough  to  lend  themselves  to  the 
public  service  ?  Does  any  one  believe  that  our 
politicians  and  statesmen,  our  chief  counsellors 
and  advisers  in  critical  afiairs,  are  the  gross, 
sinister,  and  corrupt  men,  they  are  painted  in 
the  harangues  of  partisan  declaimers  and  the 
paragraphs  of  party  prints  ?  Does  any  one 
hold  either  party  to  be  the  Jacobinical  club,  the 
mercenary  junto,  the  base,  false  foe  of  oxir  in- 
stitutions, which  its  opposite  charges  it  to  be  ? 

No,  no.  The  silence  and  grateful  reciproci- 
ty of  an  occasion  like  the  late  presidential  buri- 
al, disclaims  and  repudiates  any  such  belief  as*^ 
harsh  and  unjust ;  proves  that  the  violence  and 
fierceness  of  party  are  an  unnatural  and  fever- 
ish condition  of  the  body  politic,  and  calls  upon 
us  from  the  very  bosom  of  its  repose  and  seren- 
ity, to  make  our  political  diflerences  henceforth 
differences  of  judgment  and  opinion,  and  not  of 
idle  passion  and  insane  perversion  of  character 
and  truth. 

Another  kindred  lesson  we  have  been  taught 
by  this  great  event ;  that  the  American  press 
possesses,  under  all  its  abuses,  a  profound  sense 
of  justice  and  right ;  that  it  is  willing  to  be  a 
co-worker  with  the  public  mind  in  the  expres- 
sion of  humane  and  charitable  sentiments,  and 
liberal  opinions.  ' 

Everywhere  has  it  written  of  the  recent 
death  with  forbearance,  good  feeling,  and  a 
proper  regard  for  the  charities  of  life.  Back 
and  forth  through  every  part  of  the  land  have 
the  mournful  tidings  been  tolled  and  echoed; 
and  the  whole  press  has  been  but  one  continuous 
chime  of  melancholy  bells,  responding,  itera- 
ting, and  harmonizing  with  each  other.  What- 
ever errors  of  taste,  or  defects  of  mere  critical 
judgment  may  be  charged  upon  our  journals, 
we  have  uniformly  found  them,  apart  from 
partisan  bias,  sound  and  clear  on  questions  of 
morals,  and  just,  so  far  as  they  were  informed, 
in  advocating  the  right  and  rebuking  the  wrong- 
doer. Certain  ingrained  abuses  we  fear  there 
are,  dark  flaws  of  passion,  and  stains  of  preju- 
dice and  error,  which  we  devoutly  wish  might 
be  purged  away ;  but  for  the  good  which  it  has 
done,  we  thank  it,  and  trust  it  will  date  from 
the  present  hour  its  new  calendar  of  kind  offi- 
ces, enlightened  humanity,  and  temperate  ad- 
vocacy of  truth. 

The  respect  of  republics  for  magistracy  and 
constituted  authorities  can  not  be  hereafter 
called  in  question.  This,  the  first  occasion 
on  which  the  whole  nation  could  unite  to  ex- 
hibit, by  undoubted  testimonials,  their  respect 
for  the  common  head  of  all,  has  given  birth  to 
expressions  of  regard  unprompted  by  precedent 
or  prescription — for  there  were  no  such  guides 


350 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


in  the  present  case — but  flowing  spontaneously 
from  the  popular  heart.  Nature  spoke  out 
from  its  own  primitive  shrine,  suggesting,  di- 
recting, and  inspiring  what  was  to  be  doite,  and 
the  result  was  a  simple  and  genuine  homage 
worthy  of  a  free  nation.  For  the  man,  deep, 
earnest  sorrow,  we  doubt  not,  was  felt ;  but 
for  the  president,  a  sterner  and  more  compre- 
hensive regret.  It  was  the  great  office  disten- 
anted  that  caused  dismay,  the  sense  of  an  aw- 
ful bereavement,  and  general  gloom.  When 
the  nation  looked  up  and  discerned  a  great 
blank  injthe  firmament  of  its  powers  and  prin- 
cipalities, whence  its  chief  planet  had  de- 
parted, what  wonder  that  it  started  back  and 
stretched  its  hands  to  the  heavens,  in  depreca- 
tion of  the  mighty  Providence  that  had  wheeled 
it  from  its  sphere. 

Standing  at  the  portal  of  the  tomb,  and  rever- 
^^ntly  regarding  the  illustrious  dead,  it  seems  to 
us  as  if  a  solemn  voice  issued  forth  counselling 
peace,  fraternal  love,  amity  with  nations,  and 
trust  in  God.  Death  has  drawn  nigh  to  us,  and 
seems  as  if  h^  stalked  with  majestic  port  across 
t  he  threshold  of  our  homes,  and  had  seated 
himself  by  our  firesides  to  read  us  a  lesson 
from  the  great  text-book  of  Providence  which 
he  ever  bears  in  his  hand.  Oh,  wiser  far  than 
all  human  scripture  and  black-letter  teaching 
is  the  practical  homily  by  which  he  informs  us 
of  the  solemn  requirements  of  dut^^  household 
justice,  national  purity,  and,  chiefest  of  all,  of 
the  eternal  crisis  toward  which  every  man  is 
hastening  with  that  gloomy  guide  as  his  usher 
and  chamberlain ! 


A  MOVEMENT  IN  CLERKDOM. 

There  is  no  example  on  record  of  a  more 
successful  rising  than  the  recent  one  of  the 
clerks  of  New  York,  to  relieve  themselves  of 
the  thraldom  of  overwork.  From  the  begin- 
ning, it  furnished  evidences  of  a  sure  and  ulti- 
mate triumph ;  first  a  speck  no  larger  than  a 
man's — no,  not  so  large — no  larger  than  a 
clerk's  hand,  appeared  in  one  of  the  public 
prints,  a  mere  paragraph ;  then  the  anonymous 
call  of  a  public  meeting ;  then  the  proceedings 
thereat,  with  a  brief  reference  to  several  elo- 
quent and  masterly  speeches  delivered  ;  a  chair- 
man's name  appended  at  full  length,  in  large, 
and  two  secretaries,  in  small  type  ;  then  a  pe- 
tition drawn  up,  a  delegation  of  clerks  appoint- 
ed to  bear  it  belbre  the  masters — the  mighty  re- 
tailers themselves ;  and  then,  it  sounded  like 
i^  report  of  cannon  throughout  all  clerkdom, 
four  thousand  strong, — victory  !  freedom  !  the 
clerks  are  emancipated,  have  accomplished 
their  own  deliverance,  and  shall  measure  tape 
and  falsify  colors  no  more,  henceforth  and  for- 
ever, after  eight  o'clock,  evening. 

Now,  as  the  stroke  of  the  hall  clock  was  on 
the  Vni.,  there  was  a  low  murmuring  sound 
heard  all  through  the  city,  of  keys  turning  in 


great  rusted  locks  ;  parties  were  seen  strolling 
along — groups  of  two,  or  three,  or  more — look- 
ing back  upon  the  barred  door  and  closed  bow- 
windows  with  an  air  of  triumph,  mixed  with  a 
doubt  whether  it  could  be  so;  wljether  that 
cursed  old  shop,  that  had  eaten  the  heart  of  so 
many  delicious  evenings,  was  at  length  gorged 
and  satisfied  with  twelve  hours'  work.  Some 
of  them,  too,  would  stroll  about  the  town  for 
hours,  in  this  same  state  of  mixed  wonder  and 
pleasure,  looking  at  all  the  long  line  of  darken- 
ed shop  windows ;  and  when  this  sport  was  at 
an  end,  fairly  exhausted,  some  would  betake 
themselves  to  this  resort,  some  to  that ;  part  to 
oyster-houses,  to  eat  shell-fish  against  each 
other,  for  the  charges  ;  some  to  lectures,  some 
to  concerts,  and  not  a  few  to  bed,  to  dream 
about  a  clerk's  paradise,  where  all  the  employ- 
ers— it  may  be  supposed — are  turned  into  shop- 
boys,  and  made  to  serve  the  clerks  with  in- 
numerable spotted  neckcloths  and  endless  yards 
of  li<2:ht  drab,  for  pantaloons,  day  and  nicrht. 

The  tumult  could  scarcely  be  expectt  d  to  end 
with  the  dry  goods  clerks.  The  fire  spread. 
The  hardware  clerks,  notwithstanding  the  se- 
verity of  their  vocation,  were  the  next  to  catch 
the  contagion ;  summoned  their  general  meet- 
ing ;  had  their  masterly  speakers,  and  resolu- 
tions of  pith  and  supplication  ;  their  committee, 
their  petition,  and  lo  Poean  !  they,  too,  are  en- 
franchised. 

The  next  thing,  news  came  in  that  Newark 
had  risen — the  respectable  and  potent  burgh  of 
Newark,  New  Jersey — that  she  had  burst  the 
shell,  and  struggl'^d  to  be  free. 

This  spirit  of  emulation  and  public  commo- 
tion so  operated,  at  length,  upon  the  boot  and 
shoe  clerks — a  class  slow  of  thought,  and 
heavy-heeled  in  the  march  of  reform — that 
they,  too,  raised  the  banner — supposed,  at  the 
distance  from  which  we  watch  the  fray,  to  be 
a  cordwainer's  apron — rushed  into  the  melee, 
and  bore  off',  with  surprising  resolution  and 
good  fortune,  a  counterpart  of  the  clerks'  free 
charter — Magna  Charta  Clericorum. 

Then  followed  the  hatters'  clerks  ;  then  the 
jewellers';  and  then  came  limping  along,  last 
of  all,  the  maligned,  abused,  and  miss-called 
fry  of  cutters'  and  clothiers'  servitors.  From 
quarter  to  quarter,  the  excitement  spread,  the 
spirit  of  resistance  was  aroused,  until  at  length 
the  whole  realm  of  clerkly  life  was  in  motion. 

Petitions  flowed  in  apace  ;  masters  yielded ; 
shop  after  shop  was  carried,  as  if  by  storm; 
and  darkness,  as  of  an  eclipse — a  great  gloom 
preceding  the  dawn  of  all  clerkly  joy  and  hap- 
piness— came  over  the  city  as  the  fatal  hour  of 
eight  was  struck. 

Notwithstanding  the  formidable  array  thus 
presented  to  the  masters,  and  the  fulminations 
and  threatenings  of  the  aroused  populace  of 
clerks,  a  few  were  fool-hardy  enough  to  resist 
their  demands.  Here  and  there,  through  the 
chief  streets,  a  stray  light  was  seen  twinkling, 
and  forms  gliding  back  and  forth  behind  coun- 
ters— the  ramparts  of  the  tyrannical  masters 


A  MOVEMENT  IN  CLERKDOM. 


331 


— busily  engaged  in  discharging  yarn-balls 
from  boxes ;  accumulating  on  the  counter- 
scarp, as  it  might  be,  material  for  demi-cannon 
sleeves,  and  other  hostile  offices.  This  was, 
of  course,  not  to  be  tolerated  for  any  great 
length  of  time.  At  first  peaceable  measures 
were  adopted,  to  drive  them  from  their  position  ; 
they  were  only  called  vampyres  and  monsters, 
by  anonymous  writers  in  the  newspapers. 
Then  a  significant  hint  was  given  out,  to  the 
eflect,  that  if  they,  the  retailers,  set  any  value 
whatever  on  their  show-windows  and  specimen- 
patterns,  they  would  look  out  for  themselves. 
One  correspondent — the  most  vigorous  and 
Saxon  of  the  clerkly  penmen — in  a  private 
communication  to  a  merchant  in  Chatham 
street,  wrote,  "  I  would  merely  say  to  you  to 
begin  with,  that  you  had  better  look  out  for 
your  glass,  if  you  want  to  save  them  from  being 
smashed ;  moreover,  you  had  better  look  out 
for  your  head,  if  you  want  to  save  that,  as  this 
course  of  yours  will  not  be  allowed."  And, 
true  enough,  a  nighi  or  two  after,  a  small 
body  of  resolute  clerks  was  seen  marching  up 
Chatham  street — staggering  to  and  fro,  as  if 
laboring  up  against  a  terrible  burden  of  oppres- 
sed feelings — along  Chatham  Row,  and  get- 
ting abreast — as  nearly  so  as  their  feelings 
would  allow  them— of  the  fork  of  Centre 
street,  moved  down,  with  terrible  directness, 
xjpon  a  shoe-shop  that  was  burning  away  mer- 
rily, without  a  thought  of  what  was  approach- 
ing, two  revolving  lights,  and  three  stationary, 
at  the  rate  of  more  than  half  a  foot  of  gas  an 
hour.  In  a  trice  there  was  a  crack,  as  of  glass 
shivering ;  then  another ;  then  crack  a^ain ;  a 
missile  glanced  past  the  head  of  the  shop-keep- 
er's daughter ;  the  shop-keeper  himself  is 
struck,  and  has  fallen  ;  his  head-clerk,  a  chick- 
en-hearted youth,  who,  from  very  fear  and 
povery  of  spirit,  had  refused  to  join  in  the 
movement,  has  crept  into  the  bowels  of  the  big 
boot  for  a  shelter ;  a  dead  silence  ensues,  and 
with  one  good,  round  shout,  the  assailants 
swept  out  of  sight. 

These  outbreaks  were,  however,  only  few  in 
number,  and  of  temporary  duration.  In  a  short 
time,  so  successful,  as  we  stated,  at  the  outset, 
was  the  rising,  that  not  an  obnoxious  light  was 
seen  burning ;  not  a  shop-window  was  left  to 
assail ;  and  with  a  complimentary  announce- 
ment of  the  names  of  all  who  had  come  into 
the  new  sumptuary  regulation,  the  conflict  was, 
in  a  great  measure,  at  an  end.  In  the  mind 
of  the  observer  and  the  philanthropist,  a  start- 
ling question  now  began  to  put  itself. 

How  is  this  mighty  mass  of  disbanded  ac- 
tivity to  be  employed  ?  What  shall  be  done 
with  it  ?  Flushed  with  a  victory,  so  recently 
achieved,  it  is  not  likely  they  would  subside  at 
once  into  the  habits  and  usages  of  ordinary 
life.  It  was  suggested,  that  there  were  the 
military  companies,  not  under  the  best  discipline 
in  the  world,  to  be  re-organized  ;  that  the  ardor, 
so  triumphant  in  the  late  rising  against  the 
masters,  might  be  turned  to  account  in  drills, 


target-shootings,  fence-exercise — that  is,  form- 
ing a  mathematical  straight  line  against  a  wall 
— and  other  martial  divertisements.  A  taste 
for  colors,  derived  from  their  day-light  pursuits, 
and  the  habit  of  marching  up  to  a  counter,  and 
keeping  in  a  line  with  it  all  day  long,  it  was 
supposed,  would  give  them  peculiar  advantages 
in  this  new  enterprise.  A  battalion  of  four 
thousand  spruce  clerks,  marching,  by  night,  to 
the  sound  of  flutes  and  soft  recorders — with 
both  of  which,  habits  of  nightly  serenading 
make  them  familiar — was  a  spectacle  that 
many  hoped  to  see.  This  would  not  do.  There 
was  another  occupation,  in  which  they  might 
embark  which  would  aflford  a  vent  for  the 
roused  spirit  of  the  reformers.  There  is  a 
grand  modern  specific  for  all  possible  ills  ;  a 
creature  of  all-work,  equal  to  any  task  that 
may  be  laid  on  it.  It  builds  ships  and  steam- 
boats ;  can  put  a  custard  on  one's  plate,  and  a 
patch  on  one's  trowsers,  free  of  charge ;  opens 
and  closes  theatres ;  buries  one  man  in  Potter's 
field,  at  will,  and  builds  a  monument  half  way 
to  the  stars  over  another;  is  regaled  on  straw- 
berries and  melons,  the  first  of  the  season ; 
has  a  voice  in  every  company — heard  above  all 
others ;  hangs  this  man ;  fs  at  the  heels  of  that, 
all  through  the  Union,  turn  wherever  he  may ; 
makes  zanies  and  idiots,  by  its  "  so  potent  arts," 
of  wisest  men;  and  elevates  to  the  chair  of 
Plato  and  Socrates  the  merest  dolts  and  mad- 
men. The  combined  wisdom  and  resolution  of 
the  metropolitan  clerks,  therefore,  fixed  on  a 
NEWSPAPER,  as  the  representative  of  their  en- 
franchised activity ;  and  before  us  now  lies, 
wide-awake,  and  coiled  for  a  spring,  the  latest 
offspring  of  the  hundred-headed  press — The 
Clerk's  Gazette.  The  two  numbers  under  our 
eye  give  evidence  of  what  is  called  a  healthy, 
moral  tone,  and  exhibit  qualities  which  must 
be  a  source  of  infinite  satisfaction  to  their 
friends  and  patrons.  "We  have,"  says  the 
Clerk's  Gazette,  No.  2,  "youth  and  enthusaism, 
hand  in  hand  with  talent,  energy,  and  expe- 
rience !" 

Now  if  there  be  any  one  thing  that  pleases 
us  more  than  another,  or  all  others,  it  is  to  see 
a  public  journal  conducted  with  this  species  of 
modest  assurance.  Nothing  can  be,  certainly, 
more  satisfactory  to  a  subscriber,  than  to  know 
that  he  has  the  honor  of  perusing  the  lucubra- 
tions of  a  Solomon  every  morning ;  and  noth- 
mg  can  be  more  charming  as  establishing  a 
frank  and  candid  communication  between  writer 
and  reader,  than  to  have  the  editor  furnishing, 
six  times  a  week,  or  oftener,  a  regular  and  ex- 
act inventoiy  of  all  the  traits  of  his  character, 
the  little  personal  peculiarities  so  fascinating 
among  friends,  so  agreeable  in  a  select  domestic 
circle ;  how  much  more  entertaining  and  piquant 
when  blazoned  in  print ! 

"  The  next  number  of  this  journal,"  quoth 
the  Clerk's  Gazette,  "  will  be  the  best  that  has 
appeared.     We  have  said  it." 

That  we  like.  It  is  short  and  terse  ;  comes 
to  the  point  at  once,  and  promises,  without 


352 


SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS. 


halting,  that  the  Solomon  of  Wednesday  last 
shall  be,  by  Wednesday  next,  thrown  complete- 
ly into  the  shade,  made  quite  an  idiot  of,  by  the 
revised,  improved,  and  regenerated  Solomon, 
now  on  his  way,  with  a  new  number  of  his 
journal  under  his  arm.     Made  virtute  ! 

The  war  waged  with  the  masters  is  at  an 
end,  and  this — the  Gazette  of  the  conflict — 
seems  destined  to  acquire  for  the  combatants, 
laurels  grown  in  a  more  peaceful  soil — a  gar- 
den-plant, whose  root  is  refreshed  and  enlivened 
with  ink,  instead  of  blood. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add,  that  the  revo- 
lution, so  imperfectly  narrated,  has  our  best 
wishes,  that  it  may  be  as  permanent  and  endur- 
ing, as  it  has  been  sudden  and  decisive ;  that  the 
hours  rescued  from  the  gymnastic  and  toilsome 


exercise  of  counter-crossing,  may  be  devoted  to 
pursuits,  at  least  as  graceful,  if  not  quite  so 
profitable  and  remunerating.  The  clerks  of 
the  great  metropolis  of  New  York,  are  a  for- 
midable body;  they  have  shown,  by  a  single 
shaking  of  the  mane,  in  the  recent  struggle  for 
liberation,  of  what  effects  they  are  capable ; 
and  it  only  remains  for  them  to  carry  into  other 
employments,  the  same  sagacity  in  undertaking, 
the  same  energy,  force  of  combination,  and 
public  spirit  in  prosecuting,  and  the  same  firm- 
ness and  wisdom  in  securing  a  good  result — as  in 
the  recent  movement — to  acquire  for  themselves 
the  character  of  setting  their  hand  to  no  plough 
that  does  not  go  through  the  furrow  triumphant- 
ly to  an  end  ;  of  raising  no  shout  or  battle-call, 
that  is  not  musical  with  the  very  notes  of  victory. 


END  OF  SELECTIONS  FROM  ARCTURUS 


I  t 


INTERMTIOML    COPYRiaHT. 


INTERNATIONAL    COPYRIGHT. 


A  SPEECH 

ON 

INTERNATIONAL   COPYRIGHT, 

DELIVERED  AT   THE 

DINNER  TO  CHARLES  DICKENS, 

AT  THE  CITY  HOTEL,  NEW  YORK, 

February  19,  1842. 

The  president  (Washington  Irving,  Esq.), 
having  proposed  the  sentiment,  "  International 
Coypright — It  is  but  fair  that  those  who  have 
laurels  for  their  brows  should  be  permitted  to 
browse  on  their  laurels,"  Mr.  Cornelius  Math- 
ews responded : — 

I  answer  your  summons,  Mr.  President,  un- 
der some  restraint.  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  it 
becomes  roe,  an  humble  lay-brother  of  the  order 
of  authors,  to  trouble  a  diplomatist  and  Spanish 
minister,  in  any  way,  with  the  insignificant  af- 
fairs of  the  fraternity.  But  when  I  recollect 
how  tlie  distinguished  gentleman  on  your  right, 
a  monk,  at  least,  if  not  a  bishop,  has  been  late- 
ly received  in  this  great  city  of  ours,  I  am  re- 
assured. Knowing  how  you,  once  an  honored 
member  of  the  craft,  are  going  forth  from  the 
country,  its  ambassador  and  representative, 
and  how  he,  a  man  of  letters,  in  full  communion 
with  the  brethren,  has  just  entered  it — I  think 
I  may  vent^ure  to  say  a  word  or  two  of  rights 
which  you  hold  in  common.  In  speaking  on 
the  subject  of  an  International  copyright,  at  this 
time,  I  would  not  be  understood  as  being  moved 
by  any  new  impulse  or  sudden  enthusiasm  ;  but ! 
as  uttering  convictions  carefully  considered  and 
long  entertained. 

That  I  am  speaking  in  the  presence  of  an 
eminent  foreign  writer — the  universality  of 
whose  genius,  appealing  by  its  delineations  to 
all  classes  and  conditions  of  men,  would  seem 
to  entitle  him  to  a  universal  recognition  of  his 
rights — will,  I  believe,  by  no  means  diminish 
the  force  of  what  I  may  say. 

It  is  argued  sometimes,  I  know,  that  authors 
have  no  rights ;  and  a  paper-dealing  tradesman 


of  this  city,  greedy  of  some  sort  of  renown,  has 
lately  contended  if  we  could  but  get  English 
books  at  the  cost  of  type  and  paper  (the  author 
being  considered  an  impertinent  third  party), 
all  the  ends  of  good  literature  would  be  an- 
swered. I  might  ask  this  artful  casuist,  how  it 
would  suit  his  convenience — he  being  a  man  of 
some  stamp  and  character  among  his  neighbors 
— to  come  abroad  in  the  open  light  of  day — in 
a  coat  yet  odorous  of  the  fi,ngers  of  the  petit- 
larceny  thief;  a  hat  savoring  of  the  burglar's 
fist ;  his  pockets  jingling  with  the  transferred 
coin  of  a  bank  robber.  But  I  look  beyond  this 
miserable  economical  subterfuge,  and  seek, 
somewhat  farther  down,  the  actual  operation 
of  an  uncopyrighted  foreign  literature,  reprint- 
ed without  restraint.  There  is  at  this  moment, 
waging  in  our  midst,  a  great  war  between  a 
foreign  and  a  native  literature.  The  one  claims 
pay,  food,  lodging,  and  raiment :  the  other  bat- 
tles free  of  all  charges,  takes  the  field  prepared 
for  all  weathers  and  all  emergencies  ;  has  nei- 
ther a  mouth  to  cry  for  sustenance,  a  back  to 
be  clothed,  nor  a  head  to  be  sheltered. 

The  conflict  between  a  paid  literature  and 
an  unpaid,  is  a  fierce  one  while  it  lasts ;  it  can 
not  last  long.  The  one  relies  on  the  feeble 
and  uncertain  impulses  of  authorship  ;  the  other 
is  driven  on  by  all  the  restless  interests  of  trade. 
What,  sir,  is  the  present  condition  of  the  field 
of  letters  in  America  ?  It  is  in  a  state  of  des- 
perate anarchy — without  order,  without  system, 
without  certainty.  For  several  years  past,  it 
has  been  sown  broad-cast  with  foreign  publi- 
cations of  every  name  and  nature.  What 
growth  has  ensued  ?  No  single  work,  so  far 
as  I  can  see,  has  sprung  up  as  its  legitimate 
result ;  no  addition  to  the  stock  of  native  poetry 
or  fiction  ;  no  tree  has  blossomed  ;  no  solitary 
blade  struck  through  the  hard  and  ungrateful 
turf.  Whatever  has  been  produced  has  been  in 
spite  of  opposition  from  within  and  without ;  has 
been  the  bright  exception,  not  the  rule.  Instead 
of  being  fostered  and  promoted,  as  it  should  be, 
our  domestic  literature  is  borne  down  by  an 
immethodical  and  unrestrained  republication  of 
every  foreign  work  that  will  bear  the  charges 
of  the  compositor  and  paper-maker. 

Under  the  regulations  of  an  International 


356 


SPEECH  ON 


copyright,  the  work  of  a  British  author  would 
be  published  here  in  its  order ;  would  take  its 
chance  with  other  works,  native  and  foreign ; 
would  be  valued  and  circulated  according  to  its 
worth;  and  would  hold  its  rank  in  due  subor- 
dination to  the  judgment  passed  upon  it  by  the 
side  of  other  compositions.  What  is  the  case 
now  ?  A  new  work  by  the  author  of  "  Charles 
O'Malley"  reaches  this  country — a  pleasant, 
lively,  vivacious  picture  of  Irish  life  and  dra- 
goon service,  well  worthy  of  being  printed  by 
some  prominent  house,  furnished  to  the  libra- 
ries, and  put  into  the  hands  of  a  liberal  circle 
of  readers,  in  due  course  of  trade.  This  would 
be  proper  and  natural.  On  the  contrary,  twen- 
ty, yea,  fifty  or  a  hundred  hands — for  the  giant 
of  republication  is  single-eyed  and  many-hand- 
ed—are.  thrust  forth,  spasmodically  to  clutch 
the  first  landed  copy ;  it  is  followed,  watched 
to  its  destination;  violent  hands  are  perhaps 
laid  on  it,  to  snatch  it  from  its  first  possessor ; 
it  is  reprinted ;  early  copies  are  despatched  in- 
to the  country ;  new  editions  follow,  in  pamph- 
let, in  book,  by  chapters  in  a  thousand  news- 
papers ;  the  land  is  vocal  with  the  unrestrained 
chuckle  of  the  daily  and  weekly  press  over  this 
new  acquisition  ;  while  no  other  writer,  what- 
ever his  merit,  if  his  popularity  be  but  a  degree 
less,  is  listened  to.  What  hope  is  there  here 
for  the  native  author  ? 

The  odds  are  tremendous ;  and  I  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  say,  sir,  that  if  he  had  thousands  to  lav- 
ish on  the  printing  of  a  single  work,  a  press  in 
every  village,  a  publisher  of  enterprise  and 
spirit  in  every  city,  the  purchased  control  of 
fifty  newspapers,  he  would  be  only  beginning 
to  enter  the  field  on  anything  like  fair  terms 
with  Dr.  Lever.  The  one  literature,  the  for- 
eign, is  propelled  through  the  country  by  steam, 
the  other,  the  native,  halts  after  on  foot  or 
in  such  conveyances  as  a  very  narrow  purse 
may  bargain  for.  Principles,  it  may  be,  alien 
to  our  own,  travel  with  the  speed  of  lightning, 
while  national  truths,  in  which  we  have  the 
profoundest  interest,  follow  at  a  lacquey's  pace 
behind.  As  an  American  I  feel  this  and  I  avow 
it.  From  the  contemplation  of  that  distin- 
guished author,  glorying  in  the  zenith  of  a 
reputation  universal  as  the  light  of  day,  my 
eyes  turn  away,  and  in  the  sequesterea  retreat, 
in  the  cramped  and  narrow  room,  seek  that 
other  brother  of  his,  poor,  neglected,  borne 
down  by  the  heavy  hand  of  his  country,  laid 
like  an  oppressor's  upon  him ;  and  I  feel  that 
the  conditions  of  human  life  are  hard  indeed. 
Far  be  it  from  me,  sir,  to  indulge  in  idle  repi- 
nings  over  any  of  the  inevitable  sufferings 
of  authors  or  of  men  ;  farther  be  it  from  me 
to  cast  any  shadow  upon  the  general  joy  of 
this  occasion ;  but  I  feel  it  my  duty,  as  I  trust 
in  God  I  always  shall,  to  say  something,  wher- 
ever I  can,  in  behalf  of  the  victims  of  false 
systems,  the  children  in  this  case — the  orphans, 
rather,  I  might  say — who  inherit  the  wide 
kingdom  of  thought,  and  who  toil  bitterly  in 
secret,  in  labors  not  seen  of  the  eye,  that  the 


world  may  have  enough  of  mirth  and  cheerful 
truth  to  make  the  day  wear  through.  Standing 
here  to-night,  the  representative,  in  some 
humble  measure,  of  the  interests  of  American 
authors  in  this  question,  I  say  they  have  been 
treated  by  this  people  and  government  as  no 
other  of  its  citizens  ;  •  that  an  enormous  fraud 
practised  upon  their  British  brethren,  has  been 
allowed  so  to  operate  upon  them  as  to  blight 
their  hopes  and  darken  their  fair  fame.  They 
have  remonstrated,  and  will,  until  the  evil  has 
grown  too  great  to  be  encountered,  or  is  sub- 
dued. I  might  speak  especially  in  behalf  of 
the  company  of  young  native  writers,  who, 
seeing  how  well  the  world  was  affected  toward 
good  literature,  and  moved  by  some  kindly  im- 
pulses of  nature,  may  have  hoped  in  their  way 
to  add  something  to  the  happiness,  something 
to  the  renown  of  their  country.  But  we  are- 
advised  how  others,  who  thought  they  had  se- 
cured a  constant  and  enduring  hold  on  the  pub- 
lic good  will  by  past  char&,cter  and  services, 
have  also  been  affected  by  the  present  injurious 
state  of  affairs. 

You,  sir,  for  example,  in  that  retreat  of  yours, 
classical  in  the  world's  affections,  having  ma- 
tured a  work  of  some  value  and  which  you 
think  ready  for  the  metropolitan  market,  take 
passage  down  the  Hudson  in  company  with  one 
of  your  farmer  neighbors,  who  has,  perhaps, 
just  fattened  his  fall  stock  to  a  grain — with 
your  manuscript  in  your  pocket — recollecting, 
too,  that  in  times  past,  your  handicraft  has  been 
held  in  some  repute — you  flatter  yourself  you 
will  find  a  prompt  purchaser  for  whatever  you 
bring.  You  call,  sir,  on  certain  traders  in  — — 
street,  you  suggest  the  MSS.  "  For  heaven's 
sake,  Mr.  Irving,"  is  the  response  of  the  bland- 
est member  of  the  firm,  the  one  that  talks  to 
the  authors,  " don't  plague  us  just  now;  we 
have  a  profound  respect  for  your  talents,  an 
ardent  affection  for  American  literature;  but 
Mr.  Bulwer's  Zanoni  has  arrived,  and  we  must 
have  a  hundred  hands  on  it  before  night.  Call 
again,  we  shall  be  happy  to  see  you  !" 

Then,  sir,  meditating  on  the  patriotic  cour- 
tesy of  the  gentleman  you  have  just  left,  you 
shape  your  course  toward  a  great  publishing 
house  in  Broadway;  famous  heretofore  for  a 
certain  solidity  and  selectness  of  publication, 
but  having  been  lately  bitten  by  the  Number 
viper — which,  by  the  by,  is  encompassing  the 
earth,  like  the  great  snake  of  the  Hindoo  my- 
thology— they  beg  you  with  some  natural  tears 
in  their  eyes,  not  to  interrupt  them  just  then; 
"The  big  papers,  the  mammoth  press,  is  on 
the  alert;  they  must  have  'Handy  Andy'  on 
the  counter  by  Saturday  or  the  tide  will  be 
down  with  them ;"  and  behold,  sir,  the  author 
of  the  Sketch  Book,  the  illustrious  historian  of 
New  York,  very  much  in  the  situation  of  the 
ostrich  of  the  desert  having  an  egg  to  lay,  but 
nowhere  to  lay  it ;  and,  like  it,  I  might  add, 
greatly  disposed  to  hide  his  head  for  very  shame. 
How  has  it  fared  sir,  in  the  meantime,  with 
your  sturdy  neighbor  and  his  charge  ?    In  ro- 


INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT. 


357 


bustious  health,  cheerful  of  spirit,  with  no  mis- 
givings whatever,  he  makes  the  voyage  to  New 
York;  remembers  many  a  hearty  welcome, 
many  a  lucky  market  in  times  past ;  and  has 
no  sooner  touched  the  wharf,  then  he  is  seized 
upon  by  a  dozen  or  more  red-cheeked  hucksters, 
who  well-nigh  embrace  him  from  the  joy  they 
feel  at  his  coming;  he  runs  hastily  over  an  in- 
ventory of  what  he  has  brought — so  many  tur- 
keys of  a  year  old,  so  many  spring  chickens, 
so  many  cocks  and  hens,  and  before  he  has  had 
a  chance  to  unbutton  his  overcoat,  his  mer- 
chandise is  off  his  hands,  and  he  casts  about  in 
his  mind  at  what  comfortable  chop-house  he 
shall  hold  an  interview  of  settlement,  and 
reckon  his  gains  over  a  snug  meal  and  a  glass 
of  choice  cider. 

Now,  sir,  I  would  ask,  is  not  your  brood  of 
speckled  fancies,  as  honestly  begotten  from  the 
beginning,  as  his  parti-colored  capons  ?  Are 
not  your  historical  truths  as  solid  and  substan- 
tial, as  real  to  the  mind  as  his  gross-fed  turkeys 
to  the  body  ?  Are  not  your  racy  courses  of 
humor  as  much  a  solace  and  comfort  to  the 
soul  as  his  web-footed  waddlers  to  the  palate  ? 
The  property  is  as  real,  as  actiial  in  one  case 
as  the  other ;  and  why  should  it  not  command 
its  price  ?  That,  sir,  is  a  wretched  country,  or 
a  wretched  condition  of  things,  where  the  best 
products  of  the  best  workman  in  any  depart- 
ment are  not  in  demand.  And  it  is  just  so  here 
at  present. 

The  public  taste  is  so  deeply  affected  by  the 
interested  laudations  of  inferior  authors  by  the 
republishers,  that  the  value  of  literary  reputa- 
tion, as  well  as  literary  property,  is  greatly  im- 
paired. No  distinction  is  made  between  good 
writers  and  bad ;  they  all  appear  in  the  same 
dress,  under  the  same  introduction;  and  the 
judgment  of  the  general  reader  is  so  perplexed 
that  he  can  not  choose  between  Mr.  Dickens 
and  Mr.  Harrison  Ainsworth — between  the 
classical  drama  of  Talfourd  and  the  vapid  farce 
of  Borcicault.  As  this  system  deepens  and 
strengthens  itself,  as  it  does  every  day,  an 
American  celebrity  will  cease  to  have  any 
semblance  of  the  discriminating  applause  of  a 
"  contemporaneous  posterity,"  and  be  regarded 
only  as  the  confused  shout  of  a  distant  crowd. 
I  know  that  to  many  of  our  trans-atlantic 
brethren  their  American  reputation  is  dear  and 
valued ;  and  for  their  sakes  I  would  not  have  a 
system  endure  by  which  its  worth  will  be  so 
surely  diminished. 

This  brings  me,  gentlemen,  to  another  aspect 
of  the  cause  I  am  pleading  with  you.  It  has 
been  matter  of  surprise  in  some  quarters  that 
Mr.  Dickens,  a  British  writer,  has  addressed 
the  American  people  on  the  subject  of  copyright. 
Amid  the  happier  visions  which  have  crowded 
his  English  chamber  for  the  last  five  or  six 
years,  are  we  quite  sure  that  no  corsair  face 
has  ever  looked  in  ? — no  eager  visage  of  the 
ink-stained  pirate,-  with  a  hand  stretched 
stealthily  toward  the  MS.  on  his  desk,  to  snatch 
23 


it  away  ere  it  was  dry,  and  blazon  it  through- 
out the  whole  New  World,  as  an  acquisition 
honestly  made  ?  May  not  his  brightest  hours 
have  been  darkened,  at  times,  by  the  fancy  of 
a  grim  row  of  republishers  rising  before  him — 
line  upon  line  of  readers,  beginning  at  the  At- 
lantic and  stretching  to  the  very  verge  of  Ore- 
gon, with  lines  crossing  them  from  Penobscot 
to  the  Mexican  Gulf,  all  busy  in  the  self-same 
task,  turning  page  after  page  of  what  he  has 
written — roaring  with  laughter,  melting  in 
tears— until  the  contemplation  of  it  (with  the 
thought  that  no  honest  penny  was  gained  to 
him  by  aU  this  pleasant  show  that  was  going 
forward)  has  become  actually  painful  to  his 
mind  ?  And  when,  landing  on  our  shores, 
those  very  readers,  many  of  them,  drew  nigh 
and  took  him  by  the  hand — in  a  very  earnest 
friendly  grasp,  too — and  made  solemn  vows  and 
protestations  of  friendship — was  it  less  than 
natural  that  he  should  speak  to  them,  in  the 
confidence  of  frank  discourse,  of  what  had  so 
often  pressed  painfully  on  his  thoughts  ? 

He  was  among  brethren,  in  his  own  younger 
brother's  house,  and  because  he  ventured  to 
speak  of  a  patrimony  they  held  in  common, 
with  a  Jike  interest  as  hin^self,  shall  he  be  con- 
demned ? 

But  all  this  broadens  into  a  general  question, 
and  one  to  which  we  are  bound  to  give  heed. 
I  will  take  it  for  granted,  sir,  that  every  gentle- 
man within  hearing  of  my  voice  is  aware  that 
fifty-six  British  authors — and  among  thera 
many  that  have  given  lustre  to  the  age — ap- 
plied to  the  American  congress  for  an  inter- 
national copyright,  and  were  refused.  I  will 
also  take  it  for  granted  that  every  gentleman 
here  admits  that  there  may  be  a  good  inde- 
feasible right  and  property  in  a  book  as  in  any 
other  state.  By  what  casuistry  or  jurispru- 
dence does  that  which  is  property  in  one  lati- 
tude in  one  civilized  country,  cease  to  be  prop- 
erty when  transferred  within  the  limits  of  an- 
other ? 

The  most  precious  property  of  one  country 
in  another,  as  I  regard  it,  is  its  books.  To  us, 
what  is  Germany,  half  so  much  as  Goethe  ? 
Greece,  but  Homer?  And  England  is  nearer 
and  dearer  to  us  by  her  long  array  of  great 
writers,  than  by  the  constant  intercourse  of 
commerce,  the  closest  compacts  and  treaties  of 
amity.  Her  writers  ask  that  this  claim  should 
be  allowed ;  that  all  the  relations  of  the  two 
countries  shall  not  be  reduced  to  a  gross,  ma- 
terial standard  ;  but  that  they  shall  have  a  prop- 
erty, as  they  have  a  right,  in  whatever  of  noble 
sentiment,  of  enduring  thought,  they  may  im- 
part to  us ;  and  that  we  shall  have  a  like  prop- 
erty with  them.  That  we  have  heretofore  en- 
joyed their  labors  free  of  charge,  is  nothing ; 
that  we  have  lived  on  their  free  bounty  for  a 
long  time,  creates  in  us  no  claim — as  it  should 
no  desire — to  become  perpetual  almoners  of 
theirs.  A  true  spirit  of  national  fair-dealing, 
not  to  say  national  dignity,  would  impel  us  to 


358 


AN  APPEAL  IN  BEHALF  OF 


disclaim  the  charity,  and  persuade  us  to  pur- 
chase what  we  read,  as  well  as  what  we  eat 
and  wear. 

I  have  said  nothing,  sir— and  I  might  have 
said  much — of  the  mutilation  of  books  by  our 
American  republishers — that  outrageous  wrong 
by  which  a  noble  English  writer,  speaking 
truths  in  London  dear  to  him  as  life,  is  made 
to  say  in  New  York  that  which  his  soul  abhors. 
This  sir,  silent  and  uncomplaining  as  it  seems, 
is  a  despotism  as  gross  as  that  of  the  rack  and 
the  thumb-screw,  which  wrings  from  men  un- 
der torture,  falsehoods  to  flatter  the  tormentor. 
What  right  have  I,  sir,  to  stifle  the  utterance 
of  any  manly  spirit — to  offer  him  opportunities 
of  speech,  and  then,  in  bitterest  mockery, 
abridge  the  truth  he  would  deliver?  Soul 
speaks  to  soul  through  all  distances  of  time 
and  space;  and  accursed  should  he  be  that 
ventures  to  thrust  his  uncouth  shadow  as  a 
softening  medium  between  the  two  !  We  have 
friendly  treaties,  Mr.  President,  by  which  prop- 
erty and  person,  as  commonly  acknowledged, 
are  sacred  between  the  two  nations.  Is  it  not 
worth  the  while  of  statesmen  and  legislators 
to  incorporate  hereafter  a  provision  by  which 
the  great  rights  of  thought,  of  the  soul  speak- 
ing in  its  highest  moods,  shall  be  cared  for  and 
guarded  ?  • 

I  desire  to  see  the  two  sections  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  literature  on  either  side  of  the  great 
ocean  moving  harmoniously  onward;  they 
giving  to  us  whatever  they  have  of  maturity 
and  art,  and  we  returning,  as  we  are  bound, 
all  of  freshness  and  vigor  with  which  a  new 
world  may  have  inspired  us.  I  desire  to  see 
something  of  the  great  debt,  now  accumulated 
for  ages,  which  we  owe  to  the  brotherhood  of 
British  wiiters,  cancelled;  first,  in  the  true 
honest  currency  of  dollars  and  cents,  known  to 
the  union  as  the  representative  value  between 
man  and  man ;  secondly,  in  works  of  genius, 
the  growth  of  our  own  soil,  colored  by  our  own 
skies,  and  showing  something  of  the  influences 
of  a  new  community,  where  nature  comes  fresh 
and  mighty  to  her  task.  A  thousand  voices 
now  slumber  in  our  vales,  amid  our  cities,  and 
along  our  hill-sides,  that  only  await  the  genial 
hour  to  speak  and  be  heard.  Silence  would  no 
longer  brood,  aS  it  now  does,  over  so  many  fair 
fields,  nor,  "  moon-like,  hold  the  mighty  waters 
fdst.**  Allegany  would  have  a  voice,  to  which 
the  metropolis,  with  its  hundred  steeples  and 
turrets,  would  answer ;  gulf  and  river,  and  the 
broad  field  would  reply,  each  for  itself,  until 
the  broad  sky  above  us  should  be  shaken  with 
the  thunder  tones  of  master  spirits  responding 
to  each  other ;  the  whole  wide  land  echo  from 
side  to  side  with  the  accents  of  a  majestic 
literature — self-reared,  self-sustained,  self-vin- 
dicating ! 

I  offer  you,  Mr.  President — 
Jn  Intematicmal  Copyright — The  only  honest 
turnpike  between  the  readers  of  two  great  na- 
tions. 


[  AN  APPEAL  TO 

AMERICAN  AUTHORS  AND  THE 
AMERICAN  PRESS, 

IN  BEHALF  OF 

INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT. 

Gentlemen  : — You  have  the  credit,  at  this 
moment,  of  ruling  the  world — at  least,  your 
part  of  it ;  and  can  not  yet  enact  a  single  stat- 
ute by  which  your  share  of  worldly  right  and 
profit  shall  be  secured  to  you.  Walking,  in  the 
world's  eye,  as  strong  and  beautiful  as  angels, 
you  can  not  perform  the  day's  work,  counted 
either  in  money  or  in  bill-making  influence,  of 
a  rude  Missourian  or  a  lean  Atlantic  citizen. 

Aiding,  as  you  do  by  your  inventive  genius, 
in  all  the  great  enterprises  of  the  day  ;  pushing 
forward  every  great  and  good  undertaking  to 
an  issue  of  success ;  you  lack  the  will  or  the 
skill  to  create  a  simple  mill-contrivance  by 
which  your  grain  may  be  ground  and  bread  fur- 
nished to  your  board. 

You  project,  but  do  not  realize.  You  sow, 
but  do  not  reap.  You  sail  to  and  fro — mer- 
chantmen and  carriers  to  all  the  world  of 
thought,  the  whole  ocean  over — but  find  no  har- 
bor and  acquire  no  return.  How  much  longer 
3'ou  will  consent  to  keep  the  wheels  of  opinion 
in  motion ;  to  do  the  better  part  of  the  thinking 
and  writing  of  these  twenty-six  states,  without 
hire  or  fee,  it  rests  with  you  to  say.  I  merely 
put  the  case  to  see  how  it  strikes  you. 

I  address  you  in  the  mass,  writers  of  books 
and  framers  of  paragraphs  together,  because, 
at  bottom,  all  who  wield  the  pen  have  inter- 
ests in  common,  and  because  I  am  anxious  (I 
confess  it)  to  have  the  whole  force  of  the  press 
whatever  shape  it  takes,  combined  and  consol- 
idated against  an  injustice  which  could  not 
live  an  hour  if  the  press  knew  its  rights  and  its 
strength.  The  rights  and  the  respectability  of 
the  one  are,  in  the  end,  the  rights  and  respect- 
ability of  the  other  ;  based  in  both  cases  on  the 
worth  and  dignity  of  literary  property. 

No  community  is  secure,  it  seems  to  me, 
where  any  law  or  fundamental  right  is  system- 
atically violated  ;  either  by  instant  vindication, 
through  blood,  and  pillage,  and  massacre,  or  by 
the  more  silent  and  deadlier  agency  of  the  oppo- 
site wrong,  and  a  whole  brood  of  fierce  allies 
sprung  from  its  loins,  is  this  truth,  at  all  times, 
asserted  and  made  good.  From  the  original 
wrong,  lying  in  many  cases  close  to  the  heart 
of  society,  there  spreads  a  secret  and  invisible 
atmosphere  of  pestilence,  in  which  all  kindred 
rights  moulder  and  decay,  until  their  life  at  last 
goes  out,  at  a  moment  when  no  man  had  guessed 
at  such  a  result.  Neither  statesmen  nor  people 
are,  therefore,  wise  in  tampering  with  a  single 
principle,  or  in  yielding  a  jot  of  the  immutable 
truth  to  plausible  emergency  or  the  fair-seem- 
ing visage  of  an  immediate  good. 


#^ 


INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT. 


359 


The  law  of  property,  in  all  its  relations  and 
aspects,  is  one  of  these  primary  anchors  and 
fastenings  of  the  social  frame.  And  what  evils, 
I  am  asked,  have  grown  from  the  alleged  neg- 
lect of  literary  property  ?  I  will  mention  one, 
by  way  of  illustration. 

You  are  all  of  you  aware,  by  this  time,  that 
the  extensive  printing  and  publishing  establish 
ment  of  Harper  and  Brothers,  Cliff  street.  New 
York,  was  burned  in  the  early  part  of  June,  and 
that  a  heavy  loss  accrued  to  them  from  the 
burning. 

The  fire  was  attributed,  immediately  after  it 
occurred,  by  the  public  prints  to  the  hand  of  de 
sign.  **  It  is  supposed  that  one  object  of  the  in- 
cendiaries was  to  obtain  copies  of  a  new  novel  by 
James,  of  which  the  Messrs.  Harper  had  the  ex- 
clusive possession."  Another  paper  enlarges 
this  statement ;  "  "We  see  suspicion  expressed 
that  the  object  was  to  get  possession  of  a  new 
novel,  *  Morley  Ernstein,'  which  was  in  sheets, 
for  cheap  publication."  Here  is  a  natural,  logi- 
cal sequence,  and  just  such  a  one  as  might 
have  been  expected.  If  the  conjecture  should 
not  prove  a  fact,  it  ought  to  be  one,  because 
this  is  just  the  period  and  the  very  order  in 
which  we  might  expect  an  incident  of  this  kind 
to  occur — perhaps  not  on  quite  so  large  a  scale 
nor  with  the  necessary  melo-dramatic  admix- 
ture of  fire.  It  might  have  been  a  plain  bur- 
glary, prying  a  warehouse  door  open  with  a  bar, 
for  a  copy ;  or  knocking  a  man  over,  at  the 
edge  of  evening,  and  plucking  the  sheets  from 
under  his  arm. 

Piracy  and  burning  are  perhaps  so  nearly  akin 
that,  after  all,  they  have  wrought  out  the  se- 
quence more  naturally  than  if  it  had  been  left  to 
the  friends  of  copyright  to  suggest  to  them  in  what 
order  they  should  occur.  In  Elia's  legend  a 
Duilding  is  burned  that  a  famishing  China-man 
may  have  roast  pig ;  in  the  reality  of  the 
present  fire,  a  publisher's  warehouse  was  put  in 
flames,  not  only  to  prevent  a  famishing  author 
from  having  roast  pig  in  prcesenti,  but  also,  by 
a  decisive  blow,  to  further  the  good  principle 
that  there  should  be  no  roast  pig,  nay,  even  salt 
and  a  radish,  for  famishing  authors  in  all  future 
time.  Let  it  not  be  said  I  press  this  point,  a 
mere  surmise,  too  far.  Surmise  as  it  is,  it  re- 
ceives countenance  and  consistency  from  a  pre- 
vious fact,  namely,  that  one  of  the  large  repub- 
lishing newspapers  was  charged  not  long  since 
by  the  other — and  this  was  made  a  matter  for 
the  sessions — with  the  felony  of  abstracting  the 
sheets  of  an  English  work  from  the  office  of  its 
rival.  This,  an  invasion  of  property,  is  only 
one  of  the  external  evils  growing  out  of  a  false 
and  lawless  state  of  things.  Of  others,  which 
strike  deeper ;  which  create  confusion  and  er- 
ror of  opinion ;  which  tend  to  unsettle  the  lines 
that  divide  nation  from  nation  ;  to  obKterate  the 
traits  and  features  which  give  us  a  characteris- 
tic individuality  as  a  nation ;  there  will  be 
another,  and  more  becoming  opportunity  to 
speak. 

As  it  is,  by  fair  means  or  foul,  the  weekly 


newspaper  press,  with  its  broad-sheet  spread  to 
the  breeze,  is  making  great  head  against  the 
slow-sailing  progress  of  such  as  trust  to  the 
more  regular  trade-winds  for  their  speed.  And 
this,  fortunately  (as  error  can  not  long  abide  in 
itself),  is  creating  changes  of  opinion  of  infinite 
advantage  to  the  great  cause  of  international 
copyright. 

A  little  while  ago  we  had  the  publishers  pe- 
titioning and  declaiming  against  an  InternatioU' 
al  copyright  (I  forget  what  arguments  they  em- 
ployed), and,  lo  !  their  breath  is  scarcely  spent 
when  the  ground  slides  from  under  them,  and 
the  whole  publishing  business — at  least,  a  con- 
siderable section  of  it,  which  they  meant  to 
uphold  by  false  and  hollow  props — has  tumbled 
into  chaos,  and  an  organic  change  has  passed 
through  the  world  of  publication.  Now  they 
begin — and  we  are  glad  to  have  so  powerful 
and  so  respectable  a  body  converts  to  our  side, 
on  whatever  terms — to  see  the  matter  in  a  new 
light.  The  affection  for  the  people,  and  the 
cheap  enlightenment  of  the  people  and  the  peo- 
ple's wives  and  children,  which  they  made  bold 
(out  of  an  exceeding  philanthropy)  to  proclaim 
in  marketplaces  and  the  lobbies  of  congress,  is 
wonderfully  dwindled. 

It  is  not  a  pleasant  thing,  after  all,  to  have 
one's  printing-house  and  bindery  burned  to  the 
groimd,  even  for  so  laudable  an  object.  Sup- 
pose we  have  the  law ;  a  little  civilized  recog- 
nition of  the  rights  of  authors  (merely  by  way 
of  clincher,  however,  to  the  absolute,  primary, 
and  indefeasible  rights  of  publishers)  might  be 
an  agreeable  change  from  this  barbarous  sys- 
tem of  non-protection.  The  old  plan,  it  must 
be  admitted,  has  its  disadvantages.  Let's 
have  the  law.  And  here  you  may  suppose  the 
hats  of  certain  old,  respected,  and  enterprising 
publishers,  to  rise  into  the  air,  in  a  sort  of  fer- 
vor or  ecstacy,  which  it  is  entirely  out  of  their 
power  to  control. 

Is  there,  or  is  there  not,  a  property  in  a  book 
— a  primitive,  real,  fundamental,  right  in  its 
ownership,  as  in  any  estate  or  property  ?  Often 
and  clearly  as  this  question  has  been  determin- 
ed, the  opponents  of  a  law,  by  stress  of  argu- 
ment, are  driven  upon  denying  it  over  and  over 
again,  and  making  use  of  every  sort  of  ridiculous 
and  irrelevant  illustration  to  crowd  the  right 
out  of  the  way.  They  fly  into  all  corners  of 
creation  in  pursuit  of  an  analogy,  and  come 
back  without  as  much  as  a  sparrow  in  their 
bag. 

One  of  them,  for  example,  says,  "  we  buy  a 
new  foreign  book  ;  it  is  ours ;  we  multiply  cop- 
ies and  diffuse  its  advantages.  We  also  buy  a 
bushel  of  foreign  wheat,  before  unknown  to  us  ; 
we  cultivate,  increase  it,  and  spread  its  use 
over  the  country.  Where  is  the  difference  ? 
If  one  is  stealing  the  other  is  so.  Nonsense  ! 
neither  is  stealing.  They  are  both  praisewor- 
thy acts,  beneficial  to  mankind,  injurious  to  no- 
body, right  and  just  in  themselves,  and  com- 
mendable in  the  sight  of  God."  This  reasoner, 
of  a  pious  inclination,  and  most  excellent  mor- 


360 


AN  APPEAL  IN  BEHALF  OF 


al  tendencies,  lias  made  but  a  single  error.  He 
thinks  the  type,  stitching,  and  paper,  are  the 
BOOK  !  He  forgets  that  when  you  buy  a  book 
you  do  not  buy  the  whole  body  of  its  thoughts 
in  their  entire  breadth  and  construction,  to  be 
yours  in  fee  simple,  for  all  uses  (if  you  did  the 
vender  would  be  guilty  of  a  fraud  in  selling 
more  than  a  single  copy  of  any  one  work),  but 
simply  the  usufruct  of  the  book  as  a  reader. 
Any  processes  of  your  own  mind,  exerted  upon 
that  work  or  parts  of  it,  make  the  result,  so  far, 
your  legitimate  property,  and  is  one  of  the  inci- 
dents of  your  purchase.  To  reprint  the  work 
in  any  shape,  as  a  complete,  symmetrical  com- 
position, is  a  violation  of  the  original  contract 
between  the  vender  and  yourself;  whether  it 
be  in  folio  or  duodecimo,  in  the  form  of  news- 
paper or  pamphlet,  there  lies  the  book,  un- 
changed by  any  action  of  your  own  mind.  The 
wheat,  of  which  you  have  purchased  the  bush- 
el, in  the  meantime,  has  been  sown  in  your 
field  (there's  a  difference  to  begin),  which  has 
been  prepared  by  your  plough  and  plough-horse 
for  its  reception,  the  kindly  dews  and  rains  of 
heaven,  which  would  answer  to  the  genial  in- 
spirations and  movements  of  the  mind,  in  the 
other  case,  descend  upon  it ;  it  is  guarded  by 
walls  and  hedges  from  inroad ;  the  weeds  and 
tares  which  would  fain  choke  it  are  plucked  out 
by  a  careful  hand ;  at  last  it  is  reaped  and  gath- 
ered in  by  the  harvestman  to  his  garners. 

The  one  bushel  has  become  a  thousand ;  but 
it  has  passed  through  a  thousand  appropriating 
and  fructifying  processes,  to  swell  it  to  that  ex- 
tent. It  has  not  been  merely  poured  out  of  one 
bushel-measiire  into  another  bushel-measure. 

Though  the  one  plough  the  earth,  and  the 
other  plough  the  sea,  the  world  will  recognise 
a  distinction,  a  delicate  line  of  demarcation, 
between  farmer  (man's  first  occupation)  and 
pirate  (his  last).  The  republishers — the  pro- 
prietors of  the  mammoth  press — groan  under 
the  aspersion  of  piracy  and  pillage  laid  at  their 
door.  They  complain  of  the  harshness  of  epi- 
thet which  denounces  them  as  Kyds  and  Mac 
Gregors.  They  must  bear  in  mind  that  authors 
and  republishers  are  likely  to  cftnsider  this  ques- 
tion from  very  different  points  of  view ;  that 
the  poor  writer,  regarding  himself  as  defrauded 
of  a  positive  right  and  of  a  property  as  real  and 
substantial  as  guineas,  or  dollars,  or  doubloons, 
may  feel  a  soreness,  of  which  the  other  par- 
ty, living  as  he  does  on  the  denial  of  that 
right  and  the  seizure  of  that  property,  with- 
out charge  or  cost,  may  not  be  quite  as  suscep- 
tible. Let  us  make  an  effort  to  bring  this 
point  home  to  these  gentlemen,  in  an  obvious 
and  intelligible  illustration. 

How  would  the  worthy  proprietors  of  "  The 
Brother  Jonathan"  like  it,  if,  when  their  edition 
of  Barnaby  Rudge  or  Zanoni  had  been  care- 
fully worked  off  at  some  expense  of  composi- 
tion, paper,  and  press-work,  and  lay  ready  fold- 
ed, in  their  office  for  delivery ;  how  would  they 
be  pleased  if  just  at  that  moment,  when  the 
news-boys  were  gathered  at  the  office  door 


pitching  their  throats  for  the  new  cry,  a  gang 
of  stout-handed  fellows  should  descend  upon 
their  premises  and  without  as  much  as  "  by 
your  leave,"  or  "  gentlemen,  an  you  will !" 
sweep  the  entire  edition  off^ — bear  it  into  the 
next  street,  and  there  proceed  to  issue  and 
vend  it,  with  the  utmost  imaginable  steadiness 
of  aspect;  with  an  equanimity  of  demeanor 
quite  edifying  and  perfect.  Why,  gentlemen, 
to  speak  the  truth  plainly,  you  would  have  a 
hue-and-cry  around  the  corner  in  an  instant ! 
Your  ejaculations  of  thief,  robber,  and  burglar, 
would  know  no  pause  till  you  were  compelled 
to  give  out  for  very  lack  of  breath;  and  the 
whole  community  would  be  startled,  at  its 
breakfast  the  next  morning  by  an  appeal  to  its 
moral  sensibilities  so  loud  and  lightning-like, 
that  the  coffee  would  be  unpalatable  and  the 
very  toast  turn  to  a  cinder  in  the  mouth. 

Now  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  the 
large  weekly  press,  whose  influence  we  are 
anxious  to  counteract,  and  whose  interest  is 
rapidly  becoming  the  leading  one  in  opposition 
to  the  proposed  law — has  arisen  since  the  agi- 
tation of  this  question  ;  has  embarked  its  capi- 
tal, and  has  grown  to  its  present  power  and 
influence  in  the  very  teeth  of  a  solemn  protest 
of  the  authors  whose  labors  they  appropriate. 
It  should  also,  in  fairness,  be  added  that  some 
members  of  this  huge  fraternity  only  avail 
themselves  of  the  law  as  it  now  stands,  as  they 
think  they  have  a  right,  and  hold  themselves 
ready  to  abandon  the  field  or  adapt  themselves 
to  the  change  whenever  a  new  law  requires  it ; 
in  the  meantime  meeting  the  question  fairly 
and  reasoning  it  through  in  good  temper.  The 
very  paper  which  I  have  employed  in  illustra- 
tion is  chargeable  with  no  offence  against  litera- 
ture, society,  or  good  morals,  save  the  single 
taint  of  appropriating  the  labors  of  authors 
without  pay,  and  defending  the  appropriation 
as  matter  of  strict  right  and  propriety.  Only 
in  a  community  where  a  contempt  for  literary 
rights  has  been  engendered  by  long  malprac- 
tice could  such  sentiments  have  obtained  a 
lodgment  in  minds  of  general  fairness  and 
honesty. 

If  the  hostility  to  a  law  of  reciprocal  copy- 
right be  as  deep-seated  as  is  alleged,  why  has 
there  not  been  some  able  argument  (raised 
above  sordid  considerations  and  looking  wide 
and  far  upon  the  question  in  all  its  vast  bear- 
ings), expounding  to  us  the  grounds  on  which 
this  professed  antagonism  is  based.  When  we 
ask  them  for  a  syllogism  they  give  us  an  asser- 
tion. "  My  dear  sir,  how  can  you  waste  time, 
perplexing  yourself  and  the  public  with  this 
barren  question  !  We  supply  readers  with  a 
novel,  a  good  3  vol.  novel,  for  a  shilling ;  and 
as  long  as  we  can  do  that  they  will  remain 
deaf  to  all  your  appeals.  The  argumentum 
ad  crmnerham,  the  syllogism  of  the  pocket,  has 
in  all  ages  carried  the  sway  !"  This  is  the  head 
and  front  of  their  declamation,  of  their  invective 
and  their  facts.  This  is  the  fact !  This  boulder 
(offered  in  lieu  of  bread),  they  beg  us  of  the 


INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT. 


•  361 


author-tribe  to  digest ;  this  is  their  bulwark, 
their  fortress — no,  their  burrow  rather — into 
which  they  skulk  at  the  approach  of  a  poor 
author,  quill  in  hand,  prepared  to  drive  off  the 
game— feree  iiatur<z — that  lay  waste  his  pre- 
serves and  make  free  in  his  clover-field. 

Now  of  all  arguments  this  of  Cheapness  is 
most  questionable  and  unsafe.  It  has  a  comely 
and  alluring  visage,  is  smooth-spoken  and  full 
of  promise,  but  we  must  have  a  caution  where 
it  may  lead  us,  for  it  is  as  full  of  trick  and  foul 
play  as  a  canting  quaker ;  as  precarious  a  foot- 
hold as  the  trap  of  the  scaflbld  the  minute  be- 
fore the  check  is  slipped  !  Cheap  and  Good  are 
a  pleasant  partnership,  but  it  does  not  happen 
that  they  always  do  business  together.  Taking 
cheapness  as  our  guide  and  conductor,  we  can 
readily  make  our  way,  in  imagination,  to  a 
publishing  shop  where  the  principle  is  expand- 
ed into  a  pleasing  practical  illustration.  The 
shop  is,  of  course,  in  a  cellar  (rent  twelve 
shillings  a  quarter) ;  the  attendant  is  a  second- 
hand man  cast  off  from  the  current  population 
of  the  upper  world  into  this  depository  (wages 
four  shillings  a  week) ;  his  hat,  being  still  on 
the  cheap  tendency  has  followed  him  out  of 
Chatham  street,  in  company  with  a  coat  re- 
jected of  seven  owners  the  last  of  whom  was  a 
dustman,  vest  to  match  and  boots  borrowed  of 
a  pauper  (cost  of  the  entire  outfit  five  shillings 
and  a  penny)  ;  behind  a  counter  that  totters  to 
the  earth  at  an  expense  of  five  pence  or  more 
for  repairs,  he  dispenses  the  frugal  literature 
of  which  he  is  the  genius — the  paper  being  of 
such  an  exquisite  delicacy  and  cheapness  that 
a  good  eye,  hy  glancing  through,  may  read 
both  sides  at  once ;  the  purchaser  plunges  down 
with  a  sixpence  (most  economical  of  small 
coin)  in  his  pocket,  and  bears  off,  in  a  trium- 
phant apotheosis,  four-and-twenty  columns,  to  be 
read  by  the  light  of  a  tallow  twopenny  that  sput- 
ters cheapness  as  it  burns.  This  is  the  glory 
of  the  age ;  the  crowning  honor  and  triumph 
of  America.  Who  would  have  the  heart  or 
the  hardihood  to  blur  that  fair  picture  of  popu- 
lar knowledge  and  cheap  enjoyment  ?  Why, 
sirs,  to  speak  a  serious  word  or  two  in  your 
ear,  this  plea  of  cheapness — a  miserable  escape 
at  best,  wh(ire  a  question  of  right  and  wrong 
is  concerned — pushed  to  its  extreme  (and  as 
cheapness  is  urged  as  the  sole  criterion  and 
measure  of  advantage  we  are  warranted  in  so 
doing)  would  drive  literature  to  the  almanac, 
which  can  be  afforded  at  a  penny ;  and  the  age 
of  the  bro'prn  ballad  would  return  upon  us  in 
all  its  prijuitive  graces  of  an  unclean  sheet,  a 
cloudy  typography,  and  a  style  of  thought  and 
expression  quite  as  pure  and  lucid. 

Pass  a  copyright  bill  and  we  are  told  "  we 
should  so(jn  learn  the  difference  between  £1 
10s.  the  London  price  of  Bulwer's  Zanoni,  and 
the  Amer  ican  price  of  25  cents."  How  long 
— it  is  aljso  triumphantly  asked^how  long 
would  our  *^  reading  public  almost  commensu- 
rate with  tthe  entire  population  continue  at  such 
a  rate  ?"  i  What  if  it  did  not  last  a  minute  ? 


Truth  and  honesty  are  of  a  little  more  worth 
than  a  reading  public  even  as  wide  as  the  bor- 
ders of  the  land.  Of  the  elevation  of  the 
people — the  instruction  of  the  people— I  hold 
myself  a  friend,  no  man  more,  but  I  do  not 
propose  to  begin  their  enlightenment  with  a 
new  version  of  the  decalogue,  so  amended  as 
to  admit  all  the  opposites  against  which  it  is 
directed,  as  virtues  which  we  are  enjoined  to 
cultivate. 

Suppose  these  gentlemen  do  furnish  good 
literature  at  a  low  price  by  dint  of  paying  the 
author  nothing,  they  should  bear  in  mind  that 
there  is  a  place  where  it  is  paid  for,  or  it  would 
most  assuredly  prove  as  miserable  as  it  is  cheap. 
The  literature  is  valuable  not  exactly  because 
they  spread  it  before  the  world  in  large  sheets 
every  Saturday  morning,  at  sixpence  a  copy ; 
but  because  there  happened  to  be  in  another 
country  certain  enterprising  publishers,  of  a 
somewhat  different  stamp,  who  thought  it  worth 
their  while  to  cheer  the  writer  in  his  labors, 
by  paying  him  a  good  round  sum  for  his  copy- 
right. I  repeat  it,  an  unpaid  literature  can  not 
contend  with  a  paid  one ;  nor  can  it — while 
money  is  a  representative  of  value  and  a  mo- 
tive for  exertion  in  all  other  pui-suits — be  as 
good.  Do  I  imagine  then  that  an  international 
law  will  create  great  writers  ?  Not  at  all. 
Under  any  law — oppressed  by  whatever  bon- 
dage or  tyranny  custom  chooses  to  lay  upon 
them — men  of  great  genius  will  struggle  into 
light  and  cast  before  the  world  the  thoughts 
with  which  their  own  souls  have  been  moved. 
They  will  speak  though  mountains  pressed 
upon  them.  But  there  is  a  wide  class — com- 
posing the  body  of  a  national  literature — who 
can  claim  no  such  power ;  essayists,  philoso- 
phers, whose  impulses  are  not  great,  periodical 
writers,  all  are  silent  when  the  law  and  the 
trade  fail  to  befriend  them.  It  is  these  that 
need  the  constant  stimulus,  the  genial  inspira- 
tion (denied  to  them  in  any  great  measure  by 
nature),  of  pay.  It  is  the  shining  gold,  decry 
it  as  we  may,  that  breeds  the  shining  thought. 

It  may  be  asked  how  does  this  question  affect 
the  press  ?  The  press,  forming  a  part  of  the 
great  body  of  writers,  is  affected  by  whatever 
affects  the  writers  of  books ;  for  the  bond  by 
which  the  entire  brotherhood  is  held  together 
is  so  close  that  it  can  not  be  struck  in  any 
part  without  feeling  the  shock  in  its  whole 
length.  The  same  injustice  by  which  the  au- 
thor falls  in  station  and  place,  drags  down  the 
journalist.  The  rights  of  all  who  use  the  pen 
are  rights  in  common  ;  varying  only  in  degree 
and  as  they  may  be  affected  from  time  to  time,, 
by  circumstances  of  the  hour  or  day.  Beyond 
this  the  actual  and  immediate  pressure  of  a 
vast  amount  of  reading  from  abroad,  poured 
upon  us  without  limit  or  regulation,  begins  to 
be  felt  by  the  daily  and  weekly  press;  they 
find  attention  drawn  off  from  the  article  or 
political  speculation  in  their  own  columns, 
prepared  with  care  and  judgment,  to  the  cheap 
re-print ;  and  are  driven  upon  abandoning  the 


362 


LECTURE  ON 


field  or  joining  in  a  pernicious  system  of  unpaid 
appropriation  against  which  their  better  judg- 
ment revolts. 

I  now  close  this  appeal,  and  in  doing  so  I 
would  venture  to  urge  upon  you  the  importance 
of  concert  and  a  steady  action  in  behalf  of 
this  law,  at  all  times  and  in  all  places  where 
you  are  called  on  to  employ  that  sacred  instru- 
ment of  thought,  whose  immunities  are  so 
grossly  outraged. 

The  popular  mind  has,  in  this  country,  made 
wonderful  advances  in  the  appreciation  of  po- 
litical truths  and  principles.  There  is  no  rea- 
son why  it  should  not  make  an  equal — though, 
perhaps,  a  later — progress  in  truths  that  relate 
to  literature  and  art.  The  popular  mind,  as 
all  our  institutions  require,  is  essentially  just 
and  true ;  and,  once  enlightened  by  a  sufficient 
array  of  facts  and  with  time  to  arrange  and 
digest  them,  will  act  with  energy  and  wisdom 
on  this  as  on  all  other  questions  of  which  it  is 
the  arbiter.  Depend  upon  it,  this  bill,  although 
adversely  regarded  by  your  senate  and  repre- 
sentatives at  this  time,  will  ultimately  triumph. 
It  will  go  up  to  the  senate-chamber,  year  after 
year,  with  new  facts,  pleading  for  it  with  an 
urgency  which  considerate  legislators  can  not 
resist.  In  the  meantime  it  is  your  duty,  as  I 
trust  it  is  your  desire,  to  enlighten  the  general 
mind  as  to  the  truths  on  which  I  have  ventured 
to  insist.  Seize  the  instant.  In  town,  in  home- 
stead and  city,  let  these  principles  be  spread  as 
wide  as  the  writings  they  would  protect ;  and 
search,  with  a  fearless  eye,  the  national  heart, 
•to  find  whether  there  be  not  some  kindly  corner 
where  it  is  willing  the  seeds  of  a  national 
literature  should  be  lodged.  Speaking  in  the 
accents  of  persuasion  with  which  God  and  na- 
ture have  endowed  you,  and  through  the  or- 
gans of  opinion  which  every  one  of  you  may, 
more  or  less,  command — you  can  not  be  long 
resisted.  Together  in  a  phalanx,  before  which 
kings  and  princes  grow  pale,  enter  upon  the 
mighty  task.  Hand  in  hand,  voice  answering 
to  voice,  in  tones  of  mutual  trust  and  cheerful 
hope  press  forward  in  the  noble  labor  to  which 
you  are  summoned.  That  union  which,  in 
politics  and  war,  is  strength,  will  prove  in  litera- 
ature,  as  well,  your  champion  and  deliverer. 
New  York,  Jitwc,  1842. 


THE  BETTER  INTERESTS  OF  THE 
•        COUNTRY, 

IN   CONNEXION    WITH   AN 

INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT. 

J  Lecture  delivered  at  iJke.  Lecture-room  of  the 
Society  Library^  Feb.  2,  1843. 

From  the  moment  when  the  peak  of  Harvard 
college,  in  New  England,  cut  the  sky — twenty 
years  only  after  the  first  permanent  foot  was 
planted  on  the  continent — America  was  pre- 
destined to  be  a  nation  of  readers.    That  early 


promise  and  destiny  she  is  amply  fulfilling.  She 
reads  in  the  cradle  and  the  college  ;  in  the  pack- 
et and  upon  the  highway.  The  doors  of  a  thou- 
sand lyceums  are  cast  open  and  readers  throng 
in.  She  reads  in  the  hut,  the  tavern,  and  the 
stage-coach.  She  pauses  at  the  corners  and 
reads  again ;  and  as  the  swift  spirit  of  steam 
snatches  her  from  her  feet  and  bears  her  away, 
she  still  turns  the  page  and  reads  what  she  can. 
Her  youth,  her  manhood,  her  age,  are  all  busy 
at  the  task.  Her  decrepitude  and  her  strength, 
her  pale  scholars  and  her  carmen — sturdy  and 
gowned  as  well,  are  classmates  in  the  common 
pursuit.  The  forms  are  full  wherever  the  eye 
ranges ;  and  the  rustle  of  leaves,  as  they  turn, 
fills  the  air,  from  the  schoolhouse  on  the  edge 
of  Memphremagog  to  the  deck  that  floats  upon 
the  Mexican  gulf. 

It  is  therefore  of  vital  consequence  that  she 
read  aright.  Having  no  central  standards  of 
opinion,  no  fixed  classes  as  examples  and  guides, 
her  mind  is  the  result  of  a  constant  intercom- 
munication of  part  with  part,  section  with  sec- 
tion, through  the  press.  The  general  sum  of 
her  reading  represents  and  controls  her  thoughts, 
her  habits,  and  her  government.  Her  institu- 
tions, modelled  originally  on  the  necessities  of 
her  situation  in  place,  time,  and  progress  of 
opinion,  must  be  either  sustained  by  a  litera- 
ture (meaning  by  literafiure  in  this  connexion, 
whatever  is  circulated  in  a  printed  form)  as- 
similating with  these,  or  be  modified  by  anoth- 
er literature  which  is  too  rigid  to  coalesce,  and 
strong  enough  to  break  in  pieces  and  appropri- 
ate to  itself  whatever  it  approaches. 

It  might  happen,  for  a  time,  that  the  outward 
form  of  government,  and  daily  habit  of  action 
would  continue,  while  the  mind,  tht;  heart,  and 
spirit,  would  be  changed  and  strange  red  within. 
A  dreadful  spectacle.  A  great  nation  stagger- 
ing on,  by  a  sort  of  instinct,  in  its  old  paths, 
blind,  purposeless,  maniacal !  Th  e  body  re- 
taining its  springday  vigor,  lusty,  ful  1  of  an  am- 
bitious strength ;  and  yet,  within,  a  mind  at  jar 
with  its  powers — working  through  a  II  the  limbs 
a  deadly  change,  and  giving  to  its  aspect  the 
look  of  one  who  wanders  in  the  di  irk,  by  the 
edge  of  stormy  seas,  that  may  swallcw  him  up, 
or  among  enemies,  whose  cold  shade 'W  he  feels 
stealing  upon  him,  to  stab  him  if  he  pause. 

The  education  of  the  American  p  eople  lies, 
after  all,  in  what  they  read  ;  the  soul ,  that  gov- 
erns its  acts,  enters  through  the  eye  t  hat  dwells 
upon  the  printed  page.  Now,  in  it  3  growth, 
in  the  susceptible  and  plastic  period  of  youth, 
it  should  have  a  wise  regard  to  the  i  influences 
to  which  it  subjects  itself;  most  of  a  11  to  such 
as  steal  upon  it  in  silence  and  withe  'Ut  warn- 
ing of  their  approach. 

Out  of  the  past  come  voices  of  trii  imph  and 
encouragement ;  in  the  future  glean  i  eyes  of 
hopeful  invitation  and  welcome  ;  but  the  pres- 
ent, the  time  that  is  upon  us  and  ab  3ut  us,  is 
thick-set  with  dangers.  A  steady  i  bot,  a  re- 
gard fixed  constantly  upon  the  true  1  ights  and 
standards  of  our  course,  can  only  cay  ry  us  for- 


INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT. 


363 


ward.  We  should  not  wander  into  other  spheres, 
into  ether  quarters  of  the  sky,  to  take  an  obser- 
vation of  our  path.  Over  our  own  home  lies 
the  heaven  to  which  we  must  look  for  guidance 
and  for  omens. 

As  a  great  nation,  standing  in  the  very  front 
rank  of  the  guides  and  examples  of  mankind, 
America  should  desire  to  possess  a  literature, 
whether  foreign  or  native,  only  under  the  broad- 
est and  clearest  sanctions  of  right  and  justice. 

Already  it  is  whispered  through  the  world 
that  she  is  false  to  the  high  faith  she  professes. 
It  is  muttered  from  corner  to  corner  of  Europe 
that  she  can  violate,  on  the  very  spot  made  sa- 
cred by  many  trials  and  sacrifices  of  an  heroic 
stamp,  the  clear  obligations  of  man  to  man, 
community  to  community.  She  owes  it  to  her- 
self and  to  the  great  cause  of  which  she  is  an 
acknowledged  representative,  to  stand  forth, 
and,  gathering  her  pure  robes  about  her,  repel, 
by  instant  action,  aspersions  so  unworthy  of 
her  faith  and  her  fame.  When  I  think  of  Amer- 
ica, as  she  should  be,  she  always  rises  before 
me  a  majestic  personation — colossal,  steadfast, 
heavenward  and  noble  in  her  look,  and  tower- 
ing infinitely  above  base  usages  and  habitudes  of 
gross  creatures.  But  when  I  regard  her  in  some 
of  her  acts,  she  seems  shrunken  from  these 
great  proportions,  crouched  meanly  upon  the 
earth,  and  peering,  with  a  starved  and  guilty 
look,  among  cinders  and  fragments  for  some 
pittance,  which  she  would  fain  clutch  and  guard 
as  a  precious  inheritance.  It  has  been  said  that 
England  should  place  this  question  of  the  au- 
thor's right  on  the  true  ground  before  she 
claims  anything  at  our  hands  ;  that  she  should 
recognise,  as  she  has  failed  to,  the  perpetual, 
indefeasible  right  of  an  author  in  his  work,  be- 
fore she  demands  any  part  of  that  right  from 
us.  What  matters  it  to  us  whether  England 
or  all  the  world  fail  in  justice,  shall  it  stay  us 
in  the  path  of  truth  and  duty  ?  We  have  not 
withdrawn  into  this  new  world,  far  from  the 
strifes  of  old  centuries,  packed  close  with  usage 
and  injustice,  to  be  cumbered  with  the  doings 
or  undoings  of  others.  We  are  here,  between 
ocean  and  ocean,  to  lead  a  life  as  pure,  to  ad- 
minister examples  as  great,  as  God  gran>9  us 
strength  to  render.-  If  we  are  the  first  to  restore 
to  an  injured  cltss  rights  long  withheld,  to  place 
the  author  upon  his  feet,  to  clothe  him  in  the 
garment  that  becomes  his  station  and  pursuit — 
so  be  it !  We  can  claim  no  higher  honor,  no 
profounder  glory,  than  to  have  so  done. 

A  gentleman  who  has  acquired  distinction  as 
an  historian,  lately  standing  in  a  lecture-desk, 
in  this  city,  expressed  a  doubt  whether  there 
could  be  a  property  or  exclusive  right  in  intel- 
lectual axd  spiritual  results.  Thoughts  and 
ideas  were  of  a  part  with  the  sun  and  air,  as 
free  and  universal  as  thej'.  Now,  it  must  have 
been  within  that  gentleman's  knowledge,  that  i 
the  sun  and  air  themselves,  when  incorporated  i 
in  specific  results,  certain  chymicai  compounds, 
for  example,  can  be  subjects  of  property  as  clear- ' 
ly  as  a  hat  upon  one's  head,  or  the  house  over  \ 


us.  He  must  have  known,  also,  as  a  wise  and 
diligent  reader  of  scripture,  that  there  are  dis- 
tinctions of  person  and  character,  even  among 
the  spiritual  beings  of  a  higher  world,  some  be- 
ing ranged  in  classes  and  others  known  special- 
ly by  name.  The  very  angels  have  an  identity 
of  their  own,  in  act  and  thought,  over  which 
they  may  be  supposed  to  exercise  the  control  of 
intelligent  creatures.  On  this  very  truth,  that 
each  creature,  each  angel,  and  each  man,  has 
an  individual  property  in  whatever  constitutes 
his  better  being,  hangs  the  immortality  of  the 
soul  itself.  If  thought  were  held  in  common 
by  all  mankind,  there  could  be,  in  eflect,  but 
one  man — one  being  with  multiform  limbs  and 
organs  and  a  single  soul,  in  possession  of  the 
globe.  It  is  in  the  doctrine  of  a  personal  iden- 
titj',  an  individual  and  exclusive  right  to  certain 
elements  and  issues  of  thought  and  feeling,  now 
and  henceforward  for  ever,  that  the  pains  and 
penalties,  the  hopes  and  alarms  of  a  present 
and  a  future  being  have  their  hold.  This  new 
dream  of  the  universal  commonness  of  soul  and 
thought,  would  fill  the  universe  with  God  and 
void  it  of  his  creatures.  One  should  have  a 
care,  in  indulging  the  speculations  of  so  bound- 
less a  philanthropy,  upon  what  shoals  he  may 
be  driven  !  It  may  cost  a  greater  outlay  of 
wind  and  sail  to  get  back,  than  the  original 
chart  of  the  voyage  contemplated ! 

If  I  may  throw  open  literary  property  to  all 
the  world,  why  not  all  other  property?  If  there 
may  be  an  allowable  agrarianism  of  ideas,  why 
not  of  acres  and  tenements  as  well  ?  What 
would  be  the  result  if  all  the  farms  and  estates 
in  America  were  to-morrow  made  common,  we 
can,  in  a  measure,  guess.  There  would  follow, 
as  these  very  reasoners  should  know,  a  grand 
disruption  of  society.  I  have  a  shrewd  notion, 
that  the  gentlemen  who  claim  to  have  thought 
out  the  author's  book  in  common  with  him, 
employing  him  only  as  secretary  to  the  commis- 
sion, may  be  of  the  very  lineage  and  creed  with 
those  who  claim  as  a  right  one  eye  of  the  au- 
thor's spectacles  and  one  sleeve  of  his  coat. 
The  world  has  not  yet  answered  to  itself  in  the 
consequences,  for  the  unjust  distinction  it  has 
chosen  to  make  between  the  property  of  the 
head  and  the  hand.  Not  a  slight  part  of  the 
disasters  of  kingdoms,  in  later  times  may,  in 
ray  humble  judgment,  be  charged  upon  the  un- 
just and  uncertain  tenure  by  which  authors  and 
governors  of  opinion  have  been  allowed  to  hold 
their  rights,  and  the  false  conditions  under 
which  they  have,  on  this  account,  labored.  The 
world  prospers  best  when  to  each  man  it  allots 
his  right  and  protects  him  in  it.  Sooner  or 
later  the  right  here,  as  always,  will  vindicate 
itself. 

I  warn  you,  I  warn  you  not  to  withhold  this 
law.  There  are  portents  already  in  the  sky ; 
sounds,  echoing  audibly  along  the  earth ;  voi- 
ces in  the  air,  that  tell  us  that  the  thoughts  of 
two  nations  can  not  mingle  and  become  as  one 
without  law,  with  impunity.  The  quick  eai 
catches  the  clashing  of  hostile  opinions  afar  oflT 


364 


LECTURE  ON 


the  eye,  strained  anxiously  upon  the  future, 
discerns  floating  into  the  horizon  a  dark  hulk 
of  alien  thoughts,  which,  bearing  down  upon 
its  dear  and  deep-freighted  hopes,  with  a  shock 
silently  given,  strikes  them  to  the  bottom  and 
rides  smoothly  over  their  wreck. 

1  do  not  deny,  I  would  not  be  so  understood, 
that  the  noble  literature  of  England,  old  and 
new,  introduced  among  us  under  the  sanctions 
of  justice,  and  with  a  proper  recognition  of  the 
author's  right,  would  be  of  eminent  service  to 
the  American  people.  We  have  arrived  at  a 
point  in  the  progress  of  the  world,  where  it  be- 
comes us  to  make  use  of  every  help,  lawfully 
witliin  our  reach,  to  sustain  us  in  the  position 
•w'e  would  maintain.  What  there  is  in  that  lit- 
erature to  cheer,  to  enlighten,  to  move,  and  sus- 
tain, the  spirit  of  a  great  nation,  no  man  here 
need  be  told.  Every  footfall  within  its  sacred 
range,  answers  in  an  echo  of  proud  remem- 
brance ;  every  hand  laid  upon  its  records,  re- 
turns us  from  the  leaves  a  musical  and  familiar 
voice  that  "binds  us  there.  But  if  on  every  page 
there  lies  spread  the  palm  of  the  purloiner  ;  if 
in  every  path  we  encounter  the  face  of  the  re- 
publisher  without  right;  if,  at  the  bottom  of 
all,  there  lurks  a  wrong  and  an  injustice,  de- 
pend upon  it,  so  surely  as  the  great  heavens 
are  over  us  and  the  great  rivers  by  our  city- 
walls  flow  to  the  sea,  we  will  grow,  truly,  none 
the  wiser  nor  prosper  the  more,  by  every  or  any 
English  book  that  comes  so  branded  to  our 
hands.  It  may  be  good,  noble,  lofty ;  may  car- 
ry us,  seemingly  to  the  very  heart  of  truth,  the 
very  heaven  of  all  pure  fancies  ;  but  while  en- 
joyed under  these  false  conditions,  all  our  prof- 
it will,  somehow  or  other,  and  according  to  an 
everlasting  law,  turn  to  loss  ;  all  our  progress 
bring  us  back,  through  a  blind  round,  to  the 
dull  goal  from  which  we  set  out. 

To  bring  these  considerations  to  bear  upon 
the  immediate  question  of  an  international  copy- 
right, I  first  remark,  that  an  inevitable  proof 
that  the  present  system  of  relying  upon  and 
appropriating  a  foreign  literature  is  false,  lies 
in  the  vast  number  of  minor  evils  (which,  like 
the  testimony  of  circumstances,  can  not  err)  to 
which  it  gives  birth. 

What  is  the  process  by  which  in  regulated 
times  and  countries  where  the  cheap  enlighten- 
ment of  the  people  is  not  a  theory  of  publish- 
ers, a  book  is  brought  before  the  world  ?  Not 
assuredly  in  a  spasm — such  as  nature  gives 
when  she  throws  off"  her  evil  humors — but  by 
some  kind  of  orderly  procedure.  The  work 
having  grown  up  in  the  author's  mind,  slowly 
and  with  a  calm  reliance,  it  might  be  hoped,  on 
a  just  judgment  from  his  peers,  is  announced 
as  on  its  way  to  the  public  eye.  Attention  is 
fixed  upon  it  from  that  distance  ;  if  a  work  of 
research,  the  studies  of  scholars  and  men  of 
letters  are  made  to  run  parallel  with  it,  and 
when  at  length  it  is  yielded  to  the  world,  it  is 
received  with  no  idle  and  boisterous  haste,  but 
becomes  the  subject  of  a  close  analysis  and  de- 
liberate opinion.    At  all  points  the  author's 


rights  are  regarded;  having  grown  up  under 
the  author's  eye  from  the  beginning,  his  fame 
is  well  considered ;  and  in  the  end  the  book 
takes  it  place  according  to  some  standard  of 
judgment  among  others  of  if?  class.  All  this 
is  and  has  been  from  the  earliest  time  reversed 
in  America.  Here  an  author  is  an  anomaly ;  a 
needless  excrescence  of  nature  ;  a  make-trouble 
and  mar-plot,  a  mere  impertinence.  A  book  is 
supposed  10  grow  up  by  some  sort  of  sponta- 
neous process  beyond  the  seas,  and  to  be  im- 
ported into  this  country  with  rutabaga  and  the 
yellow  hop.  Pursuant  to  this  enlightened  and 
liberal  view  of  the  matter,  there  were  establish- 
ed, a  good  while  ago,  certain  baronial  castles, 
keeps,  and  places  of  look-out,  whence  the  re- 
spective masters  might  look  abroad,  each 
upon  the  domain  he  had  engrossed.  There 
was  the  barony  of  Clifl'-street  on  the  one 
hand,  which  included  the  Pelham  vineyards, 
the  barony  of  Chestnut-street,  Philadelphia, 
which  overlooked  the  Waverly  manors,  and 
the  Boston  barony,  with  extensive  water-rights 
and  rights  of  piscary  (as  the  courts  say)  in 
Marryat.  Nothing  could  be  more  cheerful 
than  to  see  the  various  lord-heritors  of  these 
great  domains  ascending  to  the  castle-top,  and 
with  a  lordly  and  benignant  eye,  regarding  the 
toilers  in  theit  respective  grounds  so  nicely 
parcelled  off. 

"  Ah,  ha  !"  one  of  them  would  say ;  "  see  how 
the  sweat  pours  from  old  Sir  Walter !  That's 
a  sturdy  old  fellow,  and  the  blades  grow  double 
wherever  he  treads  !" 

The  Post  captain  drags  the  net  and  ploughs 
the  sea  quite  as  satisfactorily  ;  and  Sir  Edward 
Bulwer,  being  of  a  lighter  build,  makes  up  in 
activity  what  he  lacks  in  muscle.  Could  any- 
thing go  on  more  agreeably !  Certainly  not, 
as  long  as  these  book-barons  understand  each 
other  ;  but  every  now  and  then  they  must  have 
a  frisk  (getting  jolly  on  the  good  wine  served 
to  them  out  of  authors'  skulls)  and  harry  into 
each  other's  fields  with  a  vengeance  !  Then 
there's  a  time  !  Such  a  crying  out  of  courtesy 
and  lack  of  courtesy  !  Such  a  babblement  of 
rights  and  usages  !  Such  a  devout  and  monas- 
tic horror  of  the  infringement  of  publishers' 
privileges  all  through  Cliff"  street  and  Chestnut 
and  Washington,  it  makes  one's^blood  run  cold 
to  think  of  it !  And  among  them  all  is  heard 
every  once  and  a  while  the  tenor  of  Sir  Edward 
Lytton,  the  piping  cry  of  the  Captain,  or  the 
feeble  voice  of  old  Sir  Walter,  growing  every 
moment  fainter,  beseeching,  in  heaven's  name, 
to  be  thought  of  in  all  this  fray  to  the  amount 
of  a  day's  wages  or  two,  and  something  to  keep 
the  life  in  them  while  they  are  in  the  field ! 

Certainly,  certainly,  this  is  an  anomalous 
case  for  logicians  of  an  ordinary  understanding 
and  discernment  to  deal  with.  Here,  it  is  al- 
leged, that  the  principals,  the  authors  them- 
selves, have  no  rights  whatever  in  the  products 
of  their  brain  ;  yet,  somehow  or  other,  it  hap- 
pens that  their  agents,  factors,  and  underlings, 
acquire  through  them  and  their  labors  some 


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365 


sort  of  rights  about  which  all  this  pother  of 
usage  and  courtesy  and  publishers'  privileges 
is  kept  up  !  Why,  it  is  as  plain  as  the  north- 
star,  nay,  as  plain  as  sun  and  moon,  that  if  the 
author  was  rightless  in  the  premises,  his  sub- 
ordinate must  be  so  cumulatively.  No  matter. 
In  the  very  midst  of  these  difficulties  there 
came  upon  the  field  a  gigantic  fellow,  who, 
with  great  eyes  that  saw  everything  and  swag- 
gering stride  that  trampled  on  everything, 
(pausing  only  long  enough  to  blow  himself  out 
to  his  full  dimensions)  advanced,  and  in  the 
very  style  of  the  famous  Welch  giant,  announ- 
ced that  "  Her  could  do  that  herself."  And  so 
it  proved;  he  could  not  only  do  that,  but  a 
great  deal  more.  Instead  of  claiming  a  plot  or 
parcel  of  the  country,  this  champion  at  arms 
set  up  at  once  a  right  to  the  entire  continent ; 
instead  of  addressing  a  note  of  compliment — 
as  the  old  barons  occasionally  would — to  the 
gentlemen  beyond  the  water,  asking  to  be  al- 
lowed to  import  their  products,  he  cut  the  mat- 
ter short  by  laying  violent  hands  on  them  be- 
fore they  were  well  through  the  custom-house ; 
in  fact,  the  blustering  new  comer  went  on  at 
such  a  rate  that  he  fairly  deafened  and  distract- 
ed the  old  lords-heritors ;  and  by  the  time  a 
year  or  two  had  gone  by,  they  were  driven  to 
their  wits'  ends. 

Who  knew  but  if  he  continued  in  this  fashion 
much  longer  he  would  have  the  very  castles 
down  about  their  ears  ?  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
Why  they  must  meet  him  in  his  own  style  of 
windy  bravado,  and  to  save  their  towers  from 
coming  down  about  their  ears,  and  to  keep  him 
at  a  respectful  distance,  they  were  compelled  to 
wrap  them  in  flames — to  break  into  them  with 
powerful  burglars — in  the  newspapers,  every 
time  a  new  consignment  came  to  hand !  Not- 
withstanding their  manful  resistance,  the  giant 
and  one  or  two  big  brethren  that  joined  him, 
came  after  a  while  to  have  it  all  his  own  way. 
He  began  to  issue  bulletins  too — to  warn  tres- 
passers off  of  his  premises,  and  to  hold  out  to 
the  populace  the  promise  of  an  unlimited  vin- 
tage from  his  orchards.  Every  week  there 
was  open  gate,  when  all  the  vassals  and  de- 
pendants of  the  giant  rushed  in  and  were  fed 
at  Sweeney's  charges.  The  worst  of  it  was, 
this  fellow  was  as  full  of  tricks  and  balks  as 
an  old  horse ;  he  baked  portentous  loaves  it  is 
true,  but  then  with  a  big  knife  that  hung  in  his 
hall,  always  ready  for  use,  he  served  them  such 
slices  and  sections  as  he  thought  proper,  ex- 
panding or  abridging  the  segment,  according  to 
his  whim ;  and  all  this  was  done  with  a  racket. 

Now,  a  book — the  staple  of  the  giant's  deal- 
ings— being  a  quiet  creature,  predestined  to 
hold  a  perpetual  dumb  intercourse  with  the 
world,  its  birth  might  be  expected  to  be  orderly 
and  noiseless.  On  the  contrary,  its  entrance 
into  this  world  at  least  is  attended  (under  the 
giant's  auspices)  with  an  outcry  that  a  sultana 
elephant,  or  tiger-mother  of  Bengal,  panged 
with  young,  might  envy.  The  country  is  taken 
by  storm.    The  streets  of  cities  are  filled  with 


a  flying  squad  of  newsboys.  Seaboard  and 
landward  swarms  with  agents  and  outrunners. 
The  decks  of  steamboats,  the  pouches  of  mail- 
stages,  cars  of  railroads,  swell  with  the  bag- 
gage of  the  invader.  Flags  and  placards  fly  in 
every-  direction  announcing  that  the  enemy  has 
landed.  The  city  is  harassed  and  kept  for 
nights  sleepless  by  reason  of  the  new  troops 
turned  up  in  their  ominous  yellow  or  scarlet 
uniform,  quartered  within  their  threshold. 
Publishers,  from  a  tranquil  and  slow-moving 
people,  grow  suddenly  excited,  hurry-scurry 
hither  and  thither,  make  yard-high  announce- 
ments in  the  newspapers  and  on  the  fences,  of 
impossibilities  achieved  or  to  be  achieved  by 
them  ;  and  unless  they  attain  a  circulation  of 
fifty  thousand,  which  gives  them  a  glorious  op- 
portunity to  abuse  the  author  and  make  good 
their  bank-account,  would  go  out  of  the  seven 
precious  senses  (perhaps  there's  an  eighth  in. 
such  cases)  with  which  Heaven  has  endowed 
them. 

Now,  I  venture  to  doubt,  witTi  due  respect 
for  the  talent  at  appropriation  and  business  en- 
terprise involved  in  these  proceedings,  whether 
all  this  hurrah  of  literature  is  of  much  actual 
service  to  the  country.  As  a  display  of  in- 
genious jugglery  by  which  an  early  copy  is 
landed  and  of  physical  force  in  hurrying  it 
through  the  press,  no  American  can  fail  to  re- 
gard it  with  profound  admiration.  But  when 
one  comes  to  consider  that  the  work  in  ques- 
tion may  reach  the  printer's  hands  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  the  reader's  at  night  of  the  same  day  ; 
that  it  may  possibly  contain  (as  does  one  of 
these  documents  now  before  me)  a  careful  and 
deliberate  assault  on  the  doctrine  of  voting  by 
ballot  and  universal  suffrage,  or  as  does  an- 
other, an  assertion  that  America  is  stocked 
with  white  villains,  or  another,  fiUtd  with  a 
variety  of  licentious  delineations  that  I  dare  no 
more  than  hint  at,  I  confess,  that  I,  for  one, 
can  not  exactly  see  that  the  gentlemen  in  ques- 
tion are  turning  their  talents  to  a  very  good  ac- 
count. To  be  sure,  they  tell  me  that  I  am 
an  enemy  to  the  enlightenment  of  the  people, 
a  book  aristocrat,  entirely  void  of  patriotic 
ardor.  So  I  am  ;  if  my  ardor,  my  republicanism, 
and  my  friendly  disposition  to  enlighten  the 
people,  can  be  turned  to  no  better  account  than 
this.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  by  some  sort 
of  legerdemain  of  which  I  was  master  and 
which  I  practised  in  connexion  with  the  repub- 
lication of  the  works  of  foreign  writers,  with- 
out remuneration  to  the  author,  I  could  trans- 
form my  disposition  to  enlighten  into  an  annual 
revenue  of  twelve  or  fifteen  hundred  dollars, 
my  republicanism  into  board  and  lodging,  and 
my  patriotic  ardor  into  an  easy-running  cur- 
ricle, hung  low  to  the  ground,  I  might  perhaps 
consent  to  come  into  this  ingenious  way  of 
viewing  the  thing.  I  might,  under  the  over- 
whelming logic  of  these  circumstances,  be  wil- 
ling to  convert  my  country  on  the  one  hand  in- 
to a  sewer  or  deposite  of  all  the  cast  off  ribald- 
ry and  dullness  of  the  old  world ;  or,  on  the 


366 


LECTURE  ON 


other,  into  a  great  mill  or  mangle,  where  books 
of  a  better  sort  should  be  tortured  with  an  in- 
genious cruelty,  dislocated  in  every  page,  brok- 
en and  fractured  in  every  paragraph,  beaten 
lifeless  of  all  meaning  and  thrown  upon  the 
world  mangled  and  maimed,  at  the  mercy  of 
every  chance  reader  who  has  a  shilling  to  be- 
stow. At  the  top  of  this  I  might,  after  pocket- 
ing, or  boasting  to  have  pocketed  on  one  of 
these  republished  productions,  the  year's  wages 
of  an  honest  man,  I  might  turn  upon  my  bene- 
factor, whose  abject  and  miserable  creature  I 
was  (for  I  was  fed  from  his  hand),  and  call 
him  "  knave,"  "  fool,"  and  "  villain,"  with  a 
volubility  that  could  only  be  construed  into 
madness  by  a  generous  man.  I  might  even,  in 
the  plenitude  of  a  genius  for  great  and  noble 
obliquities,  go  a  step  beyond  this;  if  I  found 
any  fellow-countryman,  one  who  had  happened 
by  some  great  good  or  evil  fortune  to  have 
drawn  the  same  breath  with  me,  rising  up,  and 
in  the  tone  and  accent  of  a  man,  denouncing, 
without  hope  of  interest  or  reward,  with  no  un- 
worthy or  ungenerous  motive,  all  this  as  paltry, 
unjust,  and  thankless,  [  might  (having  the 
board  and  lodging,  the  annual  stipend,  and 
the  low-hung  curricle  still  in  view)  proceed  to 
vilify  and  asperse  that  countryman  by  every 
low  art  in  my  power ;  I  might  belie  his  acts, 
misquote  his  writings,  scorn  his  friends — I 
might  go  even  farther ;  I  might  ride  from  office 
to  office  in  my  low-hung  curricle,  and  entreat 
various  conductors  of  the  public  press  in  God's 
name  to  do  a  little  vilification  in  my  behalf  in 
their  respective  daily,  weekly,  and  monthly 
organs  of  opinion !  I  might  be  spurned  from 
some,  cowed  down  by  a  manly  indignation  at 
others,  or,  perchance,  have  an  unwilling  wel- 
come lent  at  others.  What  then  ?  There's  my 
low-hung  curricle,  my  weekly  allowance  and 
the  board  and  lodging  secured,  and  I  would 
even  go  on  as  I  had  begun.  Nature  having 
denied  to  me  the  generous  spirit  of  a  brigand 
or  pirate  of  the  main,  I  will  be  the  tame  villain 
of  civilized  life,  the  slasher  of  native  reputa- 
tion, the  stipendiary  slanderer  of  writers  be- 
yond the  sea ! 

This  is  the  legitimate  spawn  of  the  repub- 
lishmg  system ;  and  it  is  under  such  auspices 
that  a  portion  of  the  American  mind  is  now 
forming.  All  along  the  western  border  works 
framed  and  issued  by  hands  like  this  are  scat- 
tered, and  make  their  way,  unchecked  by  purer 
influences.  There,  in  many  places,  no  native 
author  ever  pleads  the  cause  of  his  country — is 
ever  allowed  the  pure  and  great  privilege  of  in- 
stilling into  the  young  heart  fancies,  or  hopes, 
or  warnings,  that  have  grown  up  in  his  own, 
under  the  same  free  sky. 

The  evil  spirit  has  there  its  undisturbed 
sway  !  Are  you  willing  that  the  public  service 
shall  be  employed  in  thus  deadening  and  stupe- 
fying one  mighty  limb  of  the  general  good  ? 
Does  it  not  occur  to  you  that  other  seed  should 
be  sown,  other  harvests  gathered,  than  that 
great  field   now  receives  and   ripens  ?    The 


cause  of  one  is  the  cause  of  all ;  and  what 
they  derive  of  unmixed  injury  in  their  new  es- 
tate, we,  in  an  elder  condition,  draw  in,  quali- 
fied, but  by  no  means  neutralized.  With  them, 
the  false  literature  stands  by  itself,  a  single 
growth ;  with  us,  it  strikes  down  a  better  plant 
that  strives  to  lift  its  head. 

No  one  will  be  hardy  enough  to  deny,  I  think, 
that  American  literature  is  virtually  stifled  un- 
der the  operation  of  such  a  system.  God  for- 
bid that  I  should  not  believe  that  great  souls 
may  be  born  among  us,  still — equal  to  this  or 
any  disastrous  crisis — able  to  front  it,  and  ad- 
dressing it  in  the  tones  of  high  and  passionate 
natures,  bid  it  be  stayed  for  a  while.  Men 
who,  in  the  face  of  disaster  and  suffermg,  and 
the  hard  oppression  of  a  country  that  knows 
them  not,  and  hears  them  not,  by  a  slow  and 
generous  toil,  raise  up  images  of  greatness  and 
beauty  in  our  midst,  not  recognised  at  first  by 
the  bewildered  eye,  but  whose  silent  presence 
comes  at  length  to  be  known  and  felt,  and  to 
form  a  part  of  the  national  life.  Others,  who 
people  the  common  air  with  our  fellow-citizens 
of  fiction,  nobler  than  truth ;  and  others,  again, 
who,  masters  of  a  divine  patience,  in  silence 
and  amid  dark  discouragements,  weave  through 
society  and  the  disorders  of  a  new  and  troub- 
lous state,  the  threads  of  a  true  belief  that 
bind  together  and  brighten  all.  These,  God  be 
thanked !  are  so  near  akin  to  high  spirits  of 
another  sphere,  that  hunger  nor  thirst,  nor  the 
keen  wind  can  stay  them  from  performing  the 
golden  circuit  on  which  they  are  bound — from 
bearing  the  glad  message  they  are  charged  to 
deliver  to  mankind. 

But  it  is  of  another  and  lower  race  that  I  now 
make  question  ;  and  I  ask,  where  is  the  com- 
mon body  of  American  authors  to  be  found  ? 
how  are  they  employed  ? 

I  will  not  say  in  what  cobwebbed  lawyer's 
dens  ;  in  what  editorial  cribs  reeking  and  damp 
with  papers  brought  from  far  and  wide,  piled 
to  the  very  wall ;  on  what  high  stools  at  bank- 
ers' desks,  the  younger  brood  swarms  and 
makes  trial  of  the  daily  quill ;  but  of  the  ac- 
knowledged and  recognised  tribe,  whose  names 
run  so  trippingly  from  the  tongue  and  form  the 
picturesque  tail  of  the  great  paper-kite  that 
national  self-love  sends  up  from  day  to  day. 
With  one  or  two  exceptions,  these  refrain  alto- 
gether from  bestowing  upon  the  public  regular 
and  complete  works,  books  in  one  volume  or 
two,  carefully  elaborated,  and  claiming  the 
general  attention  by  the  patient  genius  with 
which  they  have  been  wrought  out.  On  the 
contrary,  they  are  discovered  by  whoever  looks 
for  them,  moving  rapidly  about  among  certain 
painted  booths — the  fashionable  magazines — 
running  in  and  out  with  their  crisp  bundles  of 
manuscript,  and  partaking  of  such  hurried 
hospitality  as  the  master  of  the  booth  can 
afford. 

Sometimes  they  are  placed  at  the  head  of  the 
table  with  a  story  in  three  courses  before  them ; 
others  are  thrust  into  a  corner  to  mumble  a 


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367 


sonnet ;  and  others,  again,  ramble  up  and  down 
where  they  choose,  regaling  themselves  out  of 
a  neat  paper  of  powdered  maccaroni.  One 
gentleman,  in  other  words,  furnishes  a  most 
moving  and  pathetic  tale  of  a  riband  or  a  lace- 
veil — another,  a  light  and  airy  poem  of  senti- 
ment about  nothing ;  and,  another,  the  delight- 
ful history  of  Arthur  Melton,  and  all  his 
agreeably  common-place  love  passages  with 
the  charming  young  lady  heroine,  Helen  Edge- 
combe. 

This  is  American  literature;  the  literature 
of  one  of  the  foremost  nations  of  the  earth ; 
the  literature  of  a  country  that  gave  birth, 
only  a  little  while  ago,  to  the  man  George 
Washington,  and  issued  the  Declaration  of  In- 
dependence to  the  world.  Let  no  one  suppose 
I  do  not  entertain  a  respect  and  admiration — 
proportioned  to  their  merits — for  many  of  the 
writers  engaged  in  the  fashionable  magazines, 
or  that  I  would  cast  unnecessary  censure  upon 
those  at  the  head  of  the  periodical  publications 
in  question.  They  are  all  common  sufferers  in 
an  unhappy  state  of  things. 

For  the  evils  of  that  system  they  may  justly 
point  to  the  law  and  the  public  taste ;  for  the 
advances  upon  its  earlier  condition  they  may 
lake  credit  to  themselves.  But  none  of  these 
circumstances  can  shut  from  view  the  fact 
that  the  active,  immediate,  current  literature 
of  America,  is  to  be  found  at  this  moment,  in 
certain  popular  magazines,  fronted  with  fashion- 
plates,  and  brought  up  at  the  rear  with  an 
overwhelming  array  of  authors'  names,  in  capi- 
talletters. 

This  is  the  condition  of  a  province ;  of  some 
little,  obscure  petty  state,  ashamed  to  show  its 
head  among  nations,  and  capable  of  subsisting 
on  the  verj'  stalks  and  husks  of  literature.  If 
it  be  not  an  object  with  us  to  escape  out  of  this 
low  flat,  this  Chinese  garden  of  all  that  is  pet- 
ty and  absurd  in  letters ;  if  we  can  dwell  con- 
tentedly there ;  and  if  the  national  energy  and 
dignity  of  character  should  fail  to  yield  under 
the  accumulated  evils  of  a  system  like  this,  we 
may  fairly  count  upon  ourselves  as  a  nation  of 
tranquil  philosophic  thinkers,  destined  to  en- 
dure for  ever— an  everlasting  model  of  self- 
satisfied  debasement  to  the  world  ! 

This  can  not,  however,  hinder  the  admission, 
that  this  country  is,  in  literature,  at  the  present 
time,  a  dependency  of  Great  Britain.  It  has 
every  mark  and  characteristic  of  that  servile 
condition.  In  the  first  place  it  relies  for  its 
very  literature  of  amusement — which,  if  any, 
should  be  self-supplied— on  a  distant  country. 
It  pauses  before  it  makes  up  its  historical  rec- 
ords for  the  researches  of  hostile  scholars.  It 
borrows  the  learning  of  antiquity  through  the 
factorship  of  compilers,  farther  distant  than 
the  seats  and  fountains  of  antiquity  themselves. 
It  appropriates  without  credit,  in  many  cases, 
its  fiction,  in  some  its  divinity,  in  others,  its 
learning;  it  imitates,  without  stint,  the  pro- 
ductions it  caa  not  honestly  rival.  Wanting 
in  the  heaithy  tastfis  of  an  original  and  produc- 


tive people,  it  selects,  not  infrequently,  the 
worst  parts  of  the  literature  it  appropriates. 
It  has  on  every  and  all  of  these  accounts, 
neither  head,  nor  limbs,  nor  proper  powers  of 
motion,  but  tumbles  about  upon  the  stage  of 
its  existence  a  sort  of  idiotic  monster,  whose 
purposeless  look  and  gaping  mouth,  craving 
everything,  sets  the  looker-on  into  a  roar.  This 
it  is  to  be  a  province  and  appanage  in  litera- 
ture ;  and  it  is  to  this  condition  that  we  bind 
ourselves  by  law. 

Instead  of  this,  what  might  we,  reasonably, 
have  counted  upon  ?  Not  a  mature,  harmo- 
nious, complete  literature  ;  but  works  at  least 
spontaneous  in  their  growth,  and  akin,  in  some 
measure,  to  the  life  of  man  in  a  world  full  of 
suggestive  newness  both  to  eye  and  spirit. 
Rugged  they  might  have  been  as  the  mountains 
and  cataracts  among  which  they  were  produced; 
mere  ballads,  echoing  the  cry  of  enemies  with- 
drawing into  the  shadow  of  the  wood,  or  wel- 
coming the  advent  of  the  stranger-ship  over 
the  rough  sea-billow.  Something  of  a  lusty 
strength — the  vigor  of  a  manly  and  rough-nur- 
tured prime — should  have  seized  upon  the 
share  and  driven  it  a-field.  A  certain  gran- 
deur of  thought,  a  wild,  barbaric  splendor  it 
may  have  been,  should  have  shot  forth  its  fires 
on  every  side,  and  made  the  wilderness  to  glow 
in  the  forge-light  of  high  passion  and  thoughts, 
coultered  to  and  fro  with  a  giant's  hand.  Not 
here — not  here  at  least — should  the  soul  of 
man,  in  one  of  its  noblest  employments,  have 
shown  itself  cramped,  servile,  abject,  and  ob- 
sequious to  custom.  Here,  where  the  free 
spirit  lifts  its  head  and  speaks  what  it  will,  it 
should  have  something  more  to  say. 

There  are  grounds,  lying  in  the  very  depth 
of  our  necessities,  from  which  a  hope  arises 
that  our  literature  might  have  a  peculiar  force 
and  truth  of  its  own.  The  very  nakedness  of 
our  new  condition,  depriving  us  of  all  aid  from 
the  picturesque  combinations  of  society,  might 
be  reasonably  expected  to  drive  us  upon  a  pro- 
founder  delineation  of  the  inner  life  ;  the  secret 
of  which  seems  to  have  been  lost,  with  rare 
and  distant  exceptions,  with  the  great  dramatic 
writers.  The  number  of  our  newspapers,  read 
so  widely,  and  making  known  every  particular 
of  actual  life,  would  have  a  similar  influence, 
and  compel  our  authors  to  a  higher  and  pro- 
founder  exercise  of  inventive  genius. 

And  here,  too,  should  authorship,  the  writing 
of  books,  be  a  noble  pursuit.  Claiming,  as  we 
do,  to  be  a  nation  of  thinkers,  it  does  not  be- 
come us  to  degrade  the  parents  and  guides  of 
opinion  into  an  abject  class.  Recognising  in 
them  the  men  who,  by  sagacious  foresight  and 
a  wise  fancy,  widen  for  us  the  great  future  up- 
on which  we  are  entering,  we  should  clothe 
them  in  fair  apparel  and  smooth  their  locks 
with  a  considerate  hand.  Above  all  rank  and 
station,  above  presidencies  and  principalities, 
should  the  men  be  raised,  who  cultivate  and 
raise  up  in  us  faculties  of  thought,  and  passion, 
and  will,  before  which  all  this  show  of  house. 


368 


LECTURE  ON 


and  temple,  and  monument,  dwindles  to  a  pur- 
poseless shadow.  A  goveniment  of  opinion 
lives  in  the  soul  of  its  authors  and  teachers. 
Out  of  that  alone  it  can  draw  its  true  life ;  and 
beyond  that,  it  holds  its  existence  a  prey  to 
swift  confusion,  to  blood,  and  disorder,  and  an- 
gry riot.  Upon  them,  then,  her  best  influences 
should  be  shed;  she  should  strive  to  spread 
abroad  through  their  path,  peace,  bounty,  and 
content,  that  her  own  way  may  partake  of  a 
kindred  calm. 

What  results,  then,  do  I  expect  to  flow  from 
the  passage  of  a  proper  law  ? 

I  can  not  presume  to  predict,  in  detail,  what 
these  might  be,  nor  the  exact  form  they  may 
assume.  'They  will  be,  doubtless,  great  in  num- 
ber ;  great,  perhaps,  beyond  the  sanguine  ex- 
pectations of  its  advocates.  A  single  remark 
would  embrace,  in  effect,  the  purpose  of  all 
I  could  say: — The  spirit  of  wise  legislation 
would  act  like  the  creative  law,  breathing 
truth  and  order  among  the  elements  of  confu- 
sion. It  will  reconcile,  renew,  separate,  and 
combine,  so  subtly,  that  no  eye  could  foresee 
all  its  operations.  Among  the  expected  chan- 
ges I  would  venture  to  mention  : 

Firstly;  the  entire  reorganization  of  the 
book-trade ;  at  present,  as  I  have  shown,  in  a 
great  measure  dismembered  and  broken.  A 
legitimate  and  honorable  class  of  publishers 
■would  spring  up,  to  take  charge  as  well  of  the 
interests  of  the  foreign  author,  having  copy- 
right in  this  country,  as  of  the  domestic  writer. 
An  increased  interest  in  the  writings  of  native 
authors  would,  of  Course,  be  created  ;  and 
Amercan  books  would  be  placed  before  the 
public  in  such  form  and  through  such  channels 
as  to  command  their  share  of  attention.  The 
relation  of  author  and  publisher  would  be  re- 
stored to  something  like  its  old  conditions  :  el- 
evated, it  might  be  hoped,  by  a  more  intelli- 
gent spirit  of  dealing.  Authors  and  publish- 
ers both  thrive  best,  when  each  can  entertain 
a  friendly  and  respectful  regard,  on  account  of 
accomplishments,  toward  the  other,  and  feel 
that  they  have  earnest  and  noble  interests  in 
common.  The  book-trade,  as  a  business  or 
calling,  would  rise  in  dignity,  and  in  its  rise 
would  help  to  raise  up  literature  itself.  The 
rule  always  holds,  I  believe,  that  a  race  of 
high-minded  publishers  springs  up  contempo- 
raneously with  great  and  popular  writers. 

Secondly ;  a  greater  productiveness  in  liter- 
ature here  at  home,  and  a  greater  unity  in  what 
is  produced.  The  false  appetite  engendered 
and  stimulated  by  the  competition  and  shop- 
cries  of  the  republishing  press,  once  appeased, 
many  English  works  of  light  and  worthless 
character  would  grow  stale  on  the  ocean  ;  and 
being  cast  aside,  American  works,  of  a  better 
class  and  spirit,  would  take  their  place ;  the 
jmblic  mind  would  have  leisure  allowed  it  to 
discriminate,  and  the  good  works  of  domestic 
origin  would  be  fairly  measured  with  books  of 
their  own  kind  of  English  growth.  The  litera- 
ture of  the  country,  freed  from  the  irregular 


and  occasional  character  it  derives  from  the 
spasmodic  effort  it  now  costs  author  and  pub- 
lisher to  get  each  work  before  the  world,  would 
move  forward,  with  a  steady  march  and  a  uni- 
formity of  production,  in  each  department  to 
which  the  national  talent  was  directed.  The 
periodical  literature  of  the  country,  freed  from 
the  extraordinary  predominance  of  foreign 
works,  brought  before  it  for  notice,  constantly 
jostling  aside  others  of  native  growth,  would 
rise  to  a  higher  criticism  and  method  of  judging 
works  of  art  of  all  classes.  The  criticism  of 
the  country,  dealing  at  present,  in  great  part, 
with  works  from  abroad,  adopts  a  careless  tone, 
borrows  from  foreign  journals,  and  fails  to  en- 
ter upon  the  subject  in  the  strict  and  careful 
spirit  it  would  take  if  it  grew  up,  side  by  side 
with  the  works  it  noticed. 

Art,  too,  at  present  a  sad  sufferer,  with  its 
kinsman,  might  be  expected  to  awaken  and 
open  its  eyes  once  more  upon  an  atmosphere 
through  which  light  and  life  began  again  to 
move.  Apart  from  its  share  in  the  general  de- 
cay. Art  feels  the  evil  influence  of  the  incur- 
sions of  foreign  genius  without  the  regulations 
of  law.  The  incessant  employment  of  native 
skill  in  copying  and  reproducing,  without  limit, 
the  designs  of  foreign  artists,  would  have  a  ten- 
dency to  breed  a  race  of  imitators,  and  to  inspire 
our  efforts  in  this  kind,  with  all  the  petty  vices 
that  belong  to  a  school  of  imitators.  A  disre- 
spect for  genius  would  be  engendered  ;  a  base 
and  low  style  of  design  and  execution  fast- 
ened upon  us ;  and  to  all  these  would  be  added 
an  unsparing  spirit  of  plagiarism  and  foul  play, 
as  regarded  works  designed  and  constructed 
abroad.  Restoring  to  the  arts  of  design,  as  of 
kin  to  literature,  their  just  rights,  the  foreign 
artist,  as  well  as  the  foreign  author,  would  en- 
ter the  field  on  fair  terms,  and  would  know  that 
he  could  protect  his  interests  if  he  chose. 

In  the  presence  of  a  new  and  living  litera- 
ture, such  as  belongs  to  this  soil,  much  of  the 
criticism  that  now  flies  abroad  and  makes  itself 
clamorous  at  noonday,  would  skulk  into  dark- 
ness, and>  creeping  into  convenient  retreats, 
would  screech  and  gibber  unheard.  The  pres- 
ence of  true  standards,  of  manly  examples  of 
criticism,  and  such  would  arise  in  a  well-regu- 
lated state  of  things,  would  awe  into  everlast- 
ing silence  the  brood  of  maggot-pies,  and  buz- 
zards, and  carrion  vultures,  that  now  obstruct 
the  light,  and,  spreading  their  obscene,  chitter- 
ing  wings  before  the  eyes  of  the  people,  shut 
the  clear  heaven  from  the  view,  and  make  them 
believe  that  darkness  is  day,  and  little  twilight- 
walkers,  grown  men,  perchance. 

Thirdly;  and  this  is  the  last  I  shall  at  pres- 
ent refer  to — the  growth  of  a  purer  and  better 
tone  of  opinion  at  large.  It  can  not  be  de- 
nied, I  think,  that  what  may  be  called  a  cer- 
tain heroic  unity  of  thought  and  act,  which 
marked  this  country  at  an  earlier  period,  has 
been  impaired.  A  certain  steadfastness,  with 
which  the  Republic  once  marched  to  its  ob- 
jects, has  been,  somehow  or  other,  invaded.    I 


INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT. 


369 


can  not  believe  that  the  ancient  spirit  has  en- 
tirely died  out. 

The  better  mind  of  this  country  is,  in  many 
of  its  best  aspects,  unrepresented.  Overshad- 
owed by  a  foreign  literature,  it  lurks  under- 
neath, and  would,  in  the  course  of  time,  be  al- 
together subdued.  Nothing  else  can  supply  to 
a  country  the  place  of  a  literature  in  maturing 
and  consolidating  national  opinion.  At  home 
a  literature  is  a  constant  presence,  uniting  all 
parts  and  sections  in  a  general  bond.  Abroad, 
the  country  rises  or  sinks,  seems  imposing  or 
insignificant,  in  proportion  to  the  front  its  lit- 
erature presents  to  the  world.  A  certain  va- 
cillation in  the  acts  and  sentiments  of  this 
country  seems  to  me  attributable,  in  some 
measure,  to  the  want  of  counsel  from  mature 
minds,  living  aside  from  political  life,  and  ca- 
pable of  breathing  over  the  broad  surface  of  the 
land  a  spirit  of  profound  knowledge  and  tran- 
quil truth.  Any  act  by  which  a  characteristic 
literature  was  aided  in  its  birth,  would  help  to 
steady  opinion  and  lo  mature,  a  consistent  reli- 
ance on  men  and  truths  here  at  home. 

And  now  what  is  it  withholds  the  instant 
passage  of  a  law,  in  pursuance  of  justice,  the 
sacred ness  of  rights  not  to  be  gainsaid  or  ar- 
gued away,  and  our  own  better  and  nobler  inter- 
ests as  a  nation  of  just  men,  given  in  some  meas- 
ure to  literature  and  the  study  of  works  of  genius  ? 
The  future  time,  eager  and  fruitful,  presses  upon 
us.  If  we  were  assured  that  we  are  at  this  mo- 
ment enjoying  the  highest  selfish  advantage, 
from  this  system,  there  is  no  worthier  time  in 
which  to  level  it  to  the  ground,  and  vindicate 
ourselves  by  a  great  act  of  self-denial.  Cheaply 
are  its  fruits  spread  before  us,  it  is  true ;  what 
the  value  of  that  cheapness  is,  I  have  endeav- 
ored elsewhere  to  show.  Cheap  in  its  birth, 
cheap  in  its  reproduction,  cheap  in  its  tenden- 
cies, cheap  in  its  results,  it  is,  in  Heaven's 
truth,  if  rightly  regarded.  Of  its  better  part,  I 
venture  to  say,  and  in  this  view  I  think  British 
authors  will  concur,  that  in  the  event  of  the 
passage  of  a  law  of  International  copyright, 
they  will  be  prepared  to  place  their  writings 
before  the  American  people  at  a  price  suited  to 
the  character  and  extent  of  our  reading  com- 
munity. This  will  be  their  interest,  and  this, 
I  venture  to  predict  their  course.  As  for  our- 
selves, we  will  find  in  this,  as  in  all  other  cases, 
that  a  magnanimous  performance  of  duty  will 
bring  with  it  its  own  just  reward. 

The  passage  of  an  act  of  International  copy- 
right will,  it  is  asserted,  Umpt  Britsh  authors 
to  write  expressly  for  the  Arnerican  market ; 
and  this  is  counted  upon  as  one  of  the  injurious 
results  of  a  new  law.  Admit  this  conjecture 
to  be  true,  and  what  ensues  ?  Admit  that  the 
temptation  of  a  wide  and  democratic  communi- 
ty of  readers  presents  itself  to  the  imagination 
of  the  British  author,  and  that,  fired  by  the 
prospect  of  great  gain  or  the  hope  of  a  fame 
echoing  from  Oregon  to  the  Atlantic,  he  enters 
upon  the  task  of  inditing  books  for  the  Ameri- 
Aa 


can  public,  can  we  not  understand  that  his 
writings,  to  be  acceptable  to  his  transatlantic 
readers,  must  address  themselves  to  their  re- 
publican sympathies  and  hopes  ;  that  he  must 
treat  of  man  according  to  this  new  experience 
of  ours ;  that  he  must  speak  of  the  American 
future  as  full  of  promise  to  the  awakened  in- 
terests of  mankind.  Will  he,  in  the  mean- 
time,  being  strong  and  powerful  enough  to 
speak  through  the  darkness  and  tempest  of  an 
ocean,  be  unheard  at  home  ?  Being  in  some 
measure  popular,  will  not  the  circumstance 
that  he  lifts  his  voice  to  a  kindred  people  over 
the  sea,  call  around  him  friends  and  adherents  ? 
It  will ;  and  America,  his  great  friend  and  pa- 
tron (according  to  this  conjecture)  will  find  in 
him  a  republican  champion  on  the  very  shore 
of  Britain,  armed  to  fight  her  battles,  to  hold  a 
mailed  parley  for  her  right,  and  to  cast  before 
her  breast  the  invincible  shield. of  a  loyal  de- 
fence. A  majestic  hope  certainly;  and  one 
which  the  democratic  believer,  urged  on  by 
whatever  zealous  belief  he  may  be,  should  not 
be  in  haste  to  obstruct. 

What !  a  democratic  thinker,  one  who  looks 
before  and  after  for  pasture  for  the  eye,  falter- 
ing at  the  prospect  of  a  long  line  of  republican 
writers  springing  up  in  the  very  heart  of  Eng- 
land to  vindicate  his  country  and  spread  her 
principles  through  towers,  and  huts^and  huge 
gabled  factories,  where  he  had  despaired  of 
having  the  heroic  voice  of  a  free  speaker  ever 
reach !  It  can  not  be  that  he  would  hug  to 
himself  the  treasure  so  lately  dug  from  the 
wilderness  ;  that  he  would  hoard  and  heap  up 
on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  the  massy  ingots  so 
lately  wrought  out  in  bloody  sweat  and  dinted 
fields,  beyond  the  grasp  of  his  Saxon  kinsman  ? 
"  Perish,"  say  we,  "  the  base  contracted  sel- 
fishness of  such  a  principle." 

It  will  be,  indeed,  a  proud  thing  for  us  to 
render  to  the  authors  of  a  kindred  people  this 
sacred  obligation.  If  to  this  we  can  join 
legislation  on  a  broader  and  clearer  ground 
than  has  been  yet  occupied,  recognising  all 
over  the  broad  surface  of  the  globe  the  inde- 
feasible and  perpetual  right  of  the  author  to 
his  labors,  the  benignant  sun  will  shine  on  no 
other  people  with  a  kindlier  light. 

This  great,  this  permanent  honor,  is  within 
our  reach.  Oh,  let  it  not,  I  beseech  you,  let  it 
not  pass  away  !  The  step  which  bears  you 
forward  to  make  you  its  master,  will  be  an 
angel's  stride  toward  a  higher  and  purer  civili- 
zation than  the  world  has  yet  known. 

I  can  not  believe  that  the  law-givers  and 
teachers  of  mankind  must  speak  to  us  always  from 
amid  the  stifling  airs  of  a  distressed  condition ; 
cold  and  shaken  with  the  damps  of  penury ; 
uttering  only  in  the  intervals  of  pain  and  hun- 
ger, the  oracles  by  which  the  world  is  to  be 
guided  and  cheered  onward,  in  its  path  of  prog- 
ress. Vexed  not  always  with  pangs  and  the 
contortions  of  a  suflering  frame  must  these 
priests  and  poets  of  ours  echo  and  answer  the 


370 


INTERNATIONAL  COPYRIGHT. 


hopes  and  fears  of  their  race.  Something  of 
free  sunshine— a  sight  of  the  wide  and  glad 
horizon,  Tindimmed  by  tears,  a  little  of  prosperity 
at  their  hearth-stones,  and  generous  justice  in 
the  highways — must  be  granted  them,  ere  their 
fuU  hearts  can  speak  forth  the  truths  resident 
there.  Not  always  bended,  and  broken,  and 
sick  at  heart,  shall  these  prodigal  children  of 


humanity  be  driven  out  to  wander  over  the 
world,  feeding  where  they  can,  dropping  the 
seeds  of  immortal  truth  on  the  wayside  and  by 
chance  :  but  raised  up,  inspired  anew  by  a  re- 
turn to  the  right  of  their  race,  the  right  to 
possess  and  enjoy  their  own,  they  shall  come 
back  to  us  a  glorious  company,  radiant  with 
hope,  and  strong  in  the  power  to  do  good ! 


THE  END. 


ro 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

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9>0cr62WAr 


'^'AR  :j     1963 


■^iS^^ 


t^EC'D  LP 


JUNlO'64-iPM 


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(C70978lO)476B 


:.  ^eife 


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'2?moi.plt 


